Christine curled up closer to the warm body in her bed. She smiled, contentment filling every cell in her body. "Mmmm... Raoul." She shot up. "Oh my God! Raoul!" She shook him, hopelessly. "It's all my fault! Raoul! I love you! Don't give up!"

The phone rang.

"Hello?" Christine spoke into the phone, tears still thickening her voice.

"Christine! What happened? You weren't at yoga yesterday, and you never miss..."

"How do I explain? Were do I even start?" Christine paced anxiously in front of the bed.

"The beginning is always a good place."

"Ha, ha. I wish."

"Come on."

"Jules, I'm married."

"What!?"

"Yeah, To Raoul de Chagny."

"Wow. And you didn't tell me, why?"

"These last couple days have been hell."

"Yeah, and..."

"Oh God, he won't wake up. It's all my fault, Jules. All my fault. If I'd never – if we'd never – he'd be alright."

"It's O.K. It's O.K. Now, have you called the ambulance?"

"No..."

"I want you to get out your cell phone and dial 911 right now. Stay on the line with me."

"O.K." Christine pulled out her cell phone and punched in the numbers.

"911, state your emergency."

"My husband, he won't wake up."

"Do you know how to check his pulse?"

"Yes."

"Do that now." Christine lifted her fingers up to his neck.

"It's slight, but it's there."

"O.K. Is he breathing?"

"Yes."

"O.K. I'm sending an ambulance to your house. Where do you live?"

"415 Maple Street Apartment M."

"Good. Now – you said you are his wife?"

"Yes. We got married just yesterday."
"Congrats. What's your new name?"

"de Chagny. Raoul and Christine de Chagny."

Sirens wailed outside of the apartment building. "They're here now. Thanks for you help."

"You're welcome."

"Jules? You still there?"

"Of course dear. I'm on my way over to your house."

"Thank you. Thank you so much, Jules."

"No problem. I see the ambulances now. I'll be right up."

A knock sounded on the door. "Mrs. Christine de Chagny?"

Christine opened the door to four men carrying various items: a stretcher, a defibrillator, a med pack. "Come in." She wrapped her robe tighter around herself. "He's in here." She led them into the bedroom. They immediately went to work, poking and prodding. They uncovered his nude body and Christine blushed. None of the four men noticed, they were too busy trying to revive her husband.

"Ma'am. We're gonna have to take him into the hospital. We couldn't revive him, maybe a doc can."

"Sure." They started strapping Raoul's body to the stretcher. My fault, my fault, my fault.

"Let me in." Jules voice drifted in from the door.

Someone mumbled something incoherent. "Let me in! I know her! She asked me to be here!"

Christine walked toward the door. "Let her in."

A medic moved aside and Jules strode over to Christine. She drew Christine up in a deep embrace and Christine sobbed into her shoulder, losing what little composure she had managed. "It's O.K. It'll be O.K., dear. It'll all turn out right." Christine sniffled and nodded.

"Thank you, so much. I don't know..."

"It'll be-"

"Excuse us." The medics carrying Raoul pushed by.

"Here. I'll drive you to the hospital."

"Thanks." Christine futily tried wiping her running eyes with her already damp sleeve.

Jules grabbed a Kleenex. "Don't worry 'bout it." She led Christine outside to her car.

---------((0))

"Are you sure you can't do without me?" Jules muttered anxiously into her phone. "I was-" She shot a look at Christine, who was counting the floor tiles for the third time. She sighed. "Fine. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Bye." She closed the phone softly, still, it echoed through the silent waiting room. "Christine?" Christine looked up. "They need me. I gotta go. I'll be back tomorrow to see how it's going. O.K.?"

Christine looked up and tried to smile. "It's fine, Jules. I'll be just fine."

Jules walked out. "O.K." Christine didn't hear her.

Christine looked at the phone cradled between her hands. She pulled a note out of her purse and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Christine. Nice to finally talk to you."

"Um, thanks."

"You are calling about your problem?" the psychic prompted.

"Yeah. Christine sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "It is deeper than I ever thought. I need your help. My fiancé -"

"You still have my address, right?"

"Yes."

"Be there in an hour."

"An -"

"I would've said immediately, bit there is someone who needs to talk to you."

Christine turned around to see a doctor with a clipboard standing unobtrusively near the water tank. "Oh! I've got to go! See you in an hour."

"Until then."

Christine snapped her phone shut. The doctor approached. "Do you have any news on Raoul, Dr. ..."

"Cullen." He flashed a smile and held out his hand. "I'm afraid I don't. We have MRI's, CAT scans, and toxicology reports. He's merely unconscious. It seems to be a form of R.E.M. sleep. We would like to keep an eye on him. His scans revealed activity in the pain center of the brain. It is very interesting."

"Oh, Erik." Christine moaned.

"Erik?" Dr. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"Ah - friend of the family. He and Raoul, erm, were arguing yesterday and now..." Christine turned away to try and hide her obvious lie.

"My sympathies, Mrs. de Chagny. Do you have a number we can reach you at in case Mr. de Chagny's condition improves?"

"Do you have a pen?" Christine rummaged in her purse. Dr. Cullen pulled a pen out of his pocket.

"Here."

Christine scribbled on the clipboard. "Thank you. I'll be back soon." She grabbed her purse and nearly ran out.

----------((0))

Christine took a taxi into the "artistic" part of town. The police knew that drugs were prolific on the streets, but no longer bothered to try to keep the impoverished artists from their highs. Even in daylight, it was not the best part of town to walk through. She silently paid the taxi driver and walked up to the dilapidated apartment building.

"D, E, F," she mounted the stairs climbing up the narrow stairwell. "K, L, M – here we are." She raised her hand to knock on the door and it opened for her, revealing a woman in her twenties wearing dark skinny jeans and a bright green t-shirt. Christine shocked by the psychic's unorthodox appearance, stuttered, "U-um, I-I'm here t-to t-talk to a Ms. Simmons-Schriver?"

The young woman grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her into the apartment. "Come on in! I've been waiting forever to actually meet you. Oh, and please – call me Katie. Ms. Simmons-Schriver sounds too old." Katie said brightly. "Tea? Coffee? I'd offer you something stronger, but it'll be easier to deal with your Erik if you are completely sober."

"Ummm... Tea?" Christine looked around at the eccentric furniture. Nothing matched anything else.

"Sure! Be right back!" She skipped into the kitchen. She paused and looked back. "Go ahead and sit down. Just don't sit on the pink chair. That is specifically my roommate's. She'd probably kill you."

Christine looked warily at the furry pink armchair and decided instead on a yellow bean bag with a smiley face printed on it. Katie bustled back into the room carrying two teacups. "Here." She pushed one of the cups towards Christine. "It's my special concoction."

Christine pretended to sip the tea. Katie looked at her. "You know, there's nothing illegal in there. As I said, I need you focused." Katie demonstrated by taking a big gulp of the tea. Christine reluctantly sipped at it.

"Oh! It's good! What do you put in it?"

Katie grinned. "Sorry, secret recipe." She settled into a green fainting couch. "So. Your problem. Let's start from the beginning. Tell me about your deal. Every detail helps."

"Well, My father was a first-generation American. He was originally from Sweden and he still remembered the stories of his childhood. His favorite story was the tale of the Angel of Music and Little Lotte.

"Little Lotte was a sweet little blonde, blue-eyed girl who was visited by the Angel. The Angel taught Little Lotte to sing. He rewarded her for her good behavior with a song and punished her with his silence. I realize now that Papa modeled Little Lotte after me.

"I loved my father. I loved him too much. When he died, a hole was ripped into my heart. It still feels empty today. I gave up singing and moved my career into the safe realm of editing. I had always had a talent for writing and decided that it would be a decent paying job. I never realized how miserable I am in that job. I blamed it all on my father's death and was desperate for anything that would bring even just a piece of him back.

"You see, when he lay dying in that cold, silent hospital room, he, in his delusions, promised me that he would send me the Angel of Music and that I would sing better than Little Lotte, herself. Erik took advantage of this fact. He came to me in dreams, offering to be my Angel of Music – to sing. I was delighted. I never even gave a thought to the consequences of my decision.

"Erik is a genius, Katie. He is a musician, an architect, a doctor, a political mastermind. There is nothing that goes on that Erik does not know about. Oh, but he is hideous. He looks like something long dead and rotting. God might have given him genius, but not even Lucifer can claim a deed as ugly as Erik's face." Christine shuddered.

"He owns my soul, now. That was what he got in return for my voice lessons. He has my soul, but that is not enough for him anymore. He says he fell in loved with me, and he wants me to be his wife. He is jealous - insanely so. Raoul and I used to know each other when we were kids, and I recently bumped into him in a coffee shop. He invited me out to dinner. Erik warned me not to go, but I was so stubborn. I went. We were walking back and – and just as we were about to kiss and part ways for the night, I saw the corpse of my new boss hanging from a lamppost. It was Erik. I know it was. He left a not on the body reminding me that he had warned me. Raoul and I fell asleep together on my bed after hours of the police interrogating us.

"Erik was insane. I think he had Raoul too, that night. He was so angry. I don't know what he did to Raoul, but Raoul was so scared when I woke up. He said he wanted to marry me – that day. I agreed and we left for the courthouse. I was so happy, we fell asleep last night together and... oh, God... Raoul didn't wake up this morning. He's completely comatose, though the doctor said he was in pain. Oh, God. Erik said he is giving me a choice. If I become his wife, he'll set Raoul free, but if I refuse, oh, Erik's going to kill Raoul." Christine sipped at her now cold tea, feeling empty and exhausted.

Katie stood up, now completely serious. "You're in deep shit."

"You think?" Christine sarcastically commented.

Katie paced to the window and looked out. "I don't even know if I can help you. Erik will only gets more powerful with time." She looked back at Christine. She thought for a moment. "Do you know how long Raoul has?"

"Erik said that he has a week." Christine looked down at her twisted hands miserably. "We only have seven days until I have to choose. Why does he have to do this? Why? Why me? Why is he so possessive?"

"He can see through your eyes if he so wishes. This means he was forced to watch you and Raoul make love. As to why you, why does anyone fall in love? Do you really feel nothing for Erik? Would you be willing to leave him alone for the rest of his life? Would he even leave you alone? I can guarantee that even if you let Raoul die and try to move on with your life, no matter how far or fast you run, you will never forget what happened."

"Oh, poor Raoul. Poor Erik."

"Yes, I can't even imagine the torments your poor husband is going through right now at the hands of poor Erik."

"Will you help me? Can you help me?"

"I don't even know if I can. I can't get rid of Erik if that's what you are asking. I can help you get through this with your sanity intact, though. I can't promise much, but I will help you."

Christine looked unsteadily out at the window. "Thanks."

"Let's go see your husband." Katie flounced into the kitchen. "Just a minute, I need to write a note to Hannah. I won't be making dinner tonight. She'll eat that terrible salmon salad stuff of hers."

---------((0))

"Damn, he's a hot one. Even with the catheter."

Christine laughed. "Yeah, you could say we were preschool sweethearts."

"Awww. That doctor of his isn't half-bad either," she stage whispered pointing to Dr. Cullen smiling charmingly down at a poor female intern sitting at the nurse's station. "I got my partner," she said grinning. "And damn, they're hot."

"Will I ever get to meet them?"

"Tomorrow, when you stop by after work, she'll be there."

"I guess I'll see you then."

"Bye!" Katie skipped to the door. "Oh, and she's worse than her husband. I think it might have been almost a mercy killing for him."

"Ummm... O.K."

"You'll understand later. See you!"

Christine sighed and sat in the hard plastic chair next to Raoul's bedside. She took his warm hand and interwove their fingers. She fell asleep on that cold chair in the harsh lighting of the hospital holding her husband's hand, praying that they would both make it through.

---------((0))

"You only did marry her for the money. You were planning on divorcing her anyways. You could never love her like Erik loves her." Raoul shuddered and clasped his hands over his ears in an effort to drown the voice out. It beautifully whispered its lies in his ears. He couldn't stop it. It whispered in his ears whether they were covered or if he yelled at the top of his lungs. He paced the dark small space. He couldn't see anything. He had felt some kind of tree in the corner of the room and all of the walls were smooth as glass. He didn't know how long he had been there. It felt like years, though his stomach told him that it couldn't be any more than a day. He screamed and beat his fists against the walls trying futilely to silence that voice.

---------((0))

I woke to find myself on a fainting couch in a lavish, 18th century dining room. Erik knelt next to me. He held out a rose. I took it and inhaled the intoxicating scent. He smiled and helped me to my feet.

"I have dinner set out for you. Please, come eat with me." He was wearing a tuxedo and I, an old-fashioned ball gown. He escorted me to the table and pulled out a chair for me. I looked at all of the dishes around me.

He smirked. "I assure you it's better than that atrocious hospital food." I glared down at my plate, not wanting to set Erik's temper off. I slowly reached for the duck d'orange. "Your young man is here."

I looked up. "Can I talk to him?"

Erik's chair fell as he stood glaring at me. "No." He turned to the china cabinet, trying to control his temper. He spoke again, more gently, "You may not." He turned to face me. "Are you done?" I nodded. "Come, let us adjourn to the library." I let him lead me to the library.

I loved our political and philosophical conversations in that vast room. He was so intelligent and had read all of the good intellectual novels. I had even asked him where he had gone to college. He said he hadn't, not in the traditional sense. I had shrugged. That was how he responded to any of my attempts to learn about him – equivocally.

I realized that I had begun to like Erik in some sense. At least as a friend. A friend who wanted to kill my husband. I felt almost betrayed that he was doing this to me. I wanted to turn around and slap him. Though, I'm afraid to think about what he'd do if I did try to slap him. I had learned that his temper was best left undisturbed.

So many emotions! I know you've felt this way! I felt overwhelmed. I just wanted to hide under a rock until it was all over. Love, hate, betrayal, pity, anger – I couldn't straighten them all out. They stood around me like attackers in a dark alleyway and slowly closed in on me, threatening to shred my sanity with their sharp knives.

Erik was so gentle that night. Even his few criticisms were soft and spare. He didn't plead for my love, he just stood there, looked at me with his heartbreaking golden eyes and hoped and prayed for it. He loves me. I know it. I almost wish I could love him back.

---------((0))

This chapter is so long. It took me forever to write it. Six pages long – I think that's a record for me. You know another thing that's amazing? I have readers in Korea. And Russia, Australia, Israel, Malaysia... Wow.

Another thing – if you haven't noticed yet, this rendition of Erik is not Gerik. He is no lovable, clueless hottie with a bad sunburn. This Erik is Leroux through and through. I, myself, admit that he is a bit darker than I originally thought. Oh well. Sometimes I have no control over the characters. Sometimes they take on a life of their own.

Glaring at my unfinished Calc II homework,

Raven Sharpe

P.S. My lucky number is 13. Don't give up on me, I know exactly when I'll post next. It'll be soon, I promise.

(posted 03-27-10)

(post script posted 03-30-10)