Gone.
Just like that, Christine was gone. Erik watched with grief stricken eyes as she and that boy disappeared down the lake.
"Christine..." Erik whimpered, sobbing into the veil she had left behind. "Christine, I love you...
The Opera Ghost felt lost. What was he to do without his ingenue now? Everything in his twisted mind felt distorted and clouded over. The harmonies and music that once filled his head were silent.
As he wept, Erik tilted his head up as his ears picked p the sound of angry voices approaching.
One side wanted to remain slumped on the floor, awaiting death at the meaty hands of the mob that thirsted for his blood.
But another, willed Erik to rise. Disappear. Like the ghostly facade he perceived himself to be, he had to disappear. Leaving the veil on the floor, Erik made his way over to his throne. Erik had many parlour tricks up his sleeves, this disappearing act would be his final one as he placed the cloak over himself.
Days later, things had quieted down since the first and final performance of Don Juan Triumphant. Headlines in Paris read: "GHOST OR MADMAN? SO CALLED 'PHANTOM OF THE OPERA' UNMASKED AT OPERA PREMIERE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND"
When the mob reached the entrance to Erik's home, the Opera Ghost was nowhere to be found, save for his mask on the seat of a throne like chair. All of Paris was on guard for him, the national guard with orders to shoot on sight as they now had a good description of this masked man.
Raoul scowled reading the paper, slamming it down on the table.
"I should have turned him in the moment his back was turned. How could they not have found this lunatic?!" He said outraged.
Christine frowned, "Raoul, please don't say such things."
"How can you still defend him Christine? He nearly killed me! And almost forced you into marrying that monster!"
"But he let us go! A monster wouldn't do that. I love you Raoul, I did what I had to to save you. But he was still for so many years my mentor...and my friend." She argued, "Please let's just put this all behind us."
The Vicomte nodded, "Yes. I'm sorry I raised my voice, I just...I almost lost you Christine. If anything were to happen to you, I could never live with myself."
Leaning down to kiss her, Christine let a hand move up to caress Raoul's smooth cheek.
Her fiancee didn't have a single imperfection on his face, and coming from a wealthy privileged family. Life was so very kind to him. And on the other spectrum life had spat in the face of her angel. Feeling so shunned due to the distortion of his looks, he felt the need to flee underground, posing as a ghost.
She loved Raoul, but she felt so terrible leaving her mentor, friend, and angel crying and alone.
Raoul wanted them to start a new life elsewhere together, he had suggested England. A fresh start far away from Paris. But before she lef, Christine knew there was one last thing she had to do. One afternoon while her fiancee was busy making arrangement for their voyage, Christine knocked on the door hoping her hunch might be right.
The door opened as she was greeted to a familiar face.
"Christine?" Madam Giry asked, surprised to see the young brunette outside her home.
"Good afternoon Madam," Christine greeted, "I wonder if I could talk to you. May...may I come in?"
"Of course my dear," She said stepping back to let Christine inside the small home.
"Christine!" Meg appeared, running over to hug the brunette. "Oh, it's so good to see you! I was so worried, I hadn't seen you since the disaster."
"Yes I'm sorry about that. Actually, that was partly what I wanted to talk about."
Madam and Meg exchanged looks, as the blonde cleared her throat.
"I'll make us some tea!" Meg said, scampering into the kitchen.
"Why don't we sit down Christine." Madam Giry suggested, leading her to the parlour room. "The Vicomte told you about that night didn't he?"
Christine nodded, "Raoul said you helped take him to where we were. You knew the way into his home. And before that, you were always the one with the Opera Ghost's messages."
Giry nodded solemnly.
"I know what you're going to ask my dear, and I must strongly advise against seeking him out." The older woman said, as Meg returned with a tea tray in hand.
"I just need to see him one last time."
A scowl formed on Giry's face, "Christine. I don't think you realise wha state of mind he was in once he escaped. I'm not saying I think you were wrong in fleeing with Raoul, far from it. But Erik has suffered through enough torment without needing to be reminded."
"Erik?" Christine paused, "Is that his name?"
Madame Giry nodded, "He is not a sinless man, but he is also not a bad one. Don't ask me child, I can' help you."
"Please I beg you Madame! I will be in your debt if you tell me where he is! Raoul and I are leaving France, I don't imagine we'll ever be coming back. I just need to say goodbye, I owe my angel that much."
The Giry's exchanged looks of concern.
"Maman, you should tell her. Please?" The blonde asked.
The older woman sighed, "You must go alone, make sure you are not followed."
Christine nodded, "I promise!"
Madame gave Christine the location, advising extreme caution if she were to go. Not just about being followed. After seeing the deranged raggedness of Erik's demeanour when Giry found him, it was clear the Opera Ghost's mind had become further unhinged.
Before Christine left, Meg called her back.
"Here," The blonde dancer said, handing a familiar porcelain mask to the brunette. "I think he would like this back."
"Thank you," Christine said, taking her leave.
It took a few days before Christine found the courage to take a carriage to Rouen. So this was where her maestro was born, according to Madame Giry. The town seem so small and quiet, much more peaceful than the large busy streets of Paris.
The carriage slowed to a stop at a small house on a dead end road. Stepping out of the carriage, Christine handed the driver five francs asking him to wait outside the house.
Stopping in front of the door, Christine took a deep breath. She was nervous, but was it fear that made her tremble?
Plucking up courage, the brunette tapped her tiny knuckles against the door.
She waited a few minutes and was met with silence.
Perhaps Erik wasn't here. But even in such a small rural town he surely wouldn't be walking around in plain sight, he had to be in hiding. Maybe since he didn't know who was at the door.
"Hello?" Christine called, knocking again. "Erik? Angel, are you there?"
As she knocked a little harder the door slowly swung open with a creak, but no one was there. The door was unlocked and ajar.
"Hello?" The brunette called.
It was mid afternoon outside, but inside the house it was shrouded in darkness. Squinting her eyes in the dark, Christine could hardly see a thing.
"Erik? Please, it's Christine. I just want to talk to you." She called.
Feeling her way in the dark she bumped into a table, on it Christine felt papers scattered on it. But they felt torn up or crinkled. As she walked through the dark house, desperate for a light source she could feel the crunch of more parchment beneath her shoes.
Her hands outstretched she felt something else. It felt like fabric, and when she pressed her palm against she felt a weight to it.
"Oh Angel please let it be you. Please I'm scared, turn on a light." She whimpered.
But something was wrong, she clearly felt the shape of a person, but whether it was her maestro or no they didn't say anything nor move.
Christine felt around and finally her hands wrapped around an extinguished candelabra. The brunette had a pocketbook of matches and with fidgeting hands lit the candles. Finally, Christine had light.
But as she looked around the room she suddenly wish she was back in the oblivious dark.
Christine had been wandering through a sitting room that was a mess. Most of the furniture was covered with a white sheet. But what wasn't covered looked as though a tornado had run rampant. Two armchairs were overturned, there were toppled bottle of wine on the table. Some of the rich red fluid had spilled onto the table, glasses smashed. She could see remnants of a shattered mirror, shards of glass stained with dry blood.
The crinkled papers Christine had felt earlier appeared to music. But the scores were unfinished and ripped to shreds or crumpled into balls of parchment strewed about everywhere. On the pieces she could make out, she could see her name scribbled messily in red on several pages.
But that wasn't what made Christine scream.
What she felt earlier was indeed a person, and it was indeed Erik.
The brunette felt hot tears stream down her face as she shrieked, staring up at her maestro's body suspended in the air.
Backing away, she tripped over the fallen chair falling on her backside.
"N-No...no I..My god.." Christine whimpered shakily, bringing her hands up to her wet eyes.
Tears still fresh and flowing, Christine finally stood up staring back at her angel's lifeless face.
He was still dressed in the same immaculate suit, but it was dishevelled and dirty as if he hadn't changed since that night she last saw him. His hands were bloody and she could see tiny pieces of glass in his knuckles, that would explain the smashed mirror. He was without his wig or mask, even in death his lifeless eyes reflected so much sadness and despair.
He was suspended by a familiar red noose. The same punjab lasso Erik had used to kill Joseph Buquet, Piangi, and almost had the chance to use on Raoul.
And now it seemed the master of stranglers had let loose his own lasso upon himself.
Christine couldn't bare to leave Erik like this. Her body trembling, Christine turned rightside one of the chairs stepping up on it, she held the tiny flame up to the rope. Enough burning away to weaken under Erik's weight, the body toppled to the floor freed. Dropping the candelabra, Christine rushed down to Erik's body. As she held his head in her hands, his disfigured face felt cold, his malformed lips a bluish tinge.
"I'm sorry." Christine weeped, embracing his body to her. "I should have come sooner. Erik, poor unhappy Erik. I'm so sorry."
Christine felt a heavy burden on her shoulder.
"My god this is my fault" She whimpered, "Erik, please, please forgive me."
She knew couldn't stay, she would inform someone that Erik's was here. She didn't want him to just lay here and rot.
Kissing his cold forehead she sniffled.
"I won't leave you alone Erik, not again." She whispered. "My poor angel"