"Something is going on, Andre."
"What do you mean?"
"Christine suddenly changed her mind about singing and then decides to sing a song with a mystery composer," Firmin explained.
Andre faltered, completely unsure of what to say.
"You don't think…not him..." he trailed off.
"The Opera Ghost."
"If what you believe is true what should we do?" Andre asked.
"Talk to her husband."
"Apparently it's easy enough to find him," Andre sighed, "He's found in the same bar every night."
#
Christine had been home for two hours when the door slammed and heavy footsteps heading towards her. She turned around to face the man who had entered the room but it was not the man she had expected. It came as a shock to a very sober looking Raoul standing in front of her.
"You didn't tell me you were going to sing at the Opera House again."
"I was going to-" she began.
"No you weren't," he interjected, "And I want to know who wrote that song."
She froze in horror as her husband's expression filled with anger.
"He's back, isn't he?"
All she could do was nod her head in reply. The anger in his face was replaced with hurt and shock. He stepped backwards and sunk down against the wall, his head in his hands.
"Why? After everything he did."
"I owe him," she replied.
"What on earth have you done that puts you in debt to that monster?" Raoul asked.
"I can't tell you," she sighed.
"Christine," Raoul whispered, standing up and crossing the room to stand close to her, "I am your husband, stop hiding things from me."
A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She couldn't tell him. If she did everything they had would be finished. He was thinking now, his brow was furrowed in concentration.
"What do you owe him?"
"It's been ten and a half years since I last saw him," she lied, "I hurt him."
Raoul sighed and pulled her into a tight embrace. She was crying but he remained perfectly composed. Then suddenly he pulled away.
"Why did you just say ten and half years?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's been almost thirteen years since we escaped that night," he continued, "So why did you say ten and a half?"
"I made a mistake."
"No," he muttered, "You saw him again after that."
She didn't deny it or agree with him.
"Christine, where did you go the night before our wedding?"
The whole world seemed to spin as he stared at her waiting for an answer.
"I was in my room the whole night," she lied again.
"No, I came at about midnight to check that you were alright but you weren't there. I never mentioned it because I didn't want to know."
When he didn't get a reply he continued.
"Am I Gustave's father?"
It was as if her whole world collapsed when he asked that question. What could she say?
"I don't think so."
His face became pained as she spoke and his eyes filled with sadness. He walked to the other end of the room, towards the whiskey decanter but changed his mind when he arrived there.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
This time he remained silent. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
"I'll stay at a hotel tonight," he called, "I'll be at the opening tomorrow night."
As soon as the door slammed Christine broke down. She sat on the ground beside the piano and sobbed. Everything was going wrong.