CHAPTER ONE

(Hell)

Christine looked back for one last glance as Raoul steered the gondola away from the invading mob. She almost wished she didn't. Erik's eyes, originally such a piercing green, had turned dark as he gazed after them. Heartbreaking sadness, longing, love resounded in his eyes as they connected to Christine's. A shard of truth lodged in her heart. She wanted to stay. She wanted to go back there, back across the growing distance between them, put her hand in Erik's and tell him she was his. Anything, anything to relieve that awful suffering in his eyes as he stared after them.

Raoul—yes, Raoul. She still loved him, but he was gentle and understanding and she was quite sure he would, in time, forgive her. Raoul had always said that he valued her happiness above everything else…

"Raoul—I changed my mind…I'm sorry," Christine whispered in his ear.

"Are you sure?" Raoul said after a short pause.

"Yes. I'm so sorry… please forgive me…"

"Don't worry about me. If you're happy, I'll be all right. You belong with the one you love," Raoul replied as he started turning the boat around.

A soft rushing sound met their ears and grew in volume alarmingly fast, but before they could turn around and identify the source, it was already upon them. A wave towered impossibly high over their heads, a freak of nature appearing from the direction they were going. Christine screamed in terror and instinctively grabbed for Raoul's hand. But as the cresting wave smashed down upon them, his hand was wrenched from hers. The last thing she remembered before the malevolent water swallowed her was a fleeting glance of Erik. Shock and grief radiated from him as he splashed into the water to help them, but he was much too far away…Alone in the horrible dark water, Christine thrust an arm in Erik's direction, hoping against hope his hand could save her from the water that threatened to drown her. A hand seized hers, but as it dragged her deeper into the swirling black water she realized it wasn't Raoul's, or Erik, but the hand of Death itself, cold and unforgiving, and she distinctly heard a cruel laugh as her vision faded completely and the icy water seeped into her caving lungs…

She gasped and opened her eyes. She had somehow awoken sitting up. She collapsed back into the soft feather bed and started sobbing hysterically. This nightmare had plagued her for months and months after the events of that fatal night in the darkest caverns of the Opera Populaire. Always the same—the change of heart, the wave that came out of nowhere, Erik's vain attempt to rescue her, the unmerciful laugh of Death taking her deeper…Would the horror never end? Was she doomed to live this nightmare over and over until she died?

Now married to Raoul, she was terrified of nighttime, knowing that night meant sleep and sleep meant nightmares. Every single time, she fought the heaviness of her eyelids for hours, only to finally give in and relive the night of choices, of evil and love, of pain beyond imagining. She would never be able to control or escape the terror, the trauma…the shame, night after night after night. She loved Raoul with all her heart, and yet…she almost wished she had chosen to stay with Erik forever. He had not just wanted someone to love him, he needed it, so much more than Raoul did. Erik had been so deprived, had never, until her, known a single loving heart or an act of kindness; Christine knew she would have gladly supplied it for him if she had chosen him for good. For Raoul, love was something extra, something he and people like him searched for and celebrated lavishly when they won. Romantic love and companionship in marriage wasn't something they necessarily needed, when they had been sheltered their whole lives in homes of comfort, happiness, and security. Christine ran over what Raoul had reluctantly told her of Erik's terrible childhood and the abuse he had endured as a circus freak, and shuddered. Erik had needed her more than Raoul ever did, and to respond to his plea onstage to love him by abandoning him instead…

"Beyond forgivable," a voice said sternly in her head.

Her breathing calmer now, Christine stared at the ceiling above her. Did she love Raoul? Yes, she did. And it hurt her that every time she awoke screaming or crying from that same nightmare, he had comforted her with a growing shadow of pain in his eyes. She knew he wondered constantly now if she had made the right choice after all being with him. He suggested cautiously several times that perhaps he could find Erik and let Christine go off with him instead. She had always said it wasn't needed, and that she was just going through a phase. Each time she said it, it sounded more like a lie. Finally, he had stopped asking. She knew he still worried about her, pondering if she was happy at all being with him.

Christine drew a hand across her face roughly and got out of bed. She glanced at the clock ticking calmly on the wall. It was seven-thirty. Raoul had mentioned the night before that he had to see to some affairs outside of Paris, and not to see him off as he had to leave very early. He had promised to be back that night.

She slipped on a soft dressing gown, but just as she tied a knot in the belt, a shrill scream of horror rent the air.

Christine stood frozen, both hands clutching the ends of the belt. Confusion and a terrifying fear battled for dominance in her heart. Her feet moved rapidly of their own accord to the bedroom door. She wrenched it open and stepped into the spacious hallway as the screams escalated in number and volume. A crazed howling of grief shot through the air, and she shivered.

"Someone tell Madame!" someone shrieked, then the sound of sprinting footsteps met her ears.

Sylvie, one of the servants, her hair loose and hectic and her skirts in disarray, climbed up the steps, her breath coming fast and ragged. She flew up to Christine, who stood there staring at her like a statue waiting to be brought to life.

"Fear nothing, Madame," Sylvie said in a shaky voice, grasping Christine's limp hands, "except the worst. Master de Chagny—your husband—has been killed."


In a trance, Christine was pulled down the stairs by Sylvie, who tried to console her. Her words meant little to Christine as the stairs and walls blurred into a dreamlike state. All became clear to her as she spotted the huddle of crying servants around a mass of fabric on the ground. They parted as Christine drew near to lay eyes upon her dead husband.

A large, shockingly scarlet pool of blood, half-dried, surrounded his upper body. A silver dagger, stained red, was embedded in Raoul's chest and a necklace of deep stab wounds surrounded his neck and shoulders. A note addressed to the Vicomtess de Chagny lay folded in half, sticking out of Raoul's hand, soft and limp in sudden death. Christine kneeled down next to her husband's body, picked it up with shaking fingers and unfolded it.

I'm hardly far from done,

and I will come back for you.

~His murderer

Amélie, another servant, shrieked in fear as she read over Christine's shoulder, and Christine lowered the note in numb hands, to have it taken from her by the other servants and read aloud. The cacophony grew as the small group approached hysteria.

"This is terrible! Everyone is in danger! What do we do?" Amélie cried.

"Do we leave the Master's body? What if the killer comes back tonight?" another servant screeched in fear. The knot of servants started a fresh round of sobbing and terrified screams.

Christine had stayed small and silent the entire time. Like a sedative, her mind had become calm and detached, the unspeakable truth denied entrance to her heart. Somehow, in the midst of so much panicking, she was able to think clearly.

"Pack your belongings," she said in a quiet voice. Everyone fell silent and looked at her. "Gather your things together. Disguise yourselves. You have fifteen minutes."

"What if the murderer comes back sooner than that?" Anna asked, clutching her skirts in fear.

"Let's hope he doesn't. Meet me at the back entrance. Fifteen minutes. Go!"

She gave the last word as an order and the five maids scattered to their quarters. Christine headed back up the steps, gripping the rail tightly and shoving down the horror that threatened to engulf her at any moment.