Sometimes in the dark, Christine still hears Erik's laugh.
She remembers the way he seized her, forced her to look at his face-hardly a face, really, more like a skull-and laughed, an awful laugh that chilled her blood. She remembers Erik whisking her offstage in the middle of the performance and down to his lair. She remembers the shock and fear she felt when she peeked through the window into the torture chamber and beheld Raoul and Inspector Ledoux gasping for air in the unbearable heat. She remembers the terrible choice Erik laid before her: turn the scorpion, become his bride, and save Raoul's life...or turn the grasshopper and blow the opera house and everyone in it to bits. She remembers the sound of the approaching mob, and Erik pulling her away from Raoul and through the secret exit. She remembers leaping out of the carriage and landing in the road, the impact knocking the breath from her body. She remembers a pair of arms, Raoul's arms, around her, helping her to her feet and leading her to safety. She remembers a multitude of voices assuring her that it was all right, that it was over, that the Phantom was dead, that Joseph Buquet had been avenged, that the opera house would be terrorized no more. And she remembers the final unhappy discovery: the drowned body of Philippe de Chagny, found floating in the flooded cellar.
Christine had never seen Raoul cry before that night.
A funeral took place, and then a wedding, the latter delayed by the former; it wouldn't have been right to marry so soon after burying the bridegroom's brother. Christine did her best to support Raoul after the funeral-she knew what it was like to lose a mother and a father, after all-but he would withdraw into himself for days on end and worry her greatly. Finally, when it seemed to them both that the period of mourning had come to an end, Raoul announced that he was ready to attend a wedding.
The new Comte de Chagny and Paris's rising opera star were married on a crisp autumn day in a modest but lovely church. Christine remembers kissing her husband for the first time and thinking she could not possibly be happier. She remembers the happiness lasting all day and night and throughout the honeymoon...until they returned to Paris, where the Opera Ghost's name was still on everyone's lips, frequently alongside Raoul's name and her own name.
Christine fears that she will never escape Erik.
She lies in bed next to her sleeping husband, listening to that laughter echo in her ears. Why won't it go away? When will he stop haunting her? She fancies that she feels the touch of a hand on her face, and cries out.
Raoul awakens and rolls over. "Christine, was that you? What's the matter?"
She cannot lie to him. "It's...it's Erik, Raoul. I know he's dead, that he can't hurt me anymore...but I can still see his face and hear his laugh when he made me look at it. I don't know if I will ever forget him." She feels tears stinging her eyes, and blinks.
Raoul's arm enfolds her. "Perhaps you never will forget him, Christine, but in time, you won't remember him quite as strongly. I know. I've seen things in the navy that make me shudder when I think of them, but they don't plague me as they once did. Erik is not here. I am, and I always will be."
Christine closes her eyes and feels the warmth of Raoul's body beside her and the strength of his arm around her. She breathes deeply, relaxes, and nestles against his side. "Thank you, Raoul."
"Of course. Good night, my love."
"Good night."
In the de Chagnys' bedroom, all is blessedly silent.