The viscomte took supper with his wife for the first time in more a month, much to Christine's surprise. The two of them spent most of the meal in silence, though Raoul found that the silence didn't necessarily mean they weren't having a meaningful conversation. The way she avoided his eye, the way she closed herself whenever she noticed his gaze lingering on her. He could see that there was something she wanted to say, but even with all the liquor running through his blood he had the tact to allow her to believe he didn't notice.
"Your dress is quite lovely, is it new?" he asked, the silence finally growing unbearable for him. Christine glanced down at what she wore, as though she had forgotten what she had dressed herself in that morning.
"Oh, thank you," she said after a long pause, "Yes, your sister sent it for me. Apparently this style is the height of fashion in England right now."
"I see," was Raoul's reply. He did love dark green on her, it was so striking against her pale skin, and the dress she wore was such a deep green that he would've assumed she had a date that night if she wasn't his wife. "Are you going somewhere this evening?"
Christine froze, glancing up at him from her soup.
"Where would I be going?" she asked with a forced, nervous laugh. She hadn't given any thought to what she was wearing to supper. Truthfully, she'd felt the color was more glamorous on her than the dresses she'd been wearing, and she found herself feeling nostalgic for the glamorous things she'd worn on stage at the opera. She didn't dare tell Raoul that, however. She knew that he would take it wrong, that he would take it as evidence that she really had chosen the Phantom over him deep below the city that fateful night.
Raoul looked her over skeptically, but returned his attention to his glass of wine. Christine was glad for for the momentary reprieve. She had not expected him to speak to her at all.
Far below the city, Erik made his way slowly through the catacombs, silently moving through the sleeping camps of others like him, unwanted and unloved by those in the city above. He was growing weaker and he knew that if he remained where he did he would die, but his death would be anything but natural. The others who inhabited the same area he had were capable of the same cruelties Erik was. All they would've needed was to stumble upon him while he rested and he would have shortly come to draw his last breath.
He found it easiest to move at night. He could only tell it was night because of the silence that fell on the catacombs. In the daytime, noise from those who occupied these chambers echoed throughout. At night, the only sound was the occasional moan of air rushing in as a new person stole away into this place where no one would ever find them.
He turned down a narrow tunnel that he knew led to a ladder to one of the upper levels. He hoped that the group that hung out at the top of that ladder would be fast asleep when he got there. There were more people on the higher levels, but they were less likely to murder a man for the rags he wore. All but that one group. He'd heard talk from people passing what they'd assumed to be his dead body that people had a tendency to go missing at that juncture, never to be seen again. Not that it was an uncommon occurrence for people to go missing down there.
Erik came to the ladder, which was illuminated by sickly yellow light from high overhead. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of life. He could hear someone snoring, but that was the extent of the noise traveling down the shaft. Erik stepped up to the ladder and looked up, squinting against the light, which was blinding in comparison to the near pitch black conditions of the tunnel he was coming out of.
After thinking his decision through, he reached out and placed a shaky hand on the rung that was about eye level with him, and began to climb the ladder.
Raoul begged Christine to accompany him in the front room after their supper, and once more she found he looked so much like the man she'd married- and not the monster who could only touch her when he was loaded- that she couldn't say no. He took a seat on their tiny sofa and beckoned for her to come and sit next to him. She hesitated, but finally crossed the room and sat next to him, placing her hands delicately in her lap as she turned to face him.
"I-" Now that he had her attention, the viscomte found he was at a loss for words. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was what he intended to admit to his wife, but he felt horribly embarrassed for the words that he needed to tell her. Met with her gaze, he could feel his face flushing pink.
"Yes, Raoul?" she asked, her voice hardly a whisper. The viscomte swallowed hard and took a deep, shaky breath.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you," he said, "I haven't told you where I've really been going nearly every day for these past months."
Christine's eyes widened in both shock and hurt as she listened to her husband. She was certain that he was about to make true what she had assumed. Her heart was breaking before he admitted to anything but concealing something from her.
Raoul couldn't bear to see her beautiful face twisted in such a way.
