A/N: I posted Chapter 2 earlier today. I don't really like Christine, but I hope I'm keeping her true to Leroux's original Christine. If not, then I hope I'm at least keeping her a constant character. You know, as constant as a girl can be. (FYI: I'm a girl. We're pretty indecisive.) Anyway, on to the story.
Disclaimer: It greatly depresses me each time I write this, but I don't own Christine, Erik, or any other character which is the wonderful invention of M. Gaston Leroux. The plot does, however, belong to me, even if it only barely belongs to me. In fact, so little belongs to me, that if you really want to praise this fanfiction, after you've posted a review, please praise the uniquely gifted M. Leroux. (Good luck with that one :D)
In the split second before Christine fell, Erik tried to pull her back. He tried to save her, to reach out and grab her, but she was already gone. Without any hesitation, he dove in after her, barely noticing the envelopes that were falling with them. She had already hit the water by the time the Phantom was halfway down the cliff. He broke through the water surface with a resounding crash, his golden eyes searching the darkness with ease. Sometimes, being a "ghost" was convenient. Soon, he found her pale outline, sinking quickly to the bottom of his lake. Gracefully, he swam to her, wrapped her up in his arms, and carried her to the shore. He coughed out a little of the water he himself had breathed in due to his complete and utter surprise, then gently lay her on the ground.
She was unconscious. Erik racked his mind, trying for the life of him to remember how to bring a drowned person back to life. It came to him! At last, he set to work, and-after a few desperate moments-Christine began spitting out water. She coughed and hacked and gasped for air. With a moan, she slowly fell back to sleep: drowning can take a lot out of a lady. It wasn't until then that Erik remembered the two, strange envelopes that had escaped his wife as she fell. With a speed that radiated anger, he turned round to check on the letters. He spotted them and stalked out into the shallow water, scooping them both up and examining them. One was open (though the broken seal was clearly the Comte's) and the other still shut (obviously sealed with the seal he had purchased for the ungrateful girl). Neither seemed to have been affected by any ink-smearing malfunctions. Christine would definitely have quite a bit to explain, once she woke up.
The Phantom returned to her with a sigh and lifted her into his arms. Angry with her or not, he couldn't let harm come to her, whether it was drowning or freezing. He carried her to her room and tucked her into her bed, then sat in a chair, waiting for her to come back to herself. But he grew impatient with waiting and began reading the letters. As he began to read the Comte's, his anger escaped his control. The way this arrogant little boy described him… it was unforgivable! He had no thought of reading Christine's letter, and instead roughly shook her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open, and she began sputtering questions. "Oh, Erik, where am I? What happened?" was repeated multiple times.
"Stop toying with me, you cheating Jezebel!" he roared at her, pulling her away from the warmth and comfort of her bed. He held her roughly by the wrist and shoved Raoul's letter in her face. "A letter to his dearest Christine, from your Raoul!" he described it, as if she couldn't recognize it. "About how you, his darling, must have patience while he makes preparations! After all, Mme. Christine de Chagny, he shall only be another week!" He misread her disbelieving stare, understanding it to be that she couldn't believe that it said that. "No? Very well, let's read it together," he insisted. A cold arm wrapped around her shoulders and clutched her uncomfortably close to his chest. His grip was harsh, and his skeletal fingers seemed to dig into the flesh of her shoulder.
"'My dearest Christine,'" he began, poison on his breath, "'I fear by the way you write that the monster has already begun to possess your better judgment.' Oh, what's the matter? Don't want to hear it? Christine should have thought of that before she replied to it, yes?" He shook her own, un-sealed envelope before her face.
"Y-you haven't even read it! My Angel, please, try to understand!" she pleaded, affectionately caressing his shoulders. Yet, this didn't seem to affect him; he didn't even seem to notice.
"Why should Erik try to understand the claims of an unfaithful wife?" he demanded, but he opened the letter regardless. While he read the letter aloud, the hand holding her shoulder gradually loosened until he let go of her completely. Christine staggered backward, then tenderly rubbed her shoulder. Her eyes searched the skin, which she found covered with bruises. She looked back at Erik, but he no longer stood before her. Instead, he groveled at her feet, on his knees, begging for forgiveness.
"Oh, Christine, Christine," he murmured. Emotion held him back from being able to talk much louder than a whisper. "I apologize. Please, my dearest, forgive your poor husband. He knew not what he was saying. He loves you so deeply that he was taken with jealousy, but his anger was misplaced. Please, my love, accept my most humblest of apologies. I don't deserve your acceptance, your forgiveness… Yet, please, I beg of you, grant it to me still."
"Oh, Erik," sighed Christine as she knelt with her husband. Her gentle, loving hands lifted his face so she could see him. His pleas for forgiveness halted immediately when she did. "You have nothing to apologize for, and I have nothing to forgive you for. Listen to me, it was a mistake anyone could have made. Now, get up. Please." But he did not. Rather, he simply crouched forward again and shook with tears.
"Oh, Christine is so very understanding of Erik! She is so good to him, too good to him! Erik does not deserve her!" he insisted. "Nothing Erik can do will ever be worthy of Christine!"
"Now, you stop that!" Christine argued. "All the beautiful things you give me…. Why, you give me everything I ask for! You put my happiness before anything. Of course you deserve me! So, I'm begging you, stand up!" He met her concerned gaze, then nodded in agreement. He stood upright, then offered her his hand. She gladly took it, relying on him to help her up. He looked down awkwardly and bashfully.
"I'm sorry," he said, handing her the envelopes, "but you'll have to rewrite the letter to M. le Comte. Uhh... Are you feeling well? You took an awful fall and nearly drowned." They were still hand-in-hand; it seemed Christine hadn't noticed, but Erik certainly had. It made him nervous, but in a good way.
"So that's what happened!" she exclaimed, then realized something. "If I fell into the water, how is it neither letter is ruined? Shouldn't the ink be at least a little smeared?"
With a smile, the Phantom shook his head, answering, "I have Mme. Giry coat my incoming letters in my own invention which keeps the ink from thinning out. The ink in which you wrote your letters is also my own invention. I needed a simpler way of getting my notes across the lake."
Christine felt as though she should have thought of that. Yet, the girl knew she never whould have. Her own mind was nothing compared to Erik's genius. She became suddenly aware of the cold hand wrapped around her own and pulled hers back. A rosy blush colored her cheeks, and Erik smiled shyly at her. "I'll leave Christine to her writing, then," he muttered as he ducked out of her room.
She set her letter on her desk and began copying it. Before signing it, she added;
Please, stay away. There's nothing you can do to change my mind. I don't want my mind to be changed, either.
As soon as her signature graced the bottom of the page and her seal held it shut, she sent the little envelope across the lake. A pair of yellow eyes watched her from where their master sat at his organ. They smiled when Christine left the lakeside, as they became worried she'd fall in again. She caught him admiring her and went to his side.
"Where were we with the last vocal lesson?" she asked as she sat next to him. Without answering her, he began her lesson. He didn't need to answer her, he just wanted to hear her sing. Her voice filled the chamber slowly, quietly at first. He began with more simple exercises, to ready her throat for the ensuing challenges. Eventually, he found her voice was ready for the song he had in mind. He began the melody and taught her the lyrics with his own voice. Her voice finally joined his, somewhat hesitantly growing to his volume. As they sang, their voices intertwined into a wondrous and interesting harmony.
The song deafened the two to the outside world, so they couldn't hear when there was a ring at the door. The ringer grew more vigorous in her attempts to catch their attention. The visitor normally could have appreciated their song, but she was too worried to do so at this time.
After a while, the music died down and Erik could hear the impatient ringing of his bell. He sighed, got up, requested that Christine wait patiently for him, and went to the entrance across the lake. So few people knew about his caverns that he knew who it was.
"Mme. Giry, you know better than to interrupt Erik when he is singing," he muttered darkly, "especially when he has a chance to sing with his wife."
"Yes, I know this, Erik," she answered, sighing. "But MM. Moncharmin and Richard have decided to sell your box. They insist that since it has been so long since they've heard from you, that you must no longer exist."
"Erik does not need his box when he has his Christine," the Phantom insisted, slightly exasperated.
"I'm sure you don't," she responded, "but that's another thing. They miss Mlle. Daaé-"
"If you'll please refer to Christine as her proper name, Mme. Giry," he interrupted, "she is no longer Mlle. Daaé. She prefers to go simply by Christine, or Mme. Christine."
"Have you really changed her so much?" she asked, then quickly changed the subject. "Regardless of this fact, they miss 'Mme. Christine.' They also insist that unless you prove that they are not simply paying a figment of my imagination, they'll stop paying your salary."
"Erik needs not his salary when he has…" he cut off, realizing something. All the beautiful things you give me… the words explaining why Christine cared echoed in his mind. In order to give her these things, he needed his salary. In order to get his salary, he needed to find a way to prove his existence. He groaned in frustration
"These things are not as easy as they seem, are they, Erik?" Mme. Giry asked, then turned to leave.
"Wait!" he instructed. "A note should suffice, yes? Hmm... yes, yes, Erik shall write to the managers a note. A threatening note. Then they'll believe that Erik still haunts their halls. Even if the halls are not what Erik truly haunts." Mme. Giry waited slightly impatiently for the note Erik had promised her.
The Opera Ghost fled to his room and politely requested that Christine retire to her own room. She quietly obeyed, leaving him to write in his signature red ink. After half of an hour, he returned to Mme. Giry with his carefully written note. "If those fools do not respond to this, Erik will find a better way to catch their attention," he said deviously.
Mme. Giry nodded, slightly amused, and headed off to the Manager's Office. She slid the note under the door and walked off quietly, hoping Erik hadn't promised anything too ridiculous.
A/N: I just have a knack for ending each chapter right as a note/letter is sent or received (or, in one case, noticed), don't I? Regardless, I know, I was incredibly vague as to how Erik resuscitated Christine; that's mostly because I know I'm not knowledgeable in CPR, and I want this to be at least semi-realistic (all things considered). I hope you're enjoying this story! If so, please review! If you have any comments, reviews are appreciated. If you would like to chat, just PM me, but no "No, ur wrong! Its suppost to b lyke dis!" PMs, please. Only intelligent arguments if you really want to disagree with me. I still stand behind my thoughts that Raoul is a selfish, greasy-haired, bourgeois brat. Almost nothing you can say will change this idea.