People scurried out of the way, clearing a path for the coach as it ambled down the cobblestone street. Christine gazed out the window as snowflakes began to waltz through the air on a gentle winter wind.
"Did you ever think you would survive seven years with me?" Raoul teased, lacing his fingers into hers and giving her a light kiss on the cheek.
Christine laughed but made no reply; it was safer that way. Their marriage had suffered a rough start, especially when Christine cried out in her sleep to Erik - that hadn't gone over well. At more than one time, she had been certain Raoul wouldn't tolerate her a moment longer but here they sat, together, celebrating their seven years of married life.
Somehow Raoul had managed to find time out of his demanding schedule of responsibilities to steal away for an anniversary dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Paris. Christine felt a little uncomfortable about leaving Charles with a babysitter, he was such a sensitive, delicate child, but Raoul had reassured her that Charles would be fine for a few hours and Christine finally gave in.
The coach rumbled to a stop and Raoul jumped out, turning to give Christine his hand. A messenger boy jogged up, snowflakes sprinkled on top of his little brown cap like a muffin.
"Message for ya sir," the boy announced, handing Raoul a slip of paper. The boy hovered, shifting his weight from foot to foot, waiting to be paid. Raoul scanned the letter and frowned.
"I'm afraid our dinner has to be cancelled my dear, this instant," he said, his voice taught with concern. "An emergency has come up and I must see to it. I'm very sorry my love, so very sorry. I was looking forward to this night as much as you were. Go in and have dinner without me, treat yourself. You deserve it."
Without waiting for a response, he leaped back into the coach, pounded on the roof and took off down the street. Christine turned, confronted with the little boy rocking on his heels, still waiting for his tip. She patted her pockets and skirts then gave the boy an apologetic look, her cheeks blushing a fierce pink with embarassment.
"I seem to have left my purse in the coach," Christine explained. "I'm terribly sorry."
The boy shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicking at the snow. "No worries miss. Seems we've both been dumped tonight."
The snowflakes whipped around Christine in an eddy of winter wonder as she made her way home, little puffs of snow piling up on the toes of her boots. Her fingers grew numb and stiff with cold, her cheeks and ears ached from the biting wind but she pressed on. Her thoughts began to wander...
...and he was there, in her mind again.
Erik.
Excitement seemed to reverbrate in the air around Erik, like a little boy pressing his face against a candy shoppe window. He led me through the moonlit forest, daring to venture away from his precious opera house, away from Paris, and into the countryside, to free me from the distressing complications of theatre life that seemed to be piling up one atop another.
He barely made a sound, blending in with the bare whispering of falling snowflakes. I silently cursed myself as my skirts rustled and caught on grasping twigs, my boots crunching on the freshly fallen snow. I glanced back, wondering if Erik actually left footprints or if he merely floated through the air. Two sets of tracks, one next to the other, trailed behind.
He reached back, his hand outstretched to me as he climbed the slick steps of a bridge. I gripped his strong, slim fingers as if my life depended on it, praying for solid footing.
We stood there, overlooking the frozen river that glittered in the moonlight like a giant diamond and I slipped my arm into Erik's, leaning against his shoulder for warmth. Ice crystals winked and sparkled on the tangled web of dark tree branches, silhouetted against the night sky.
The harsh winter wind snapped Christine back to reality. She had left him out in the cold, alone, save for the brutal, bitter company of betrayal, eating away at him. How could she ever live with herself for doing such a cruel thing?
Christine shuddered and tugged her coat tighter around her. Is this how he had felt? Icy fingers of loneliness and guilt wormed their way deep into her conscience. If things had turned out differently, if she had perhaps stopped and thought about what she truly wanted, she would still be with him now, tucked into his arm, listening to the rise and fall of his voice as he sang to her.
The wind picked up, whistling through the eaves of the fine Parisian homes, sending little swirls of snowflakes dancing and spinning through the streets like white desert sands.
Suddenly, she stopped and cocked her head, listening.
A song, tumbled along on the wind with the snowflakes, the barest wisp of notes reaching her ears but she knew...It was him.
She picked up her speed, fairly running through the streets now, losing the voice then snatching another frayed, whispering note and stumbling after it.
The roads became more uneven, the houses more rundown and shabby faced, and Christine soon found herself in a part of town she had never dared venture before. She knew she shouldn't be here, alone, but the voice still called, she had his voice to guide her...
She strained her ears for another note, just one more, but none came. He was gone, abandoning her in some unfamiliar, dangerous place. She blinked and shook her head as if to clear the confusion from her thoughts. What a fool she had been to chase after the mere whistlings of the wind. She had made her decision years ago and Erik respected her decision - he would never come back. He would only reside in her mind now, in memories, cold, foggy, memories that she could never truly hear, never truly touch, never truly hold.
A single tear escaped, leaving an icy trail on her cheek.