Title: The Games We Play
Summary: A thriller that takes place five years after the events from the stage show Phantom of the Opera.
Author's Note: This is a R/C story, and I strongly suggest that if you don't care for R/C and want me to write a E/C story, you need to know that I do not write E/C stories. So kindly close this story and go see to the other +1,000 stories on here that are E/C. I'm writing this for the R/C fans, and those who like a well adapted Erik. And when I mean well adapted, I mean an Erik who has admitted defeat, and is more of a father figure than a rebutted lover. (Not saying that in the beginning he feels that way, but in time he shall.)
I'd also like to add that even though this story is Webber influenced, it does grab one major element from Leroux. It's small, but it plays a HUGE role in this story. (It was one of those comments made but really never embellished on.) There are other little Leroux homages in this story as well, but mainly Webber - Original Cast Webber. If you want to think of what my characters look like, think: Raoul - Steve Barton, Christine - Rebecca Caine, and Erik - Anthony Warlow. It's a combination of the best casts, I think.
This story is quite unique because I think it has not done before. And if you're willing to stick around through it, then by all means, keep reviewing. I have the second chapter completed, and the more reviews I get, the faster this story will be updated.
I have also decided, as of April, 4th, 2011, to go through each chapter of this story and update it. I do re-read over this story from time to time to see what I can improve on. I'm never really satisfied with the way each chapter comes out, but the plot I am satisfied with. So there will be no changes with that!
Thanks and happy reading!
"Oh, Christine, you look enchanting!"
Christine de Chagny marveled at her new evening gown in the mirror. She raised her hands to her waist, and then turned side to side. For how pale she was, she was thrilled that such a dress complemented her so well. The dress had a low collar, a tight bodice, and a gathered green and black skirt with a bustle.
She looked to Annaliese, who was completely satisfied—thrilled at the sight. "It's beautiful! Where on earth did Raoul order this from?" Christine asked.
"London, Christine. He had it specially tailored. Though, where he could have gotten your measurements, I don't know…" Annaliese finished with a sly wink.
Christine went to Annaliese, taking her hands in hers, and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "It's beautiful. Thank you for assisting him." She moved away from Annaliese and to the vanity. Sitting down on the small poof chair, she applied the rouge and lip stick. Annaliese hurried to Christine, making sure her hair was in its proper place.
"I can hardly believe it, Annaliese. Raoul and I have been married for five years. Five years!" Christine smoothed the rouge gently onto her skin with both hands. "Tonight, he has a surprise for me."
"I know what it is, but I shall not tell!" Annaliese finished with Christine's hair. Christine turned around and gazed up at the girl who stood beside her.
To her, Annaliese was a friend. When she and Raoul had moved out to their château in the country, Raoul had hired new help. They found Annaliese, looking for work. Raoul was instantly taken aback by her friendliness, charm, and manners. Christine had also sensed that Raoul had hired Annaliese because of how close in age they were. Christine treated Annaliese as the sister she never had, and she was sure that Annaliese did the same.
"Well, Christine, ready?" She asked, holding out her hand. Christine accepted it and gave one last look at her reflection in the mirror. Yes, she was ready to go.
Raoul de Chagny stood in the parlor of the spacious château, waiting for his wife. It was their five year anniversary, and he had decided to surprise her with something special. Something that he was sure they would both enjoy.
In his hands were two tickets that were wrapped in a crème envelope, bearing his title. He made sure to hide them behind his top hat and gloves, not knowing when Christine would descend down the curved staircase.
"Raoul!" He heard her cry from above, and turning his blue eyes to the top of the stairs, he smiled. There stood Christine in the very gown that he (with help from Annaliese) picked out. She picked up her skirts and hurried down the stairs, her eyes trained on her beloved.
"Christine," he murmured as she came to him, throwing her arms around him and embracing him tightly. He smiled, wrapping his arms around her as well. He bent his head and pressed a quick kiss against her neck to not spoil her makeup. "You look beautiful, dearest."
"I heard that you had some help," she said, looking over to Annaliese who had reached the main floor alongside her. Raoul grinned, and nodded.
"I told Annaliese that I wanted to purchase you something special, and she said a new dress. It took us ever so long to decide the color, but I was glad we decided on green." He smiled at Annaliese who nodded and returned the smile.
Annaliese went to Christine's wrap and Raoul's coat. Christine smiled at Annaliese for a while longer, and then looked to Raoul with concern. "Did you check on Cecilia?"
Within the years, Raoul and Christine were blessed with a child: a girl. Cecilia was the name that both Christine and Raoul had decided upon. It was beautiful, and it suited her perfectly. And, for the child being five, she was certainly a gorgeous little girl.
"She is fine," he said, "sleeping…" He brushed a strand of her hair from her face. "And Annaliese knows where we are going, if anything goes wrong, she will send one of our servants to check in with us."
Christine smiled and kissed her finger and placed it gently on his lips. Annaliese returned with their things, helping Christine into her wrap. And when done, Annaliese took Raoul's hat and gloves (and the tickets that were beneath the hat carefully) and held out his coat. When done slipping it on, she handed his items back to him.
"As I said, Annaliese will call us if anything is wrong," he said, and with a nod, he waited as Christine slipped on her gloves. And holding out his arm, Christine took it instantly.
"Au Revior, Christine! Raoul!" Annaliese said, waving a small goodbye. And she went to the door, locking it soundly.
She hoped that it would be a glorious night for the couple. And the young girl ascended the staircase to the sleeping child.
"So," Raoul said, as they were making their way into the city, "do you wish to know where our evening shall be held?" He entwined his hand within Christine's gloved one, raising it to his lips.
Christine nodded, giggling softly, enjoying how excited Raoul was. "Yes. Please, tell me!"
He slowly withdrew the envelope and tapped a gloved finger against it. And then, he held it out to Christine. She took it in her hands, undoing the seal. She looked up at Raoul quizzically, withdrawing the tickets.
"Tickets, Raoul?" She asked. There was a slight fear seeping into her eyes. Raoul took notice of this, and he instantly pointed to the name on the ticket.
"Dearest, do not fret. Look, see, a Piano Concerto of Victor Lerik. Is that all right?" He asked in all honesty.
Christine lapsed into a silent reverie. Raoul watched her press deep into the cushioned lining of the carriage. This was something he was worried about – Christine and the past. Their past…
Christine was once a chorus girl of the Opera Garnier. Overshadowed by the diva, La Carlotta, she and the rest of the chorus were nothing but empty backdrop to that egotistical woman. But, little did Christine know, someone cared more about the extras, and Christine's future.
He was known only as the Opera Ghost. He appeared long before she had arrived at the theatre, and was known for tormenting the managers. It was common knowledge among those training or taking up work in the Palais Garnier that it was occupied by someone else that kept to the shadows. Everything was his domain. Every person was his puppet…
But to Christine, he was her Angel of Music. Playing off the dreams of her deceased father, and what he had promised her, he took pity on her. He told her the world could be hers if she would believe in him, and she believed. She was a Christian girl, brought up to believe in Angels and Devils. So, who was to say the voice she heard from the confines of her room was not what it claimed to be? The voice was heavenly, and spoke to her in a manner only a priest would speak to a child of God.
But he was a demon, and there was a reason he remained as a 'ghost'. Those who had seen the face of the Phantom had either met with an untimely demise, or lived to serve at his mercy. There were also those who caught fleeting glances – as if to spread rumors. They reported that he had the face of death, and that any who looked into his eyes were greeted with the flames of hell.
Not only did he have this to accredit to his name, he was a magician, a genius, and a composer. These three things allowed him to be what anybody thought of him to be. And, to Christine, he wanted to be her Angel of Music. … Though, she had something he wanted in return.
Raoul's patronage allowed him to attend the Opera free of cost. And there, one night, the announcement of a young chorus girl taking over for the ill diva fell to Raoul's attention. Christine Daaé was to play the leading role! He had thought back to his childhood, remembering the young Scandinavian girl his aunt and he stayed with. Her name was Christine Daaé as well. And she sang like an Angel… If it was her, he was sure fate had brought them together again.
But, The Phantom had plans for Christine… and unfortunately, they did not include Raoul. And when Raoul had sought her out that night, recalling their childhood memories, and to ask her to dinner, he had taken Christine to his world below – his hell.
Oh, poor Christine!
And as Raoul looked upon his bride, he knew this – and more – was flashing through her thoughts. He turned her face to his, looking deeply into her eyes.
"Just say the words, Christine. If you're not ready yet, then tell me. I just assumed it was time to try…"
"I understand," she murmured, "and I have thought about it. After everything, I think it is time. I want to go, this was a wonderful gift. Thank you." She pressed a kiss to his lips, not caring if the makeup smudged.
Raoul apparently did not care either…
The Theatre du Palais Royale was a beautiful theatre. Solo pieces, concertos, and some of the most famous composers in town performed here. Raoul had gone to the place only once when his family wanted to become patrons of the theatre. But they had decided upon the Palais Garnier.
Raoul had ordered Box 17, which was the first tier, in the middle. It would have a perfect view of the stage, crisp and clear sound, and he and Christine could take in the majestic surroundings. Ascending the stairs, Raoul eyed the people around them. Most of them had no idea who they were, he assumed. Though he swore he got a few whispers or pointed stares. And his Christine was oblivious to it all, smiling and taking in the surroundings as if she was a child seeing spring.
Approaching the box, they met with their box keeper. Raoul proudly displayed the tickets, and the box keeper took them into his hand. Beckoning them down the curved hall, he came to a box.
"Madame, Monsieur," the box keeper said, gesturing his hand to an open box, "this is your box."
The box keeper moved aside the curtain, allowing Raoul and Christine to peer inside their box for the night. True, it was not the Opera Garnier, and it could not compare, but it had its own architectural beauty. Christine was taken aback by it as Raoul allowed her in first.
"Please," Raoul said softly, "a footstool for my wife?"
"Of course, Monsieur," the box keeper – who was a young boy – said instantly. Raoul pressed a franc or two into his hand, smiling. The boy nodded and hurried off to fetch a footstool. Raoul moved into the box, taking a look around and at the crowd of people who were taking their seats.
"It seems that this Victor is well liked, Paris is raving about him." He took a seat in one of the padded seats next to Christine. She was reading through the small programe.
"Indeed," Christine answered, engrossed with the names of the pieces the gentleman was to play for the night. "And, his pieces, they sound vastly intriguing." She looked up to Raoul. "This was a wonderful gift."
Raoul smiled, brushing her cheek with his gloved hand. The lights were beginning to dim, and the box keeper returned with a footstool. He placed it at Christine's feet, and she instantly thanked him. Raoul offered his thanks as well, and the box keeper hurried from the boxes, shutting the drapes. The workers extinguishing the lights finished, and moved quickly from the auditorium.
There was no sound in the audience as the curtains opened, leaving only a piano standing alone onstage. And from the left, a man emerged.
Christine lifted her opera glasses, staring down at the man who moved gracefully across the stage.
He seemed not to care of the audience, only of the piano standing in front of him. And when reaching the bench, he reached down and caressed the keys. He sat, flipping his coattails out, and delicately placed his fingers upon the keys. And soon, his concerto began.
He never did falter, nor did he ever look up to glance at the audience. It only appeared that he was using the piano as an outlet, an instrument of fine beauty and magnificence to his work. His head moved in time with his music. Once piece flew into the next…
The couple was in awe as well as the rest of the audience. The music that this man gave birth to at the piano was beautiful, haunting, and twisting. It lured each of them in with open ears, and all they could do was stare in silence.
Raoul had never heard anything as beautiful as when he had heard Christine sing. Paris was right, this man deserved all the praise he was being given. He turned to Christine, and he found himself quite shocked.
She was trembling, her hands shaking the opera glasses. Raoul reached over, taking the glasses from her hands.
"Christine," he asked, searching for a sign, "are you well?"
"Raoul," she murmured, turning to him. He could see tears welling from her eyes. He brushed them away, and she turned from his hand. "I have never heard anything like this… since…"
She did not have to finish. He knew what she was going to say. But he could not help thinking if it was good or bad. He brought his hand to his lips, turning his eyes back to the stage and to the man.
Christine kept to her silence, watching the man perform. She raised the glasses back, and looked to the face of the man. He was older than her, a good twenty years. Though, as old as he was, he was still quite handsome. His hair was pushed back elegantly from his face, and did not stir as he moved. His face was pale in the light, but his lips were red and full. He dressed casually, elegantly, so he was certainly not a peasant by any means.
And, after what seemed like hours, the last piece finished. A thunderous applause broke through the audience. People stood, including the people in the boxes next to them. Raoul stood as well, imploring the composer for an encore.
The composer had slid elegantly from his seat, and did something quite unexpected. He took his work from the piano, made a stiff bow, and exited the stage amidst the applause. Another man took to the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Victor has informed me he would be in the lounge. If you would like to meet the composer, please, exit to the lounge. I thank you all for your generous patronage and presence tonight, and hope that you will return to the Palais." He bowed and moved from the stage.
Christine shakily stood next to Raoul. She looked up to Raoul, who was looking down at her with a slight hesitation.
"Christine," he murmured, "are you all right? My dear, I am beginning to worry."
"I think I need to use the washroom, Raoul," she said, "Can you please escort me? Then we can return home…" She was dazed, confused, and needed to cool her face with water to wake her from her reverie.
"Of course," he said, taking her arm gently and tucking it within his own. "Of course…"
Raoul waited patiently for his wife to return from the washroom, or the ladies parlor. To his right, people were gathering in the lounge to meet the man of the hour. Raoul held back his curiosity to face this man, to meet him… He wanted to know what disturbed his dear Christine so. It was if she had seen a ghost.
A thought had come into his mind, and he was sure it was the same one that Christine was experiencing. And he was also sure that she had not let it rest. That the man onstage was indeed her Angel of Music: The Phantom of the Opera.
But it could not be! This man was quite old, well nourished, and … he was not disfigured. He was a normal man, like everyone else. The fact that he possessed the same talent that this so called Angel had was not unheard of. There were people being born every day, in some part of the world, with talent like any other. Of course, he was discovered only a year ago (so he was told), he was quite sure that this man was not Him.
"Ah, the Viscount de Chagny?"
The voice took him off guard, and he turned his head to see an elder couple. The man was in his sixties, his wife a slight bit younger than him. They bowed to the Viscount, and Raoul returned the gesture.
"Monsieur," he said with a nod, and then he reached out and kissed the hand of the wife. She chuckled. He stared at the face of the gentleman harder. He knew this man. And of course, it dawned on him. This was the owner of the Palais Royale! Of course, it had been five years. But Raoul never forgot a face.
"How did you enjoy the performance? That Victor, he is quite amazing, no?"
"Indeed," Raoul said, gazing off towards the crowd, "the audience does love him. As do my wife and I. She was moved to tears!"
"You are married? Ah… yes, I remember now. The little diva, correct?"
Raoul fumed at this remark, but nodded. "Yes, star of the Opera Garnier five years ago. Christine Daaé, my wife."
The wife of the gentleman gave her husband a pointed look. The older gentleman turned his head to his wife, taking notice of it. He cleared his throat, signaling the change of subject.
"Well, I would be honored if I could meet your wife," he said simply.
"I am sorry Monsieur, but she is not available at this moment. Though, I am sure we will meet again, no?" And with a bow from the couple, Raoul stalked off to find his wife. If it weren't for their gazes burning into his back, he would have clenched his fists.
Christine's face was pale as she looked at herself in the mirror. She took the soft cloth, wiping it daintily upon her forehead.
The music… it had done this to her. It was so familiar, so rich and powerful that only one person could be its maker. And as much as she hoped it would not be, she was sure it was. The Opera Ghost had returned.
Memories flickered before her brown eyes like water. Sometimes, she still had dreams about it. But she did not want to tell Raoul, for she knew that this would not only anger him, but bring him to dote upon her in a way she did not want him to. She wanted to get through this herself.
"No more of your pity, Christine. You have passed that point. We both have passed that point long ago…" His voice smoothly washed over her frightened form, seeping into her skin. She wrapped her arms around the white silk of the wedding gown she now wore. "This is your reality," she felt his hands place the veil upon the top of her head. "This is your eternity – a husband, with a face of death." He turned her harshly around, causing her arms to flop to her sides, and her eyes to stare into the face of her Angel.
She forced her eyes to take in his face as a whole, to picture it as if it were beautiful. But she could not. All she saw was death, staring into her eyes, making her cower before him. His yellow skin, wrinkled, seeping into his skull. His hair was sparse, for she had ripped his wig off earlier upon the stage. And his lips, white and brittle, not soft and full like any other lips.
"My mother could not look upon my face as you do now. She would turn from me. And then, she threw to me something I would never forget Christine. A mask, one which she had worn at countless masquerades! How do you think I felt Christine, to wear something that allowed my mother's face to be hidden? Wasn't that cruel irony – my mother's mask, used to hide her beautiful face, to hide the face of a monster?"
She could only whimper as he shook her harder, growling at her unspoken words. He then touched her veil, noticing it had shifted out of place. He wanted her to be perfect, for she was his perfect bride.
"So you see, Christine, masks were all I knew. I want to know flesh, I want to know…" his hands drifted down from the netting of veil to her cheeks. "I want a face of beauty, and I want to look upon your face. Each mirror, it would hold the image of me and my bride, my Christine. Giving me a face that would look upon me in love! Would that not be fitting?"
She felt the tears run down her cheeks now, and they drifted over his fingertips. He quickly shook his hands free of her face. He marched with determination to the table, picking up the bouquet of fake flowers. He picked up her hands, thrusting the flowers into them. She held them numbly, surely believing they would fall from her hands. He turned from her, looking out to the black, inky lake hidden behind the large gate.
What was giving her more fear: the face or the man? The man was indeed more terrifying than the face. A face was meant to only be looked upon, to give character. But the character did not come from his face. It came from within.
"Your face," she whispered brokenly through the silence, "holds not the horror you wish for me to see. It's in your soul, Erik. Your soul is what makes you who you are. You are distorted from within!"
He turned to her, not believing the words she had spoken. His eyes, dark, and like holes seemed to brighten, to hold something she had not ever seen before. Was it fear?
Voices entered the ladies parlor, allowing Christine to break from her memories. The voices belonged to two younger women, dressed in middle class clothes.
"Could you believe it? I thought she surely left the province!"
"Indeed, what was she doing here? Did she not know she was the talk of everyone tonight?"
Christine wanted to leave, but something in her heart told her to stay. For she was sure these two women were talking about her. The tall one, with her red hair fixed her eyes upon her reflection in the mirror, her lips forming a small o'. The other took notice of her friend's gaze and too saw Christine's face in the mirror.
"Christine Daaé?" The red haired woman murmured. Christine had turned from the mirror, stiffening in her posture.
"No. My name is Christine de Chagny," she said hollowly, moving from the parlor in a blur of skirts. The two women continued to stare at the retreating diva once called Christine Daaé.
It was a beautiful, traumatic evening! She had hoped that for the first time, going to a public performance she would not be dispelled from the property by rumors, looks, and gossip. Did Raoul know of this? Did he protect her from the gossip and the stares?
Oh he was a dear husband!
She was nearing the end of the hall, when a light from a room attracted her attention. Curiously, she looked in at it while she passed. Within the dim light, she could see the figure of a man seated upon a chair, one leg crossed lazily over the other. In his hand was a glass of wine, which remained stationary in the air.
When looking upon his face, she knew who he was. It was Victor, the pianist from this evening. And to her surprise, his eyes caught sight of her and he immediately stood. They stared at each other with surprise and curiosity. Christine moved away from the door, quickly.
"Please," he said, "enter…"
His tone was friendly, and collective. She moved into the doorway, curtseying.
"Monsieur, I apologize for my rudeness. I was returning to the lobby, and I saw the light."
"Calm down," he said, chuckling, "you are like a frightened child." In a serious tone he asked her softly. "Do I frighten you, Madame?"
She gazed at his handsome face, which held deep concern and curiosity. She slowly shook her head. "No, Monsieur. You do not frighten me. I was just… I was sure you wanted your privacy."
"I did," he said, nodding, looking down at the glass in his hand, "but… the wine is gone, and privacy is disturbed." He moved fluidly to the table in the far corner of the room, placing the glass upon the tray. "Forgive me; I have been terribly rude to you." He bowed instantly, his eyes not leaving her. "My name… is Victor." And he moved to her, tilting his head quizzically. "May I be so bold as to ask for your name? Or shall I guess?"
She laughed lightly. "My name is Christine de Chagny," holding out her hand, waiting for him to kiss it. He looked at her gloved hand for a moment, as if considering what to do with it. She found this puzzling, but watched when he took her hand, gently, lifting it to his lips.
"Christine de Chagny," he murmured, slowly placing his lips upon the fabric of her glove. Dare she say it nearly made her shudder? He removed his lips from the quick contact, and slowly let her hand drop.
"Did you enjoy the performance, Christine?"
The way he spoke her name was as if he was addressing a duchess. She nodded. "I will honestly say, Monsieur, you have Paris and I under your thrall."
He scowled, a horrible look crossing his face. He turned away from her, walking to the fire. "Would it disturb you, Madame de Chagny, that I care nothing of the people of Paris? I could care less what they compared sound to. Especially when it comes to my music…"
This surprised her, hearing him talk like this. "Monsieur?"
He shook his head, his eyes trained on the flames. "Forgive me," he said, "my thoughts are not ones I share so openly. Especially," he said looking up to her, "to someone I have just met."
She nodded, slowly. They both fell into silence.
"Christine?"
The voice had caused both of them to look up and to the door. Raoul had appeared in the door frame.. He strode instantly across the floor, taking her into his arms. "Dearest, I was worried about you. After your departure…" When he noticed Christine's embarrassed attention, he turned to the man of the evening, who was watching them with interest.
"Pardon me, Monsieur," Raoul said with kind honesty, "I had no idea that you were here as well. The performance tonight was visionary, extraordinary. I have not heard anything like that in quite a while…"
The word 'quite' had sparked Victor's interest, and he linked his hands behind his back, his shoulders even. "Really, Monsieur? I am quite honored to receive your praise. You must be … the Viscount de Changy."
"Indeed," he said, surprised that he knew their last name. He eyed Christine for a moment, knowing now she had to have introduced herself. "You have already met my wife Christine."
"I have," he said softly.
Christine took in his expression now with curious eyes. There was something different about him, and it appeared to take place as soon as Raoul entered the room.
If he had heard a sound, then bless his ears, for she had heard none. But he had turned back to the gate, staring into the dark waters. And soon enough, she could hear the shuffle of fabric and the splash of water. Someone was coming ashore. And soon enough, the face of her beloved appeared, tired and worn from the journey into hell.
His clothing was ripped, his shirt nearly falling off his skin. He raked a quick hand through his short, sandy blond hair, droplets of water falling into the lake.
"Raoul!" She cried, throwing the flower arrangement to the floor, hurrying to the gate. Not caring if water soaked the heavy wedding gown which pooled around her feet. She linked her hand with his cold wet one, and reached through the bars to touch his face.
"I speak for my bride to be, Monsieur, that we are quite delighted to have you with us tonight. Surely, I believed that you would not come. I wished, hoped, and prayed. And, I must say," he said, a smile crossing his deformed lips, "this has truly made my night."
"Free her now, you monster! She is not some exotic bird to be kept in a cage; do you have no pity for her sanity?"
"Christine," the monster addressed, "I am truly touched. Your lover, his pleading… it wounds my heart."
"Raoul," she murmured, "please… he will not listen."
"Christine, do not fret," he whispered back. Looking back to the Phantom, the ghoul watching them with curious eyes, he spoke loudly to him. "Monsieur, we share a common bond. We both love her. Share some compassion, if you have any!"
"Compassion," he bellowed, turning his back upon them, gesturing to the world above, "the world showed NO compassion for me. We are two different men, but you do make a point – we share a common bond. Love! But, to you, love is just a given necessity, but to me…" he said, whirling around at them, anger in his eyes, "it does not compare."
"Raoul," she murmured, her head falling upon the gate, begging for him to leave. "It is a useless request!"
"Let me see her, I will not ask again!" He called, shaking the gate with as much strength as he could muster. The steel would not budge and it only dug into his hands.
Erik hesitated, looking to his bride. It pained him to see her nearest to tears. With a growl, he moved towards the large organ, moving his hand in a quick gesture. The gate went up, and Christine backed away. But it did not go up all the way, only a little, allowing Raoul to crawl beneath. She looked to Erik, wondering if he would drop the gate, but he moved away from the switch, proving to her he was to be civil.
Raoul slithered beneath the water, and rose instantly. Christine wrapped her arms around him, kissing him fully on the lips. He held her tightly, his eyes wandering over her figure, making sure she was all right. He then dropped his lips to her neck, murmuring her name.
"Monsieur," Erik called, "you are our guest for the night. So, I do bid you welcome."
The gate slid behind them, and Raoul and Christine turned to the movement. But as soon as they did, Raoul fell instantly to the ground, gasping for air. He was then dragged through the water, struggling with a noose wrapped around his neck.
"NO!" Christine called, looking to Erik who artfully brought Raoul to his knees. His strength was remarkable, and soon enough, Raoul began to rise from the water and on shore, some sort of mechanism pulling him up and off his feet slightly, allowing just his toes to touch. She took notice that Erik had stepped away, his hands leaving the rope to the device.
"Raise up your hands to the level of your eyes," Erik mocked, making a gesture with his hand nearest to Raoul's face. "You failed to think that I would do such a thing! You surprise me, Monsieur. Never turn your back on me, never!" He crossed his arms, and with a catlike grace, marched in a complete circle around Raoul.
Christine hurried to the shore, hurrying to Raoul's side. She looked to Erik, who observed her every moment. "Let him go! Please."
"You will let him go, Christine. You see, I don't have to make a choice. You can make that choice; you can save his life…" He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards his malicious, deformed face. "Buy his freedom with your love. Start a new life with me, and he will be free to go. I will give you what you want. But if you refuse me," he said, twisting her arm tightly, "then I shall kill the boy, and fling him into the lake."
"NO!" Christine cried, falling to her knees at the feet of death.
Christine looked to the man who stood across from them. Could it be? No, it was impossible. For one thing, this man was older, kinder, and gentler.
But so was her Angel of Music. Erik was talented at everything, even a simple masquerade could become his greatest feat. She raised a gloved hand to her temple, pressing on it gently.
"Christine," Raoul said softly, "I'm beginning to worry…"
She cast a glance to Victor, seeing his eyes had looked upon her in concern as well. He continued to stare, and this made her feel a bit uneasy.
"I am slightly unwell, but please, I will be fine," she said, gazing up at Raoul with honesty. "Forgive me, Monsieur. I have been unwell tonight. I do not know what has come over me."
"It's understandable," he said, nodding to the couple. Looking to the wall on the mantle over the fireplace, he chuckled. The small elegant clock ticked away the minutes. "It seems my couple minutes alone have been far more than I hoped. So, if you could excuse me," he fell into a strict bow, "it was a pleasure meeting you both."
He walked past them with an elegant stride, and then disappeared into the hall. Christine leaned into Raoul, pressing on her temple more.
"We have no reason to fear that man," Raoul said, "for he is not our Phantom."
"Do you really think so Raoul?" She asked softly. "For, I cannot be so sure. But, let us go home. I will feel much better once I have Cecilia in my arms."
"Indeed," Raoul said, "this night has been most stressful on you." He guided her from the room, being ever so gentle with her condition. "Christine, I apologize. I thought…"
"Please Raoul! The memories are always there, they will never go away. They are a part of who we are. We have a future, we have a life…"
Raoul bent down and kissed her timid, soft lips. "Indeed, we are blessed." He took her arm and led her down the hall to the lobby. Entering the lobby, eyes fell upon them. Raoul asked for a retrieval of their coats. He continued to hold onto Christine as if she was his world, shielding her from the gossip and the glares.
Christine caught sight of Victor, standing by the far side of the room. He was talking to a group of people, but it seemed as if the people were more or less talking to him. He did not look to Raoul or Christine once.
Perhaps he is not the man I think he is…
"I will not give you any more pity, Erik. You deserve no pity. You are no monster, but a cruel and deceitful man who allows his deformity to take control of his life. I hate you!"
Erik fell silent, gazing at his bride on the ground. He could see that she was certainly growing up. No longer did she hide her thoughts, fell timid to his words, she was speaking to him – civil and harsh.
"Christine, I tried so hard to free you. Forgive me if I cannot do any more. But he has certainly won. You must go with him." Raoul choked out, looking to Christine in defeat.
"No," she cried, looking to Raoul, "I will not leave you."
"Do not fight me, Christine," Erik said, "I will not budge from my ultimatums."
She rounded on Erik, staring into his eyes. "I do not believe you. I will not believe you. I may have thought you to be an Angel –
"But you believed in me, still! Do not think I cannot do what I have done. The people I have killed, those whom I tormented. They did not die on their own accord."
Erik marched over to Raoul, but Christine got between them both, holding her arms out protectively.
"Tell me, Christine, who do you choose?"
"Why make her lie to you to save me? You fool. You could have her, but will she ever love you? Will she ever be your bride? No… you would have ruined her." Raoul spat, trying to find balance on his toes as he hung there.
"I could recreate her again!" Erik shouted back.
"Can you recreate her soul?" Raoul gagged. "Can you?"
"I can create anything," Erik murmured, he looked to Christine. "I have created something for you Christine. Something I am sure that you will love me for…"
"No more," she cried, holding her hands to her ears. "I will not hear another word, Erik!"
"THEN CHOOSE!" He bellowed. "Choose now!" He held out the gold ring, his hand shaking tremendously in fury. "This is the point of no return!"
She stared at the ring, the gold bond of unity. The thing that gave him the nobility to say he had a bride, a wife… She was a Christian, she believed in unity in a Church and through a priest. But Erik, he did not believe in God. It all made sense now. She had the ability to save Raoul, but save Erik as well.
She reached out and grabbed his ring, slipping it on her finger. And getting to her feet, she shocked Erik. She was so aware of everything around her, and her dilemma. Her calm, collective pose shocked even Raoul.
"God will give you courage one day, Erik…" With those words, she grabbed his leather like face in her hands, bringing her lips to his own. Erik's lips were quaking beneath hers. They were brittle, hard, and like stone. But they seemed to soften the more she lingered on with the kiss. Erik seemed to not know what to do with his hands, for they hung there, shaking uncontrollably at her sides. Then finally, she felt him slowly bring his hands to her waist, hardly touching her body.
His eyes gazed upon her as she pulled away, and she swore her heart was going to break. For his eyes no longer held anger, but fear and sadness… Something she had so rarely seen.
"Christine," Raoul said, placing the wrap gently upon her shoulders. She took her hands to it numbly. Victor had now moved off to another group of people, shaking his thin hands and congratulating him.
And then, he looked to Christine. She felt shrewd, and so she turned her head away to pay attention to the direction of her husband, leading her out of the Palais. She did not turn back, for tonight was certainly not a night she wanted to remember so well. Especially the man who seemed to embody the soul of her Angel of Music…