Page 126 of Our Strange Duet

Raoul struggled to pull himself up onto land. Once he was from the water, I could see how exhausted he was. His journey here had been far more perilous than mine. Should this inevitable duel come to physical blows, I did not know how long he’d last.

“Welcome, welcome, monsieur,” Erik said in greeting, returning to his role of courteous host. “As I said before, we were not expecting visitors tonight, but now that you’re here, we must make you feel at home.”

“Stop the game,” Raoul ordered, but it sounded more like a gasp than a command. “Your fight is with me, not her. Just let her go.”

“My fight,” Erik mused, and a calculating flicker lit his eyes. “You are correct there, Vicomte. I should never have made Christine pay for the sins which are yours.”

In a gesture made so fast I could not entirely understand what I saw, Erik cast something too dark to make out toward Raoul. It flew through the air, but then Raoul jerked, straightening tall with a spine-cracking rigidity as he pawed at his neck.

“The Punjab Lasso,” I gasped in horror, remembering Madame Giry’s story of the carnival barker’s death, remembering that all the lurid tales of the Opera Ghost told by stagehands ended with warnings to keep your hand at the level of your eyes.

The length of rope circled Raoul’s neck before shooting up straight into the air, like a noose, but it wasn’t connected to anything. It simply hung in empty space, defying logic and gravity. More of Erik’s impossible tricks.

But Raoul’s torments were not an illusion. He swayed back and forth, his feet barely touching ground as he thrashed against the lasso.

“Erik, stop! Don’t hurt him, please!”

He crossed to Raoul, climbing up a short series of steps to inspect the damage. Raoul lashed out at Erik as best he could, but he had to keep his fingers wedged between his throat and the ever-tightening rope.

“Aren’t you going to save yourself, Vicomte? Fight me. Fight me as you would any other man! Throw money at the problem! Buy my silence. Buy my exile,” he ranted, shouting directly into Raoul’s face. “Go on and ‘order your fine horses’!” Erik was mimicking me now, sneering out the words I’d spoken months before atop the opera’s roof. He cackled. “None of your tricks will save you. Only Christine.”

He whipped round, taking the steps to me two at a time. He almost looked jaunty, clearly enjoying the miserable mess he’d made.

“You can save him, Christine. You can save us all.”

“How?” I cried. Tears of helpless rage streamed down my face. I’d never guessed our situation could turn so dark or perilous.

“You can buy his freedom with your love. Love me. Leave here with me. We can start a new life together,” Erik said, sweeping my hands into his. I wanted to jerk them away but didn’t dare move, terrified to anger him and cause Raoul more suffering. “You only need choose me. Choose us.” His grip tightened. “Refuse me and you send that boy to his death. This is the choice,” he explained. “This is the point of no return!”

A horrified sob rose in my throat, choking me, and I shook my head, in response not to him but to the impossible scenario before us. Fleetingly, I remembered the day I’d first heard his voice, so beatific and beautiful I’d truly believed him an angel…

How had things unraveled so quickly? There had been such hopes, but they all lay shattered. He had never been an angel, only a fallen idol and false friend. I truly felt we were now trapped in hell.

“Forgive me, Christine,” Raoul managed to gasp. “Please forgive me. I should have never…” He squirmed, writhing like a worm skewered on a fisherman’s hook. “Never made you sing…I just wanted…to save you.”

“Raoul,” I cried, but Erik was before me, blocking my path to him, keeping me from pulling him to safety. “Erik, please! Don’t do this. This isn’t you. This isn’t—”

“Too late,” he shouted with a burst of wicked laughter. “Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity.”

“Don’t let him win,” Raoul groaned, his flailing wild. He let out a bellow of desolate misery. “Don’t say you love him! You can’t…you can’t throw your life away…for my sake!”

“Help! Someone help us!” I screamed, projecting my voice as loud and as far as I ever had. I recalled every music lesson Erik had given, remembered everything he’d taught. I straightened my spine, found my center, and let out a shriek at the loudest fortissimo I could. “Please!”

My voice rang off the stone walls, amplified and deafening.

“You’re past the point of cries for help,” Erik said, wholly unmoved. “There’s no point in fighting.”

“Don’t let him win,” Raoul begged again, openly weeping.

“His time is running out,” Erik threatened, taking a step toward me, which forced me to retreat deeper into the room, farther from Raoul. “You must choose.”

“No,” I said, grabbing a small end table, desperate for support. Tears ran down my cheeks, ruining the satin of the dress. “I can’t, I can’t.” My legs failed, collapsing underneath me, and I sank to the carpet, kneeling before Erik in abject misery. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Your indecision will send him to his grave,” he predicted.

“No!”

“Then you pick me?”