Why is it Always Erik?

  
  Naomi awoke to a loud, impatient knock on her door. She sprang from bed immediately grabbing the dagger she had hidden between her bed and the nightstand. She crept silently towards the, her dagger at the ready. He hand paused on the knob for a moment before flinging the door open. Naomi’s eye widened as she saw the throat at which he dagger was held belonged to Christine whose own eye were wide with shock, confusion and fear. Naomi sighed, relieved, and opened the door wider offering an apologetic smile to Christine.
  “I am sorry,” She said sincerely. “I am not very trusting of mankind and I didn‘t expect you until tomorrow morning.” She grabbed the pocket watch on her nightstand, “Or, well at least later this morning.”
  Christine was still staring at her a bit blankly. Naomi rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently and pulled Christine in the room. She walked over to her bedside table and turned her lamp on. Christine had broken free of her shock and was now looking around the room a bit nervously.
  “You have nothing to fear from me.” Naomi said, in a kind tone, “I wouldn’t hurt you. I don’t even like the idea of hurting people, but father insisted I know how to defend myself. He trusts mankind even less than myself.”
  Christine nodded, “I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I shouldn’t have come so late, but Raoul . . . Doesn’t approve of this imminent trip. I couldn‘t make him understand that this was just something I felt I had to do.”
   Naomi nodded, “Instincts, Adriana, my fiancé’s sister, called them. Men, I think, aren‘t as highly attuned with theirs. I think some men don‘t have them at all . . .”
  Christine was silent, she knew, as Raoul had pointed out several times, she had another reason for going. She still didn’t want to give up the silly hope that Erik was alive and well. She sighed, remembering the night events. Raoul had really gotten angry when he had realized that Naomi had left the house completely unnoticed.


  “You will not go with her! I am not asking you, Christine, I will not stand for it!” He had said in a furious, commanding whisper.
  Christine had glared at him, crumpling the note in her hand. She had grown to loath commands, Raoul knew that. After they had left Paris she had been determined to become her own person. She would no longer take commands, no longer stand for ultimatums. She would be in charge of herself.
  “You know I despise commands! They have lost a great deal of their charm on me! Even if you had not commanded me I would go. This is something I have to do!” Christine had replied, growing slightly angry. “I feel I have to do it! The moment she walked in our house I knew that I simply I had to do what she asked of me.”
  “You’re going to Paris with some strange girl, half your age, to grant the final wish of what could be a madman based on a feeling?” He asked incredulously. “She herself could be out of her mind and yet you’re still agreeing to risk your life because a simple feeling?”
  “Yes, Raoul! Yes I am!” She had yelled, distressed at how absurd it sounded when he said it. “You may not understand it, but if I don’t go, I will always wonder . . . Eventually it will drive me insane.”
  He had wasted no time in telling her to stop being dramatic. She stood glaring at him before saying, “You have kept me away from my home for years, Raoul. Don’t look so surprised. I know it was because of me we’ve never gone back to Paris, instead of all your absurd little excuses.” Christine, surprised at the bitterness in her voice, “I’ve always loved Paris. I did not want to move, I told you several times . . .but you . . . Its as if you were afraid for my sanity. Its as if you have always been. I feel as if you don‘t trust me to deal with my own memories.”
  She had started crying then and Raoul had put his comforting arms around her, “No, Christine . . . No. I didn’t think you should have had to. I just . . . Felt as if I needed to protect you.”
  “You don’t!” She had whispered. “I miss Paris so much! For me as much as Naomi and her father, whoever he is.”
  Raoul’s gaze had darkened then which lead her to believe her voice had betrayed her. He glared down at her again, “Erik is dead, Christine. He is dead. Whatever hope you’ve carried with all this time should have died that night with him. You, yourself, told me even if he had a strong will left to live he couldn’t have survived. Erik is dead, let him rest in peace.”
  At the words, Christine had left the room, crying silent tears of sorrow and fury. She didn’t understand why she was angry, only that she was angrier and more hurt than she had ever been before.

 Naomi’s voice had snapped Christine back to the present, “Would you like to stay here tonight? We can pick up your things tomorrow morning before we leave, or you may borrow mine.” Naomi looked Christine up and down. “Even though, small as you are, I doubt you could fit into much if, anything of mine.”
  “Thank you., you are very kind, but . . .”Christine hesitated, “I only wish to stay here for awhile . . . Something Raoul said has hurt me greatly and wish to gather my thoughts. I do not know why you were the one I thought of . . . It just seemed as if you would understand.”
  The girl nodded, grabbed Christine’s hand and squeezed it gently, “Would you like me to read for you? Or I can paint if you like.” She didn’t offer to sing for Christine. That was something she would do for her father or herself only.
  “Can you read in French?” Christine asked, not think.
  The girl nodded, “I can read in almost any language you like . . .” Naomi said, “What shall I read?”
  “Do you know of the brothers Grimm?” Christine asked , their dark fairy tales had always fascinated her.
  “Yes.” Naomi smiled, taking out a book of a free of their collected works. “In French?”
  Christine nodded.
  “Il était une fois. . .”


  An hour later in the carriage back to her house, Christine sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable scolding she would receive from Raoul. She knew it was wrong to run off like that, but . . . She had been afraid of saying something hurtful she didn’t mean to him. She had never been that angry before. She didn’t even know what it was that he said that had angered her so much, only that she had felt like retaliating. She felt like hurting him back. It had scared her so she left. She had left very quickly. She would have stayed if he hadn’t followed her. She was pretty sure he was following to apologize and make peace with her, but she knew she’d never be able to forgive him at that point in time. And now, because of her, he had probably stayed up the whole entire time worrying about her.
  When the carriage stopped she sighed and hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to see that look of guilty relief on Raoul’s face, in truth, he had done nothing wrong. Her insides squirmed and she sighed again. There was really no point in delaying any longer. She got out of carriage and opened the door quietly. She stepped in the house, looking around.
  “Raoul?” She asked. “Raoul are you still up?”
  She heard hurried footsteps and then saw him burst into the, that foretold look of guilty relief on his face. He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him for a long while.
  “I’m sorry.” He said, guilty practically oozing from his voice, “I shouldn’t have said half of that. I’m sorry. Please don’t ever leave like that again.”
  Christine nodded and looked at him sadly. He hugged her to him again, stroking mahogany colored, absurdly curly hair.
  “You may go to Paris if you wish,” He said in her ear. “If it will make you happy. Just don’t leave me like that again . . . I’ll even let you go by yourself if you wish it, so long as you write everyday. I was so worried . . .”
  “I am sorry,” she whispered sincerely.
  “Don’t ever do that again! I was so afraid you had been killed or robbed or raped or . . .”Raoul said, hugging her so tight she could barely breathe. “God only knows what could have befallen you. Please don’t ever do that again.”
  “I won’t” She said, “I promise.”
  It was a promise she meant to keep with all her heart.
  She stood there, wrapped in his arms for awhile, enjoying the feeling of being safe and warm. She had been right. She was content in this life, but not happy. Even though she rarely thought of Erik, she still wasn’t happy. Not that Raoul was a bad husband, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t love him. She just . . .wasn’t happy. She imagined if she was truly happy, it probably would have felt wrong. A betrayal to Erik. But Erik wasn’t alive any longer. He had died nearly 2 decades ago! Why then, was she not completely happy? Why could she not bring herself to break down that barricade? Erik would have wanted her to be happy. Despite all that he had put her through, she knew he would want her to be happy, truly, completely, unreservedly happy.


  Across town Naomi was pacing and contemplating the woman her father had fallen in love with. She had seemed . . . Well, miserable wouldn’t describe it, but she certainly wasn’t happy as Naomi had expected her to be. Christine had left her father with the man she loved. She had gotten her happy ending. She had gotten her fairy tale while her father was miserable, in great pain and alone. Why wasn’t Christine happy, she had wondered angrily. She had gotten everything she had risked her life for, hurting many in the process and now she wasn’t even happy! Oh, how Naomi had thought she would be happy if Christine had been miserable, but now, as she paced like a caged wolf. Scared, angry, and given the chance, deadly. Hate as she had never felt simmered within her soul. Hate for a woman that had done nothing to her. She was vaguely surprised at herself but nothing more, which surprised her even more. She had never figured she would hate someone and if she did, she had always told herself hat it would be accompanied with most torturous guilt and, yet, here she was, hating a woman she barely knew and she felt nothing . . . Nothing but slight surprise and for some unfathomable reason, that didn’t bother her


A few miles away, Christine lay asleep in her bed, plagued by a nightmare.
  Mirrors . . . Mirrors everywhere. In every direction her reflection was contorted by some trick of the mirror itself. Everywhere she turned her reflection seemed a greater enemy than one she had ever faced. Then, suddenly the mirrors melted away to a scene all too familiar to her. She was a little girl staring at her father, who she knew to be dying. He coughed and she flinched. The sound was harsh and riddled with pain. It had been months since her father had started coughing up blood and yet, through some strange and merciless(or perhaps merciful) fate had left him alive to this point. A state where he couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep for the nearly incessant cough that vexed him.
  She had looked upon him with a child’s eyes, dependent and fearful. She had never understood, all through that time, what was really happening. She had never understood that inevitably she would end up alone.
  This is a dream . . . Christine told herself knowing what would come next. Wake up, Christine! Wake Up!
  But, as always, asleep Christine stayed, to her great dismay. She looked around for something, anything to save her what would come next.
  Too late, she thought as the room darkened and a masked stranger slit her father throat and then turned to her. Slowly he removed the mask.

  Christine woke screaming, crying and drenched in a cold sweat. Raoul was looking at her, disturbed and concerned. Christine gave him a look of shock and hopelessness before drawing her knees up to her chest. She sat there trembling for awhile with Raoul looking at her with the same look of disturbed concern on his face.
  “There getting worse,” He said, his tone worried and confused. “And they’re happening more frequently.”
  Christine shook her head, her voice shaking as she replied, “No, its the same one and I always seem to know it’s a dream and what coming, but I can’t wake up . . . I can’t wake up.”
  Raoul held her again, trying his best to soothe her. She pulled away and looked at Raoul. “Why is it always Erik?”



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