Hey guys! Thanks for all your support. After doing a little outlining over the past few weeks, I've decided to slightly change the direction of the story. It won't require any editing of the previous chapters, but it might change the summary a little. Updates may be a little delayed over the next few weeks, too, as I'm going on vacation. I'll try to get another chapter out, though.
Also, I'd like to give a big thanks to Ripper de la Blackstaff for helping me with some of the French that I'm sprinkling into the story. Check out her Deviant Art Account. She has some hilarious POTO comics, along with some lovely (sometimes steamy :D) drawings of Leroux E/C. Her account name there is RipperBlackstaff, or you can find the link on her fan fiction account under Ripper de la Blackstaff. Enjoy!
Read and Review!
When Nadir came to retrieve her the following evening, Christine no longer questioned their destination. His hesitant gaze said everything, and arrangements had been made the previous day. She silently nodded and arose from the bed, following him down the stairs and to the dining room. The other two men were again absent, which she strongly hoped would continue to be the case.
Inside the dining room, the masked man was already situated with the violin positioned in his bony hands. The yellow eyes settled upon her as she stood before him, her terror of earlier replaced with more of a gnawing anxiety. He nodded once in acknowledgment of her. "We will begin with scales again," he evenly stated, wasting no time with idle chat.
She nodded quickly and cleared her throat. "All right." As he played the violin, her voice went up and down with the notes, smooth and liquid at first and then more staccato. He then forced her to do a pronunciation exercise, in which it took several tries for her to get the remaining tremble out of her voice. If she concentrated on the music, she could somewhat push her situation and fear from her mind.
"I think we have tested your limits," the masked man stated, tilting his head and momentarily setting the stringed instrument onto the table.
"Maybe so," she softly replied, her chest heaving with deep breaths.
"You are disappointed in your ability?" he eagerly questioned, perhaps eyeing the troubled expression on her face. "Now you see what occurs when a gift is neglected. It rusts and decays and festers." He paused, entwining his long fingers together. "Fortunately, in your case, it can be repaired with time. And effort. Are you willing to invest effort, Christine?"
She looked up. "Yes. I said that I wanted instruction."
The eyes glimmered. "Ah...but there is a difference between desiring to escape from your room for an hour and actually wishing to improve. You think me ignorant?" Christine's eyes widened in fear, until she saw that he didn't appear to be angry. "Your situation has not bypassed me, Ms. Daae. I have no doubt that many ulterior motives are hidden in every corner of your mind."
"No..." she started to protest.
"Hush! I told you that I despised lies. Now is your opportunity to decide whether you wish to mold and perfect your voice, to go beyond your own expectations. A second chance, if you will. You will prove whether you truly wish for this, or if it is merely another game."
"I do," she softly stated, the words flowing with ease off her tongue. "I want to improve. I really do. I...always have. "
"We will see."
Slowly raising the violin to his chin again, the masked man continued with warm-ups. Christine began to sing to the best of her ability, fighting for perfect pitch and to reach the notes. He no longer played as high up on the scales, perhaps choosing to take some mercy upon her. When warm-ups were over, the masked man seemed satisfied, making no more comments about her true reasons for being there.
"We will begin working on your aria of earlier today, for I do believe that your voice is appropriate for Bastienne." He paused. "It is a pity. Had you not abandoned your gift, I believe you could have quickly moved toward the more difficult pieces designed for a lyric coloratura. But...the past cannot be changed." An unpleasant shadow of anger passed through the glowing eyes, and his hand clenched into a fist. "Indeed the past cannot be changed." The shadow of hatred faded.
By the time the lesson was over and the masked man had sent her away, she was completely exhausted. Yet, it wasn't the draining sensation of terror and hopelessness that had clung to her soul for these last few days. Dragging her feet up the wooden stairs, she felt the slight sense of accomplishment. She was improving her situation, indirectly improving Raoul's situation, and...she was slowing discovering her voice again. Yes, she had motives, but there were more than just one.
Noticing that Nadir had momentarily stayed downstairs to speak with the masked man, she quickened her pace up the steps and stopped by the room that held her fiancé. Very softly, she rapped on the smooth wood with her fist and whispered his name. "Raoul? Hello?"
"Christine?" His weakened voice was immediately at the door. "How are you? What's going on? I can hear you down there...singing..."
She paused. "Yes. I am. He's still teaching me." There was something awkward about explaining it.
"I don't understand. Why does he want you to sing every day?"
"I don't know," she honestly replied. "He thinks that I could be better. He wants me to improve."
"But, why?" There was an edge of alarm in his voice.
"I don't know, Raoul. But what do you want me to do? Refuse him?"
He hesitated, before sighing softly. "No. Of course not. If your singing is somehow making both our lives more bearable, then continue. But be careful. I don't trust him."
"I will," she replied. "And I promise we'll get out of here. Both of us."
"God, I hope you're right," he whispered. "I keep thinking that someone's going to walk in here one day...and that's going to be it. Once they get to my brother, they'll have no use for me."
"Don't say that!" She was unnerved by the pessimism in his usually optimistic tone. "We are going to escape. I promise we will!"
"Christine." Nadir was standing at the top of the stairs with his arms folded, wearing a frown of disapproval.
She sighed and nodded. "I have to go now, love. Take care."
"Goodbye," he wearily replied. "Be careful."
She knew that his last sentence was in reference to her shadowy vocal instructor. Oddly, though, Christine no longer felt that her life was in imminent danger from the masked man. Unless he was even crueler than she had imagined, she doubted that he would build up her voice only to do away with her. Too much effort was being invested into her. At least, she prayed that was the case.
That night, Christine slept fitfully for the first time since she'd been there, unremembered dreams passing through her mind all through the dark hours. The only thing she could recall when awakening was the face of her father, smiling with what she hoped was pride. He'd said something to her, although no memory remained of it. A single tear ran down her cheek as she opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Sitting up, she noticed that the familiar ray of sunlight had not yet crept into her bedroom. Something else had awoken her.
She looked to see Nadir standing within her bedroom, unsuccessfully attempting to be quiet as he laid several items upon the floor. There were a few brown paper bags, along with two rectangular white boxes. Noticing that she was awake and staring at him, Nadir immediately stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Just some things to make your stay slightly more comfortable," he slowly explained. "A change of clothes...some...well, I will let you have a look."
Her eyes lit up a little, and she hopped off of the cot. "Thank you so much, Nadir. I honestly don't know if I would have survived without you."
He hesitated and scratched his chin. "Christine...these are not from..." His voice tapered off.
"They're not from what?"
"Never mind. It is not important. I will give you some time to look through them before breakfast." Before she could reply, Nadir quickly departed from the room and shut the door. Christine stared after him in confusion for several moments, before kneeling down to the frigid floor. After hesitating for only another second, she began to sift through the papers bags. Bars of soap, shampoo, and a wooden hairbrush were contained in one sack. She briefly smiled at the rosy fragrances of the soap. It had been so long since she'd even seen a flower.
The boxes contained several changes of clothes, including a pair of jeans, grey slacks, a blue T-shirt, and two dressier shirts with buttons and patterns. She brightly blushed at the undergarments, even more grateful to Nadir for going to the awkward trouble of getting them. Pushing the clothes aside, she looked inside to find a toothbrush and some other basic items. Finally, there was another thick book inside one of the brown bags, a collection of some of Shakespeare's more famous works.
Christine leaned against the base of the dresser for a moment, relief coursing through her veins. Slowly picking up the brush, she pulled it through her matted and tangled hair. It felt almost refreshing to do something so repetitive and normal. Softly humming the aria, she then climbed back onto the cot and opened her new book. She would survive this.
Frederick Oliver flinched as the door suddenly flew open behind him, letting in a strong gust of London wind into the entryway, along with the faint scent of rain. It was then violently slammed shut, the crash echoing throughout his enormous home and shaking the whitewashed walls. He had been lying in a leather reclining chair with the intent of taking an afternoon nap and escaping the stress around him. The affair surrounding Phillip Chagny had placed him in a foul and edgy mood. As far as he knew, Phillip was still in China, fretting over whether he should return to the states or not.
Frederick cursed in annoyance and turned around to see who had entered and disturbed the peace. The eldest daughter of his older sister stood before him, her bright green eyes narrowed in fury. His niece was dressed in a flamboyant and expensive scarlet dress that stopped right above her knees. The tight velvet material displayed her generous curves and perfectly matched her sweptback hair. Redheads and their tempers thought Frederick to himself, knowing full well that he was about to be screamed at. He had been expecting it, though.
"That voice message?" she angrily questioned. "What was that about? How dare you ask me to-"
"Come, Carlotta," he interrupted, slowly standing up to face her. "You are taking it out of context. I'm doing nothing but asking you to lay low for a little while. Stay safe."
"Lay low!" she exclaimed. "I'm a singer, for God's sake! I'm on stage almost every day! How can I possibly lay low? I'm just now actually getting somewhere after all of my hard work! And you want me to hide now? How dare you!"
"The rest of our family is taking some time for a vacation, to disappear for a while. Why can't you do the same? Until this all blows over. Do you want to end up like the Chagny boy? Dead!"
"If I leave now, I will never regain my place!" she snapped. "I've worked for years to get where I am, and I'm not hiding away because of your inane mistakes. You're the one who is to blame for all of this! I won't suffer for it!" Her shrill, angry voice echoed off the high ceilings, seeming to shake the ornate pottery and statues that decorated the shelves
"It's for your safety!" he begged, reaching a wrinkled hand out toward her. "No more than a few months. A year at most."
"I'll have bodyguards," she snidely replied. "Surely you can afford them after all you've managed to squander away from people. Get me three bodyguards, and I will be just fine."
"Don't place this all on me," he stated, anger entering his voice. "It was no more my fault than anyone else's. Including Louis Chagny's."
"I don't care whose fault it was. It certainly wasn't mine, and I'm not going to pay for it. Now I do hope they find Phillip's younger brother, but it's certainly not my problem. Opportunities are flying my way, and I don't want to worry about your affairs, Uncle. This is my life now. Not my mother's. And certainly not yours."
"Carlotta..."
"No! I'm done here now. I don't even want to see you again. You will ruin my name with all your stupid scandals. If you truly care about me, you'll get me bodyguards. Otherwise, I have nothing to say to you. "She whirled away from him and stormed back to the entryway of the mansion, head held high in the air and heels sharply clicking against the marble tiles.
"Why, you ungrateful little..."
She was already out the door before he could finish, sending it crashing behind her. Several leaves fell off one of the plants that sat by the front door, and the house creaked on its foundation. With a loud groan, Frederick fell back into the recliner and ran a hand through his grey hair. He briefly wondered if everything would be resolved faster if Phillip Chagny did head back to the states. His younger brother was likely dead by now, along with the little blonde dame that had also gone missing.
Once Phillip died, though, he would be next in line. After the "c" came the "o." Frederick Oliver sighed. He would need more manpower. An annoyed expression twisted his mouth as he thought of his boisterous niece. And three bloody bodyguards.
The next several days continued in an oddly predictable pattern, devoid of terror but thickly laced with unnerving uncertainty. When Christine was not in her room reading or lost in thought, she was down in the dining room, absorbed in music. Each evening began with various warm-ups, some familiar and others not. Still, all the techniques were helpful, many of them doing almost wonders for her neglected voice. Strong criticism came from the masked man during these times, although it was always over her singing and never personal. He made no mention of her fiancé, never attempting to pry information from her. Each session contained music and music alone.
The entire experience was odd, and she didn't dwell on it often. The shadow who had torn her life away, who had almost killed her, who had threatened to kill her fiancé...he was returning her voice to her. Sometimes she felt almost guilty about enjoying the vocal lessons, for when the fear was forgotten, she did love hearing her voice ringing out into the air. And how was it possible to hate someone and be grateful to him at the same time?
She didn't like to think about it.
She occasionally received various items from Mr. Khan, another piece of clothing or a set of washcloths, even a chocolate bar once. He was a bit awkward about bringing them up to her, although Christine always showed her full appreciation. It was only one week later, though, that she experienced several revelations.
Nadir had set down another parcel by her door, before exiting the room. She quickly knelt down and perused through the small bag, smiling as she found a pair of cloth slippers. Ever since she had slipped out of her sandals to run from Nadir on that fateful evening, she had been barefoot. Her feet had occasionally grown numb from walking on the frigid wooden floor, and a small blister had formed on her toe. Fondly, she touched the soft material with her fingertips. Looking down again, she noticed that several sheets of paper accompanied the gift. Christine curiously removed them, her eyes widening in surprise. It was music.
The piece was one of Despina's songs from Così fan tutte. In messy red handwriting, scribbled in the upper right-hand corner, were the words, "Look over this. We will begin tomorrow." The masked man must have told Nadir to give it to her. Unless all of this... She quickly set the music sheets down. Her eyes gazed over all the things that she had received, as she recalled how strangely Nadir has acted when delivering the items. A nervous lump formed in her throat. Unless all of it had been from...
There was no more time to ponder the question. As she sat upon the floor, looking over the music, Christine suddenly heard another door squeak open from down the hallway. Following this sound were the combined voices of Nadir, Raoul, and the bearded man. Christine quickly jumped up and put her ear to the door, feeling her heart begin to pound in fright. She heard Nadir's voice, much more formal than it usually was with her.
"Look, young man," began Nadir. "We need this information immediately. For your own sake, tell us what you know."
"I told you that I don't know anything!" her fiancé exclaimed. "I have no idea what the number of the account is. I didn't memorize it. It's an eight or nine digit number!"
The other man growled something in French, to which Nadir shushed him.
"Do you have any information on it at all?" wearily questioned Mr. Khan to Raoul. "If we find you to be lying, consequences will follow. And not by my hand, either."
"I don't know anything about it!" Frustration was evident in Raoul's voice. Christine closed her eyes and prayed they would leave him alone, refraining from shouting out to them. The door suddenly slammed shut. She heard the bearded man utter a phrase that included her name. Fearfully, Christine stepped away from the door.
"No!" Nadir exclaimed in protest, as the bearded man's footsteps came closer.
"Leave her alone!" she heard Raoul shout from behind his now locked door. "She doesn't know anything!"
Christine flew to the other side of her room, looking around for any way to defend herself. Nothing was large or heavy enough. Even the two bulky books wouldn't work. Her heart throbbed as the doorknob suddenly turned, the door opening to reveal the bearded man on the other side. Shoving an angry Nadir away from him, he walked in with his arms outstretched, loudly commanding her to come. His mouth was slightly twisted in amusement.
Christine fearfully shook her head, her back up firmly against the wall. She yelped as his sweaty hand grabbed her slender wrist and began to pull her forward. "No! Please!" she protested, desperately struggling to yank away from him. He dragged her several feet.
Before she could even blink, the bearded man's grip was suddenly wrenched off of her arm, sending a slight twinge of pain into her wrist. He was thrown away from her, his eyes wide with surprise as he flew backwards. A gasp escaped her lips as the shadow entered her vision, the dark form grabbing the bearded man by the throat and holding him up against the wall. The yellow eyes glowed like that of a predator's from behind the black mask. The tenor voice smoothly spoke as the bearded man gagged and squirmed in impending suffocation. "Si tu la touches encore, je te brise le cou."
The bearded man bobbed his head up and down, frantically struggling to breathe under the deadly grip. After the bony hand finally released his neck, the masked man threw him out of her room, where he landed with a loud thud against the hallway wall. Christine remained frozen, watching and waiting. The yellow eyes gazed at her momentarily, still fiery but unreadable. In a black whirl, the masked figure then left the room. Nadir quickly stepped inside and shut her door, breathing heavily from the short brawl. "Are you hurt?" he questioned.
She slowly shook her head, her eyes still on the door. It took a moment for the shock to leave her. "What happened?"
Nadir sighed. "We needed information from your fiancé, although I truly do not think he knew anything. Anyhow, Buquet intended to use you to get your fiancé to talk...threatened to hurt you."
"Oh..." She swallowed, still wide-eyed. "So Buquet is the one with the beard..."
"Yes. Joseph Buquet."
She paused. "What did he say? The...masked man. Just now to Buquet."
Nadir hesitated, before directly translating the phrase. "If you touch her again, I will break your neck."
Her face paled a little, but she nodded. Suddenly, she felt very tired. Christine slowly made her way to the cot, nearly ready to collapse from fright. Another question entered her mind. "What is everyone else's name?" she asked after a moment, fingering the thin blanket and looking downwards.
"Darius is the younger one," Nadir replied. "I don't think you have anything to fear from him."
She waited before speaking again. "And the masked man?"
A silence passed. "His name is not used often. It may be best that you do not know, unless he wishes you to. If it slips from your mouth, he may not be...pleased, to say the least."
"I promise I won't say it out loud. It would be easier to think..." She sighed. "Never mind."
"To think of him as a human being?" Nadir wryly enquired. She gave no response, almost feeling a little insulted. He started to turn and leave but paused in the doorway. And then he said it, in a voice that was barely audible. Christine blinked twice, wondering if she'd imagined it until she saw the expression on Nadir's face. She mouthed the word back to him, and he gave her a stern look to keep silent, before finally leaving.
When sleep didn't come, she got up and put on her new slippers, before collecting the sheets of music from the ground. Returning to the cot, she began going over the notes and words in her mind, striving with a sort of ambition that had long ago been buried.