Her Savior

Chapter 11: Fights and Flights

Raoul's POV

I felt frustration coursing through my veins like adrenaline as I sat through the end of my interview with the Prefect of Police Jean-Claude Ducoux and the local Inspector Henri Carlier. We'd been speaking in the parlor for two hours, and I'd been forced to stay inside the chateau for nearly six days. I steadied myself, feeling Christine's hand resting on top of mine as she sat to the right of me. Lucien sat on my left, as he'd also been present at the Opera that night and had been asked in to give his account. The rest of my family had been ordered to wait upstairs, save my Uncle George, who was watching over the proceedings. Prefect Ducoux appeared exceedingly unsympathetic, almost suspicious, while Inspector Carlier looked quite unconvinced that I should even be considered in the investigation, his eyebrows furrowed at the Prefect for almost the entire interrogation.

"Monsieur le Comte, when did you first hear of your brother's death?" Ducoux asked, pen poised over his notebook, which was already full of his illegible scrawl.

"Two days after the Opera burnt down," I answered, confidence in my tone so they would know I didn't fear them, even if I did fear the consequences of them finding me guilty. "Phillipe hadn't returned home from the opera, so I alerted the police, who told me they could not start an official missing person's investigation until he'd been missing for more than 48 hours. Just two days later upon inspection of the bowels of the opera they found he'd been drowned in one of the lake traps, one I'd fallen prey to myself."

"So you say," Ducoux remarked, pointedly avoiding eye contact with me.

"So he means," Christine cut in, the anger in her voice matching the levels it had that night in Erik's lair when he had first presented her with her choice; my life or her freedom. The meek girl she had been was extinguished that night, and she was slowly transforming into the no nonsense woman who sat beside me. "There was no feud going on between Raoul and Phillipe over me. Phillipe was like an older brother to me as a child."

"Please Miss Daae, do not interrupt me," Ducoux said, eyeing her with mild annoyance, sounding as if he was bored.

"She is the Comtess de Chagny Monsieur Prefect," I added, doing my best to keep my voice even, squeezing my wife's hand. "Please refer to her as such."

"Fine, fine Monsieur le Comte," he brushed me off, turning back to his notes. "And you left the opera after finding Miss…the Comtess, correct?"

"The opera was burning down Ducoux," Inspector Carlier said, obviously tired of Ducoux repeating the same questions by twisting the words around over and over again. "Of course they left. Barely made it out, according to the reports of your own officers. Both of them had to see a doctor."

"And the fire was started by this unknown man, this Phantom of the Opera?" Ducoux continued, ignoring his subordinate.

"With all due respect, I think all you need to know about the incident at the Opera Populaire can be found in the reports and testimonies from your own department, as the Inspector said," I responded. I refused to give him the details about our confrontation with Erik.

"So you had an altercation with this…Phantom, and then fled?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, growing less even tempered by the second.

"And do you happen to know what happened to him?" Ducoux asked, staring me down.

"He released us," I said, feeling a slow tremble staring to overtake me as the memories of that night swept through my mind, as the idea that I was suspected of murdering my beloved older brother sank in deeper, into every fiber of my being. "I have no idea what happened to the Phantom," I lied. "He's most likely dead."

Before either policeman could respond, Lucien spoke up, and I could feel the tension emanating from him.

"It's ridiculous that you could even suspect Raoul in the first place," he began. "It's also insane that you're opening up a case that closed five months ago, a case that was deemed an accidental death."

"Yet you said yourself the deceased followed the Comte down into the cellars," Ducoux pointed out, eyes flickering over to Lucien.

"Because he was worried for his brother's life!" Lucien all but shouted. "Phillipe didn't even begin his journey into the cellars until 15 or 20 minutes after Raoul had gone down! Raoul didn't even know his brother had come after him until I informed him."

"Yes, so you've said," Ducoux said, barely acknowledging Lucien's words, his eyes roving back over to me. "And you went to the cellars while the opera was on fire…to rescue your wife from this Phantom?" The ghost of a smirk appeared on his countenance. "Seems a bit brash doesn't it? Not just trying to cover for her, are you? So she wouldn't be scandalized by her relationship with a known madman, a relationship your brother might have discovered…"

I made to stand, adrenaline pumping through my veins, fury flooding through every inch of me like wildfire, but Lucien seized me and pulled me back. I looked to Christine whose eyes were wide with shock, tears beginning to swim within the dark blue orbs.

"I think we're done here, Monsieur Prefect, Inspector Carlier," Uncle George said, cutting him off completely in a tone that left no room for argument. No matter the charges levied against me, the de Chagny name held some sway, especially coming from my uncle, my father's younger brother who was a retired and decorated admiral in the navy.

"What's to be done?" I asked, watching as both men complied and put away their note taking materials. "How much longer am I to be under house arrest? And I'd like to know what prompted the reopening of this investigation."

"All will be told in time," Ducoux answered, standing up and picking up his bag.

"I have a right as a French citizen and the head of this family to know why my brother's case has been reopened! And you will be careful not to insult my wife again."

"It will all be settled in time Raoul," Carlier said, dispensing with the formalities for a moment. "But for now the house arrest remains in effect. Take care."

Inspector Carlier tipped his hat to us as walked out, but Ducoux made no such gesture, acting as though he had been given license to treat everyone as though we were no better than the scum on the bottom of his highly shined shoes. The only sounds cutting through the sick silence that fell after the door closed was the noise from above, as Adelaide, Cossette, and Aunt Claire came down from the nursery to join the four of us.

"What happened?" questioned Adelaide the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, golden hair coming loose from its elegant updo. "What did the officers say?" She was jittery from nerves, I could tell, words coming forth from her mouth in a rush, blue eyes widened.

"Give them a moment to catch their breath, Adelaide dear," Aunt Claire cautioned, looking weary.

I suddenly felt claustrophobic with all the people in the room desiring answers, desiring to know what the next step was when I was all but in the dark about the investigation, my fate, all of it. I plastered a confident expression on my face, hoping it would fool my family, for I so wanted them to feel secure, so wanted them to not have lose any more sleep than they already had.

"There's nothing new," I said, noting that they all surveyed me with worried expressions. "I must stay under house arrest until further notice. But I'm sure it will be all cleared up soon. They've got the testimonies they wanted and must know there's no evidence to support the charges. It's just…" I found it difficult to remember what I was saying second to second, the whole affair starting to take its toll on my mind, the buried feelings of guilt I felt about Phillipe's death rising to the surface.

My eyes looked over to Christine who looked more and more distressed by the moment, something that wasn't good for her or the unborn child she carried. I reached for her hand as my Uncle George spoke.

"I'm checking in with my police contacts in Paris Raoul," he said, eyebrows furrowed. "This whole thing is suspicious, especially after the incident with Chevalier a few weeks ago."

I nodded. "I agree. I think looking into that is the best we can do at this point, at least until they allow me to leave this chateau. I feel rather useless." It was true. I wanted so much to investigate, to talk to the police to find out what was going on, to perhaps see if Chevalier was behind it, but all I could do was sit and wait, unable to even send post of my own.

"Raoul," Cossette said, coming toward me and placing a hand on my shoulder, ever feeling the need to comfort me as any elder sister would. "Don't say that. You can't help what's happening."

"I just need some rest," I said, grasping her hand for a moment, and then turning to Christine. "You need to rest too, love. Are you all right? I'm sorry he kept insulting you. The nerve…"

"I didn't pay him any mind," Christine said, leaning in to give me a swift kiss on the lips. "Go rest, I'll see you in a bit."

At her words I went up the stairs, feeling Aunt Claire's hand touch my back as I passed, intending to make my way toward mine and Christine's suite of rooms, but stopped outside a familiar door, heart racing slightly. I dared to open the door to Phillipe's study, finding it unlocked. Upon stepping inside I found that nothing had been touched since he'd died, nothing out of place down to the half-full ink well resting in the center. Phillipe had spent several weeks here shortly after I took my place as patron at the opera, saying the fresh country air would do him some good before confronting the busy winter social season in Paris. I sat down in his chair, noting that the room still smelled of his favorite pipe tobacco, my mind floating back to a not so distant memory.

"Phillipe!" I exclaimed, wrenching open the door to my brother's study, seeing his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Raoul!" he said, face lighting up. "Early aren't you? I wasn't expecting…"

"Thought I'd surprise you," I said, cutting him off in my excitement. Before I quite knew what was happening his arms were around me in a firm embrace of greeting which I returned wholeheartedly.

"Come, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him, a distinct twinkle of pride in his green eyes that looked just like our father's.

"It's so good to have you home," Phillipe said, running a finger over his blonde mustache, a wide grin playing at his lips. "Your weeks of leave weren't quite enough for my taste."

"It's good to be home," I answered, leaning back in the leather chair, cracked from use but fitting almost perfectly to my form from all the times I'd sat upon it. "Nice to be standing on firm ground rather than a rocking ship. And to see you of course. I might have missed the nagging of my older brother every once in a while." I smiled playfully, fully aware that Phillipe knew how much I'd missed them all during my time in the navy.

"An impertinent lad as always, even if you have been all over the world," he gently teased. "Some things never change. Adelaide and Cossette are set to arrive Thursday, so I'm afraid you're stuck with just me for a few days."

"What a bother," I said sarcastically, propping my boots on the edge of his desk, watching as he predictably shook his head, trying to sound stern.

"Get your feet off my desk boy," he said, affection in his tone as he nudged my feet off. "You have the finest manners of any man your age in all of France, yet you seem to quite forget them when in my presence." He rolled his eyes in gest at my efforts to irritate him. "Now I've arranged for us to spend the month here doing nothing but riding and lazing about on the portico. Sound appealing?"

"Very much so," I answered, sitting up straight again. "I'd like nothing better. I made some fine friends aboard the Borda, but none of them could quite measure up to you." I met his gaze, hoping he knew just how sincere I was. There wasn't a better brother in all the world.

"I'm proud of you Raoul," he said, a sort of fatherly glow emanating from him. "You follow in our ancestors' footsteps and bring honor to our family name. Father would be proud. And mother as well. You do remind me of her."

I felt struck by the same strange sadness I'd felt all my life when my mother's name was brought up. I had her eyes I was often told, as well as several key facets of her personality. My father had always been overprotective of me, as though he feared what had killed my mother in childbirth would somehow transfer to me. My siblings had often intimated to me that Father was much less talkative after Mother died, like a piece of him had gone with her. Phillipe suddenly had the expression that something had dawned on him as he looked at me.

"Oh!" he said. "That reminds me. I've decided that our family is to become the new patron of the Opera Populaire in Paris. They are under new management, and I know how much you enjoy the arts, music especially. I thought you might like to take up that duty."

"The Opera Populaire?" I questioned. "That's where Christine Daae went to live after her father died. I do wonder if she's still there."

"Christine Daae?" Phillipe said, looking intensely interested. "Your friend from Perros? Whose father taught you to play the violin? You haven't seen her since you were 14, Raoul."

"I know," I answered, thoughts of the girl with the chocolate curls, dancing blue eyes, and the heart of an angel intoxicating me for a moment. "But that summer her father died she went to live at the Opera Populaire under the care of the ballet instructor Madame Giry, who was an old friend of her father's." I stopped for a moment, a flash of her sad smile as her carriage had driven away forefront in my thoughts. "I think I fell in love with her when I first saw her red scarf floating out to sea," I mused, remembering how the ocean breeze had pulled curls loose from the bright yellow ribbon she used to tie them back, how tears fell like diamonds from her eyes at the thought of losing her beloved scarf, one of the few remaining articles that had belonged to her mother.

Phillipe tilted his head, raising one eyebrow at me. "You were nine, Raoul. Can one fall in love so young?"

"I don't know," I said, feeling an odd warmth spreading throughout my body. "I think maybe so."

Phillipe was quiet as he surveyed me, a small smile on his face.

"You are ever the romantic little brother," he said as he rose from his chair. "What do you say to a brandy?"

"I'd say I'd love one," I responded. "I do know one thing however."

"What's that?" he asked, curious.

"I'm quite sure I'm now a better shot than you are."

In response to my cheeky remark Phillipe ruffled my hair as we exited the study, a habit that had been a trademark of my childhood.

"Phillipe!" I protested, unable to stop myself from laughing. "I'm not a child."

"You're 20," Phillipe argued, very much amused. "Just because you've seen battle and been to all sorts of places, I still have leave to tease you at my leisure."

The sound of the study door slowly creaking open brought me out of my reverie, and I looked up to see Christine entering, making sure to close the door behind her.

"Aunt Claire thought you might be in here," she said, sitting down in the chair across from me. "She said you always came in here to talk to Phillipe when you were distressed, or had discovered something exciting."

"I did," I responded, a monumental sadness knocking me in the pit of my stomach. I looked up at her, this beautiful promise of my future, the pain and frustration of all that was going on ebbing a bit. "I believe there's an imprint of my body on that chair you're sitting in."

She laughed, and I marveled at how even that sounded like a melody. She moved to cover one of my hands with hers, expression growing solemn. She looked wore wan that usual, I noticed.

"Raoul," she began, averting her eyes. "I know you might not want to hear this, but I really think we should consider accepting Erik's help in clearing your name."

I looked at her, not thoroughly shocked. I had been half expecting this conversation since we'd left the woods, but I felt an unexpected twinge of annoyance at her words. Christine and I scarcely argued, and we'd never truly fought, so I wasn't sure what was to come.

"I can't do that Christine," I said, feeling my entire body tense up even more. "I can't trust him. It's impossible."

She looked up at me now, a determined gleam in her eyes. "If there's anyone that can find out information, that can get around the authorities, it's him."

I put my head in my hands, running exasperated hands through my hair. "What good would it do to go around the authorities, Christine? It would get me in even more trouble. Putting that kind of faith in him would be insane. I know we can handle this. I'll talk some sense into them, with Uncle George's help. They haven't got any evidence, and to arrest someone from this family…" I knew I was half-rambling, but I found I couldn't control it.

"Your family name won't get you everywhere!" she shouted, cutting me off in mid-sentence. "They've already got you under house arrest. It's just a precursor to what's to come!" she said, voice so high it came out almost as a squeak.

"I know my family name won't get me everywhere!" I said, raising my voice despite myself. "I don't want it to get me everywhere. But I also know that putting my trust in a man who kidnapped you and tried to murder me isn't a good idea! He burned down the whole damn opera house for his own ends!"

She stood up, placing her hands of either side of the desk, cheeks reddening in anger. "I know that," she snapped. "God knows I know all of that," she began. "But he let us go. He came to our home the night before the wedding and attempted nothing. He attempted nothing in the woods. He's changed. The fact that he offered to help shows that! Don't you want your name cleared?" she asked, a sheen of tears starting to cover her eyes.

"He didn't attempt anything in the woods?" I asked before I could stop myself, regretting my words instantly.

"Do you not trust me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me for the first time in my memory.

"Of course I do!" I said, absolute sincerity in my tone. My eyes caught on her face, and in that moment I loved her so much it was painful. "But you can't argue that he sparked a passion in you that I can't measure up to. I saw you during Don Juan, I just…" I trailed off, unable to finish.

She sat back down, quiet for a moment in her astonishment. The deep-seated fear that I'd sworn I'd keep to myself had erupted forth in the stressful sitation.

"I was acting in Don Juan, Raoul," she said. "I love you. I married you. I'm carrying your child."

"I know you love me," I responded, heartily wishing I'd never let those few words slip from my mouth. It was silly of me to doubt her I knew, but a sinister voice inside kept egging me on. "But I'm the safe choice, aren't I? I'm your foolishly naïve childhood friend. I'm not a musical genius, I'm not mysterious."

"This is a bit off topic isn't?" she asked, folding her hands tightly in her lap. "I came in here to try and find a way to make sure you go free."

"Just tell me the truth. Please," I asked, restraining myself from shouting now that she had ceased doing so.

Before I quite knew what had happened I found Christine on the other side of the desk, pulling me up with as much strength as her small hands could muster and shaking me by the shoulders, looking frazzled.

"What do I have to do to convince you?" she asked, voice rising again. "Am I not a good wife? Am I not…"

"Of course you are! I don't want anything but for you to be yourself!" I said, my voice matching her volume level. "Don't be ridiculous Christine!"

"You're the one being ridiculous!" she countered, letting go of me and starting to pace back and forth, much like I did when anxiety overcame me. "You've got to know I have passion for you! It took every ounce of my virtue to wait for you until our wedding night! And I happen to quite like safe, thank you very much! God, that's all I've wanted since my father died, was to feel safe again. And you do that for me. You are all I ever wanted…for years."

I didn't think I'd ever seen her let go like this, not even when we were knee-deep in the middle of the fiasco at the opera house. I took her hand and she didn't pull back at my touch, her eyes boring into mine with a hard gaze.

"You have to let him help you Raoul! You just have to! I can't lose you!" What was a near scream poured from her throat, and I was quite sure that my family must have wondered just what was going on.

I felt a familiar knot twist in my stomach, sending a burning flood of nerves throughout.

"How can I do that?" I asked, still incredibly unsure. I desperately wanted to reassure her, especially now that I saw why she was so anxious to have his assistance, but I just couldn't see how I would rationalize allowing Erik into my life, allowing him into this gut-wrenching accusation that I had murdered my own brother. "I can't trust him!"

"You have to!" she repeated, squeezing the life out of my hand. "If not for my sake then for the baby's. You have to."

"I would do anything for your sake and the baby's," I said, feeling unbidden tears spring to my eyes.

"Then do this," she whispered.

"I ca…" I started, before being interrupted by a third, most unexpected voice coming from the direction of the open window in the study.

"Lover's quarrel?" asked Erik, his black-clad form startling both of us. "How sweet."

Christine spun on Erik, surprising me with the vehemence that laced her tone.

"Don't Erik!" she exclaimed, looking braver than she ever had in the face of his presence. Gone was the naïve young girl who had once believed he was the angel of her father sent from heaven. "Just don't. We've…we've got enough problems. Are you here to help or not?"

"Well from what I can see your husband dearest doesn't want my help," Erik seethed, trying to maintain the façade that he wasn't surprised that she had snapped at him.

"I don't understand why you want to help," I said, feeling my beating so hard that I could see it beneath my skin. "Tell me why."

"Why should I cater to you, boy?" Erik shot back.

I felt Christine move closer to my side, fear emanating from her, although she tried to hide it.

"Erik, please," she whispered. "Either tell us why you're here or please just leave us be to figure this out."

Erik sighed, looking conflicted, his grey eyes cold.

"I will not," he began stiffly, the words clearly causing him pain, his humanity breaking through the coating of ice that always covered his eyes. "Allow the sacrifice I made to be put in jeopardy because of someone trying to frame the Vicomte over a petty aristocratic squabble. The police are coming for you," he said, looking me directly in the eye, the potent dislike still evident. "And are set to arrest you and place you in prison until the completion of the investigation."

I stood frozen to the spot, Christine's grip on my hand feeling as though it might break it in two.

"They're coming now, you fool," Erik continued.

"How do you…" I began, but was cut off by his harsh, grating tone.

"I'm an excellent spy," he said. "There's something suspicious going on. But if you want to avoid prison, you should come with me."

"And tell my family what?" I shouted, the growing insanity of the situation overcoming me. "That I ran off with the Phantom of the Opera who previously tried to kill me?"

Erik looked ready to pounce on me, but Christine moved in front of me, eyes pleading.

"Raoul, please, please go with him," she begged. I hated seeing her so vulnerable, so terrified. "I can't bear to see you go to prison. Please."

"Christine," I tried to argue, my hand shaking profusely. "This can only make things worse, cause more trouble. How can I trust him? How?" I searched her eyes for the same security she had searched for in mine during those final dark days in the opera house, during those lost summer days when she'd known her father had only days left to live.

"Trust me," she said, grasping both of my hands now.

"Come with me," I whispered, knowing I was out my mind.

"No," Erik cut in, ceasing his position as a silent specter. "Christine coming will only lead the police down our trail faster. She will stay here until we return."

I opened my mouth to argue, not wanting to leave Christine, but was interrupted by Aunt Claire opening the door to the study. She closed the door behind her, not looking the least bit afraid of the man dressed all in black standing rather menacingly in her dead nephew's study.

"I thought I heard raised voices," she said, moving closer. "You're only lucky I convinced the rest of the family it was nothing. May I ask what's going on here?"

I was unnerved at her calm, and it took me a moment to answer. I gave her the facts, clear and simple, because there wasn't time for anything else.

"The police are coming for me, Aunt Claire," I said, watching as her face fell, the lines etched into her pale skin even more pronounced. "Erik," the name felt unnatural on my tongue, but I had nothing else to call him but 'opera ghost,' "found out, and thinks something suspicious is going on."

"And is trying to persuade you to escape from here before they arrive?" Aunt Claire asked, filling in the blanks for herself.

"Yes," I answered.

"You do realize this is outrageous," she replied, eyes flicking over to Christine for a moment before looking back at me. She seemingly refused to acknowledge Erik. "Absolutely incredulous."

"Aunt Claire," Christine said, letting go of my hand and taking the family matriarch's. "Something terrible is happening…I feel it. We've got to get Raoul out of here while we figure out what's going on, try to figure out who exactly is behind this."

"This man kidnapped you. He tried to kill Raoul. He isn't directly responsible for Phillipe's death, but it was his water trap that killed him," Aunt Claire said, sounding harsh with Christine for the first time. "And you expect me to trust him with the life of my nephew, my dead brother's son, the head of this family and the father to your child?"

"Please," Christine said, gaze completely focused on this woman she'd come to love and respect.

After a solid minute of silence, Aunt Claire inclined her head in a nod. She walked over to me, embracing me with all the terror, uncertainty, and affection that swelled in her heart.

"Take Phillipe's sword and pistol," she said, gesturing over to the chest in the corner. "He would want you to. We won't sleep until we uncover this. Please come back to us, Raoul. Promise me." Her voice contained a certain desperation appropriate to a woman who had lost too much.

"I will," I said, telling myself repeatedly that it was indeed true.

"We don't have time for any damn goodbyes," Erik said. "We've got to go."

I turned from Aunt Claire to Christine, who looked more resilient that she had moments before. She grabbed my face, fingers running themselves tightly through my hair.

"You will back to me," she said, a fierceness in her tone. "Do you hear me? You will come back. And we will have this child and we will be happy. We will be young again."

I nodded, too emotional to say anything. I rested my forehead against hers for a fleeting moment, before Erik roughly grabbed my jacket sleeve and pulled me to the door as Aunt Claire handed me the aforementioned sword and pistol. With one last glance at my wife and aunt, I climbed out the window and onto a waiting horse with a person whose face I had wished to never see again.