Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera. I only own this story line.

Notes: Sorry for the long wait for this next chapter, but here it is. Things are definitely coming to a climax!

Lost in His Obsession

Chapter Fifteen

Day Nineteen

Breathe, Christine… it's just a coffin. In his bedroom. Instead of a bed. Oh my God, oh my God…

Christine's heart pounded, thoughts racing almost incoherently as she stared at the center of Erik's bedroom, and the glossy black coffin that rested there.

It must have been very expensive, Father's coffin didn't look nearly so nice…

Quickly nipping that line of thought in the bud, Christine forced herself to step forward. At least the coffin was open, so she was fairly sure it was empty. Which, of course, meant that her suspicions about the purpose of the large lacquered box were, in fact, correct.

Peering down inside of it, she saw a few pillows, and next to the coffin were an empty wine glass and a stack of books. Yes, this was definitely where he slept. But why?

He's alive, I've felt the warmth from him, saw him breathe! Why sleep in a coffin?

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Christine backed out of the room, eyes never leaving the large box until the door was closing. She spun around then, pushing her back against the cool wood and closing her eyes.

After a few moments in which her heart rate slowed back to normal, and her breathing became much less hurried and labored, Christine resolved to confront Erik about the coffin as soon as he returned home.

Decision made, she strode purposefully to the kitchen for a glass of wine. Lord knew, she needed it.

XXXX

"Monsieur le Vicomte, I assure you, Mademoiselle Daae is fine! She is simply not here at the moment."

Raoul glared at the managers as he stood in their office, hands convulsively clenching and unclenching in irritation.

"And where else would she be? She lives here, for God's sake!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

"We do not know where she has gone, perhaps to the market? It certainly isn't our job to watch every chorus member, certainly you understand…" Firmin tried his best to soothe the Vicomte, but Raoul was having none of it.

"There is something you aren't telling me. This is the second time in a week that she's been conveniently 'unavailable' when I've called. Do you take me for a fool?"

"Certainly not, monsieur!" Andre jumped in, raising his hands in a placating manner, "we're telling you all that we know! Honestly, she goes out from time to time, but always returns in good spirits!"

Raoul heaved a heavy sigh. "Will you tell her I've been by again? That I'm concerned and only wish to speak to her?" he asked, forehead wrinkling with his worry.

"Of course, monsieur, of course!" Firmin replied, nodding exaggeratedly, "as soon as we see her next we will relay your message. Have no fear!"

XXXX

When Erik let himself into the underground home several hours later, he knew immediately that something was not right. The house was silent, and he entered the sitting room to find Christine reading a book and sipping a glass of wine. Judging by the half-empty bottle on the table before her, things were decidedly not good.

"Christine?" he ventured carefully, and she looked up with bright eyes.

"You're back, thank God." She replied, setting both glass and book aside and folding her hands in her lap.

"Has something happened?" he asked anxiously, striding across the room to seat himself on the settee nearest her chair, "what is it?"

"Did you know that there's a very large, black coffin in your bedroom?" she asked candidly, crossing her arms over her chest. Erik paled beneath his mask, eyes going wide for a moment, then narrowing.

"And what were you doing in my bedroom?" he asked, voice low. "I believe I told you quite plainly that it was off limits."

Christine had the good graces to blush, but continued on, undeterred. "I apologize for invading your personal space, but what's done is done, and I've seen what I've seen. Now please, explain!"

"No."

Christine's mouth opened and closed a few times, so completely blindsided was she by his blatant refusal to talk. "What do you mean, no?"

"Just that. 'No'. I will not explain myself to you like a criminal." He stated plainly. "Now, besides breaking into my bedroom, did you get up to anything else interesting today?" he asked politely, sitting back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap.

"How-how dare you! I was frightened half out of my mind, can't you at least tell me why? Why do you sleep in such a thing, as if you were a corpse? It's so-so morbid!" she begged for understanding, tongue loosened by the alcohol she had consumed, and Erik's brittle control snapped.

"I sleep in the coffin like a corpse because I am a corpse, Christine! Could you deny it? After all, you have seen the horrors of my face; you know all too well the truth of what lay hidden behind my mask. What other place would be more fitting for one such as myself to rest each night, than in the coffin I should have been placed in upon birth?" his voice was at a near-roar by the time he was finished, and Christine quailed for a moment, then shook herself and rallied.

"Erik, you're so caught up in what you look like, so caught up in what the world has done to you, that you can't even see the way things are. I saw your face, yes, but I'm here!"

"You are here because I blackmailed you," he said sadly, "and for no other reason."

"Are you views really so distorted, Erik? Are you really so blind? You sleep in a coffin to punish yourself for something over which you have no control, you write a beautiful opera and then ruin it with a character filled with hate and lies, and through that deceit he finds love? Do you truly not see the merits of honesty? Do you really hate yourself so much?"

"I hate myself only as much as the world already hates me. And you are nothing but a child, Christine; you don't understand Don Juan, what he must do in order to ensure his happiness!"

"Such lies cannot bring happiness, Erik, only pain! And I am not a child, I'm a grown woman!"

"Not a child, Christine? What reason do I have to believe such a thing? You entered my bedroom without permission, you demand things of me with such insolence and –"

His tirade was cut short by the stunning sensation of lips against his own, and he froze, eyes open wide, arms hanging limply at his sides. She was kissing him. Christine was kissing him!

It was chaste and lasted only a few moments, and then she was standing before him, cheeks red and eyes over-bright.

"I am not a child." She repeated, before she rushed from the room, and moments later Erik heard her bedroom door slam shut.

Not a child, indeed.