Authot's Note: There is a piece in this chapter that points back to Leroux, Meg Giry in particular. I'll give virtual brownies to anybody who can point it out in their review… Aside from that, thank you for all of the watches and the few reviews… I'd love to hear how you think the story is going, ideas, questions, etc. so please feel free to leave them in a review.
"Good morning," Raoul yawned in a sleepy moan.
"Good morning," Christine said wearily.
He turned over underneath the covers and offered his lips to his wife. She cautiously took them, hoping that the intruder from the night before were no longer watching. She knew how much it pained him to see her and Raoul in such bliss. Her mind raced with the thought that he could still be there, lurking behind the walls of their home just as he had at the opera, watching her every move and studying every grace about her. He was the master of shadows and she knew he could easily have found ways of turning their home, her one safe haven, into another domain for purposes of his own. Christine began to tremble, mortified now as she began to imagine his eyes peering over she and Raoul during their pleasurable time before they had first fallen asleep.
"No more nightmares?" Raoul asked blindly.
Christine returned a cool stare, but Raoul hardly noticed.
He scratched the back of his head clumsily and sat up from his side of the bed, his night shirt falling back down over his knees as he walked. Christine watched as her husband pulled out one of his finest tuxedo suits and laid it across the bed. He turned to the armoire and opened each drawer noisily, pulling out him socks and bowtie and tossing them beside the fancy attire, turning to smile sheepishly at Christine. Her eyes were wide with question as he pulled up his trousers and slipped a leg through them.
"Where are you going?" she asked quietly.
"I'm meeting with le Baron de Castelot-Barvezac to go over his properties and leases," Raoul said. "Have you forgotten?"
"No – I mean," Christine fumbled over her words, still recovering from her lack of sleep. "I mean, yes, I suppose I have."
"No matter," Raoul said; pants buttoned up, night shirt hanging over them, kneeling down toward her. "I shan't be long."
"Of course," Christine said, wearily looking about the room.
Raoul placed a firm hand on her knee. She couldn't let him know that she was still dwelling on the voice from her dream. She couldn't tell him that even outside of her dreams, she knew he was still with her. That even at that very moment, she could feel is powerful stare piercing into her, waiting for her to be alone again. She smiled affectionately, trying to hide her worry with reassurance.
"You know, you could always come with me. It would do you good to get out into public again, and maybe—"
"No," Christine said quickly, "Thank you."
Raoul looked at her steadily, trying to read her expression.
"I'm not ready," she said quietly.
She knew that she feared society more than she feared her past at the Opera. While this looming piece of her former life still silently haunted her, it was the people of Paris who would vocalize their opinions of her and the ordeal. Everybody had their opinions and they all fell onto Christine's lap. Raoul was the hero of it all, pulling his rescued love from the depths of Hell, while Christine was never really the victim, but in most eyes, the second villain, toying with the love and affection of the privileged Viscount. Now, with his brother Philippe de Chagny dead, whispers began to form over the true reason the Victome was murdered and how Christine had fallen into the role of Vicomtess.
It didn't help that Raoul's own sisters fueled the rumors, overtly expressing their opinions of the "little opera brat" and her intentions in charming their brother's affections. The entire trial was a mess and Christine preferred to stay away from it all, safe in the comfort of his home – their home.
"Very well, then," he said, squeezing her knee and rising to his feet. "But promise me, you will try and put this all behind you?"
Timidly, Christine nodded.
"Good," Raoul said, planting a firm kiss on her lips and removing his nightshirt, replacing it with a crisp new top.
He hurried through his ritual of dressing and fixing himself up, washing his face and returning the proper wave into his hair. Before Christine truly felt she was awake and functioning, she was seeing him to the door, kissing him good-bye and watching him climb into the carriage outside of the gates. She sat by the window to watch the carriage pull away and remained looking out into the street for some time. Her mind was distracted by every little spark of a thought that entered, trying to keep thoughts of darkness away. Yet somewhere deeply beneath the surface, she could sense that foreboding presence all around her.
Christine sat up immediately and walked to Raoul's chair where his newspaper was laid out for him by Sarah. She snatched a book as she walked by and pulled it open as she dropped herself into the seat, trying to find comfort in pulling her legs up into her chest. Her dressing robe was still wrapped around her, giving her legs accessibility to freely move. Her hair was pinned back, but falling down over her shoulders from her tossing the night before. She found no reason to alter its appearance with nobody to see her aside from the house maids and cooks.
The book sitting in her lap was a piece of Maupassant literature, something Raoul had picked up for her to read a month prior. Christine let the pages fall open and she began to slowly take in the words of the page. She read of Duroy's ascent from the military in Algeria to a journalist and the help offered by a friend's wife. In her help, Duroy comes to love the woman and makes sexual advances toward her. She denies them until her husband falls ill and eventually dies. It is shortly after that the two are married.
Christine dropped the book into her lap and thought for a moment as the section of text she went over occupied her mind. Each word in the perspective of Madeleine Forestier, the wife of Duroy's friend, seemed to make Christine ache with recognition as she was in the middle of the husband that she loved and the charming Duroy. She could sense her anguish in decision and relate her fondness for two men, separate from each other yet equal in their realms of living. The room felt as if it were closing in around Christine now, making her throat feel dry with anxiety as she could feel the man of the darker realm watching over her again.
"Christine…" the voice called.
"No," Christine sighed.
"Christine…"
She covered her eyes in her hands and shook her head, trying remove the ringing from inside of her head by pressing against her temples. Her body quivered tensely, guarding itself from the cold lingering around her.
Was he standing beside her now?
She jerked her head around to find nobody.
Yet everything around her felt so cold and damp…
Christine could feel herself breaking into a soft perspiration, dappling her neck and cheeks. She closed her eyes. The dew slid down her back like the fingers of her memory's existence, pulling a deep gasp from low inside of her throat.
Her eyes ripped open, followed by a shudder and quivering breaths.
"Christine…"
She looked behind her, but there was nobody there.
It must be a dream, she thought, sitting herself back up in the chair and looking around the room.
She stood up and felt the book slide off of her lap, falling straight onto her toes, sending a throbbing pain through her foot.
Christine sucked in a breath of pain and reached down for her foot, holding onto the toes and pushing the book to the side.
This isn't a dream, she realized.
"Erik?" she called out timidly.
This isn't a dream.
"Christine…"
Oh, God, it isn't.
"Oh, God," she said, backing up into the chair behind her.
She pulled at her robe, pulling the sleeves down lower to try and cover every inch of her.
She looked desperately around the room, trying to find the source of his voice; searching for his yellow eyes again.
They were nowhere.
"Where are you, Erik?" she called out, almost angrily.
Rather than a response, Christine swore she could faintly hear the plucking of a violin string radiating throughout the room. It came from no particular location, much like she heard with his voice, but it echoed throughout the room, pulling louder and louder until she could plainly hear it radiating inside of her head.
He's here…
"Oh, God."
The harsh plucking turned into a slow, droning tone scratching heavily against the strings. A crescendo built into a melodic tune, turning Christine's worried features into an ecstatic rush, turning her around the room wildly, searching for the music's creator. Euphoria took hold of Christine's senses as one long note turned into a spill of short strikes against the strings.
It had been so long since she had experienced music…
The music sang in Christine's ears, filling her with a wonder that left her paralyzed in the center of the room.
"Erik, show yourself," she whispered.
"Yes…" the voice returned.
Christine stood, center of it all, her arms stretched up over her head, beckoning her angel of music back to her.
"Come to me," Christine called, her arms stretching further into the air.
The music continued, pounding inside of her mind beginning to make her head ache, yet she continued, arms in the air, calling for the angel to return.
"Please, come to me," she called.
The music seemed to fade…
Is he going to appear? Just like he once did?
It seeme to disappear into the walls of the room, out of her head and away from everything, like he was about to appear to her again.
"Come to me," she called again.
"Christine," a voice called.
Christine closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to focus.
"Erik," she whispered.
"Christine!"
Her eyes flew open and she turned to find Sarah standing rushing toward her.
"Christine, are you alright?"
Christine shook her head, trying to make sense of the situation. The music... so quickly evaporated back into the heavens. How had Sarah heard, when nobody used to hear back at the opera?
"Christine?" she called, her hands now shaking her.
Christine looked directly at her, looking into her plain features. She searched within her eyes for an explanation, but only saw that Sarah was searching for the same.
"Are you alright?" Sarah asked, grabbing hold of her hot cheeks. "You were shouting."
"I-I'm fine," Christine said.
"You're trembling," Sarah said nervously.
"It's no bother," Christine said stupidly.
"Madame—"
"It's alright," Christine said. "Thank you."
Sarah searched her more, trying desperately for reason.
"Please," Christine said, realizing she hadn't breathed in some time. "Please, Sarah. Do not tell Raoul about this."
"Don't tell Monsieur de Chagny?" Sarah asked, appauled.
"Please," she reemphasized.
"Yes," Sarah said slowly. "As you wish, Madame."