Enclosed.
I giggle to myself as I lope about my underground manor. Oh, it was a joyous day! Or perhaps it was night? I could never tell; here in my world, beneath the Opera House, there is no sun, you see. There is no sun, and no moon, and so I do not know what time it is.
But it does not matter!
I bound agilely from room to room, the skeleton key swinging in merry circles on my equally skeletal finger. I sing to myself in a soft, almost happy voice, and almost feel like pirouetting.
Tonight (or perhaps it is today) Christine would share something very special with me! I had been planning for ages, you see—well, no. I tell a little lie.
Actually, the idea just came to me.
I walk purposefully to Christine's room, humming sweetly to announce my presence. I flick at the lock on her door, and let myself in. It's not very gentlemanly, I know, but I am so excited that I can hardly contain myself.
Christine gasps in surprise and looks up.
"Erik!" she cries out, standing swiftly and sounding near hysterical, "Erik, Erik, where have you been?"
I frown thoughtfully, and pause in the doorway. I have to think for a while. I don't remember where I've been, actually. I have been to so many places in the world, you understand? Sometimes, I think that I've been somewhere when I have actually not. It is very confusing.
"Where have I been?" I repeat with a politely puzzled blink. Why was she asking me this? It was not a very important question.
Christine's eyes are filling with tears, and she looks so worried for... I'm not so sure for whom, but she looks worried.
"Oh, Erik," she gasps, her hands coming to her mouth, but she sounds angry now, "You left me here. You left me in this room for hours and hours, and you were going to leave me here forever, weren't you?"
"I cannot remember, but I am here now."
I smile cheerfully, and then remember that I am wearing a mask; Christine cannot see the smile. That is a problem. So I take my mask off.
Christine's mouth drops in a silent scream, and she looks horrified, but in a strangely pitying way.
"Erik," she whispers.
"Come along, Christine!" I say, laughing as I swiftly move toward her. I take her by the arm and begin to casually tug her along. "Come, come, Christine, we must hurry."
She follows, of course, scared, terrified, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. The poor child! So frightened, but she follows the sound of my voice because it soothes her pattering heart. She would follow my voice anywhere, you see. I may tell her that the world is flat, and I daresay she believes it.
Just to experiment, I offhandedly add, "Christine, did you know that the world is flat?" I pause and look at her.
She's looking at me with this curiously perplexed look on her face. "What?"
"The world is flat," I say again, patiently.
"No, it's round," she answers back, but she looks confused, "Erik, what are you doing?"
I sigh. She is such a child, you know, so very single minded and easily distracted. I once more begin to tug her toward my room, tolerantly explaining to her as we move along.
"The world, you see, is not actually round… I am taking you to my room, by the way, my dear—"
"Erik!" she says shrilly, and I stop again, a little edgy this time. "Erik, you are scaring me," she continues in a smaller voice, her large brown eyes widening at me.
I turn to face her properly, and reach out to her, but she flinches away from my touch. Oh, but that does not matter right now! I hardly notice. I only reach to her again and this time she does not shrink away. She stares at my hand, in fascination, and her lips twitch slightly as I brush a few stray curls from her forehead.
"I am ever so sorry, my dear," I say generously, "I hardly wish to frighten you, although I appear to frighten you regardless of my intentions."
I let out a beautiful peal of laughter, and she leans automatically towards me. Oh, Christine, you are such a slave to my voice. I begin to genially pull her into my room again, and she comes without resisting, although she is making curious little protesting noises in her throat.
The coffin that I sleep in is open, and I drag the poor child to the side of it. I peer inside at the rich red lining, and nod at Christine.
"It's quite beautiful, isn't it?" I ask her, rather proud. My hold on her wrist tightens slightly and I guide her closer to my side so she may also peer into the coffin.
But she is staring at me with large, terrified eyes.
"Erik," she whispers, in a low, appalled voice, "What are you doing?"
"I am allowing you to share my fate, my dear," I reply cheerfully. Quite neatly, I pull her against me and hold her tightly to prevent her from escaping. It would be awful if she ran away right now, you see. She squeaks in either shock, or fear. I can't really tell. It doesn't really matter, either.
I clamber into the coffin with her in tow, and now she is fighting to get free.
But Christine, you poor, ignorant child, don't you see that true freedom cannot be found in life? I am not bothered by her attempts at freeing herself. She was never good at fending for herself, you know. I simply hold her hands still and she is powerless to struggle. Poor thing. I almost feel sorry for her.
But I ignore her for the moment, only settling down comfortably in the snug coffin. I help her arrange her own limbs so that she is comfortable as well.
She is sobbing in earnest now, and beating her fists weakly against my chest, but I am not bothered. I only pull her closer and rock her gently from side to side.
"Shh," I croon, half singing and half speaking. I reach up and lower the lid of the coffin so we are both enclosed in a stuffy, completely pitch black cocoon. I heard the click of the automatic lock, and I smile to myself.
"Oh, Christine," I whisper, and she is practically screaming now.
Erik Erik Erik please please what are you doing let me out let me OUT LET ME OUT!
I stroke her hair, wrapping my arms about her so she is forced to lie still. It's getting rather hot in here; perhaps I should have taken my jacket off. I press my unmasked face into her hair, and she does not move away.
Probably because I am holding her too tightly for her to move. She cries silently into my neck, and I caress the nape of her neck soothingly.
My poor, sweet angel. Don't cry. Don't cry, Christine, I am here for you. I am always here for you.
"Shhh."
Eventually, Madame Giry would wonder just how long Erik was planning to keep Christine. She would come down to his manor and roam the two thousand five hundred rooms, growing increasingly worried as she shouted out for Erik, or Christine.
She would come to Erik's room, drawn by the long, pitiful cries of Ayesha. She would venture into the room, calling out, "Erik?"
She would find the cat sobbing and clawing at the firmly shut coffin. She would scramble and unlock it, and lift it.
Her eyes would bulge in shock, and she would scream if her voice would not fail her.
Christine would share with Erik in death, what she could not share with him in life.