Part 4
"Are you sure this is the right way?"
"Yes, I am sure, Monsieur."
It had been nearly twenty years since the day of the planned wedding. For twenty years, Raoul de Chagny combed through the catacombs, just like the past. Except this time, he did not have the Persian with him.
His bride-to-be had suddenly vanished just minutes before the beginning of her final dance, and he had good reason to suspect who had taken her.
Him.
Who else could it have been? He had finally chosen the day of their wedding to claim her back!
He never gave up searching for her, despite the interests of other girls. It was his Christine, not the phantom's, and he will not stop until Christine was back in his arms.
Unfortunately, this meant that Raoul had to search the catacombs for her. He doubted that this phantom figure could've ever escaped undetected, seeing as the mask would stand out wherever he went, no matter which country.
But there was no sign of any masked man, not in France, nor in Germany, not even in America.
He highly doubted that he even left the catacombs. He must still be in here, holding Christine captive. Keeping her from him.
The search party had been going on for twenty years, and almost always the passageways led them back to where they started. It was getting repetitive and tiring for the party, yet Raoul would have none of it. He had to constantly hire new members to search with him, and thus they never made much progress in the maze of passageways.
Still fuming about the change in the search party, he suddenly realized that he was walking past different-textured stone.
"Ah! Gentlemen, this must be it!" he excitedly pointed at the difference in the wall. "Quick, get someone to tear down the stone!"
It wasn't long before that entire section of the wall crumbled due to the age and the beatings. Already, they could see what used to be someone's furnishings through the hole in the wall.
"You guys stay here," Raoul warned. "I'm going in." He cautiously stepped into the hole, taking his time to admire the antique beauty of the surroundings.
He had to admit, the phantom did have style. Despite the thick layer of dust on top of nearly everything in his lair, it still held faint, potential beauty.
There was not a single sound of life.
"Christine?"
"Christine? Christine?... Christine… ?" Some dust was disturbed by the echo and steadily rained down, creating something akin to mist. Shaking slightly at the ominous occurrence, he continued onward. Fortunately, the lantern in his hand had a covering, so he wasn't afraid of the flame dying out.
He was afraid of what the dust implied.
Are they no longer here? Did I spend my past twenty years searching for nothing?
He quickly noticed the blood trail on the floor, blurred by the dust. Fearful, he bent down to examine it, noticing that the blood dried long ago. He let out a sigh of relief, accidently blowing away some of the dust. He got up and began to follow the trail.
Eventually, he found himself in front of a dark door.
He opened it.
The room was silent, dark, and as dusty as all the others. In the middle of the room was a coffin, with a journal lying on the very top of the coffin. He picked it up, flipping through the pages and noticing that this was the phantom's.
How did he know about my affairs? Did he really stay away from Christine for that long? Hell, I could barely keep away for a day… He must genuinely love her…
He flipped to the final page, noticing that this last entry was written in blood. And in Christine's handwriting.
2 August 1882
I cannot stand it anymore. Now that I realize that I love him, he is gone. I can do nothing to reverse the damages I have done upon him. His masterpiece, Don Juan, published under another name because of me… I condemned him to crimes he did not do, just because of Raoul...
And I cannot face Raoul, knowing that he has done so much behind my back…
The fact that he lies before me, dead because of me, is when I finally acknowledge that he and I should have been together. That I am drawn to him as a moth to a flame. That even now, as I write this in my own blood, that it is not his face which ever bothered me, but rather his unearthly powers.
I too am starting to feel weak from my blood loss. No, this is nothing in comparison to what he felt like in those three months leading up to his death.
Forgive me Erik. I have failed you.
But forever shall we part nevermore.
-Christine Daae
Not knowing why, but Raoul suddenly had the urge to throw open the coffin. He did just that.
Two skeletons, clad in a formal suit and a bridal gown, were locked in a deep embrace, their teeth touching as if they had been kissing when they died. The white gown bore bloodstains around the sleeves; otherwise, it looked as if they had just married.
Raoul collapsed in front of the coffin, breaking down into heavy sobs.
She's been dead for twenty years. She wanted him over me.
I shall hear her voice nevermore.
An hour after Raoul left the search party, they became restless and entered the lair themselves. They found Raoul, slumped on the floor, clutching his stopped heart.
One final entry was added to the journal in his other hand.
I forgive you, Christine... Forgive me, Christine...