14 Something's burning… FIRE!

"Mr. Destler," Raoul acknowledged. Christine noticed how Destler's gaze came down on Raoul's thigh where her hand rested.

"What a coincidence that you are here too, De Chagny," he then mused. "I think I should kill you."

Christine's face paled. She snatched her hand away from Raoul.

"Just kidding."

"Ha ha," Raoul and Christine replied simultaneously.

"But I seriously want my wife back," Destler said, and offered his hand to Christine. Raoul looked confused.

"Back? Ha ha! You… you joker. Um…. Sure. I'll come see you. In a sec," Christine blabbered. Why it was always like this with Raoul and Lester in the same space?

"Now," Destler said shortly.

Raoul rose to his feet.

"Look, I've interviewed many artists, and you come off as eccentric as they are, but it does not give you the right to order people around like they are your slaves."

Christine admired how reasonable Raoul sounded, but Destler looked at him unaffected, though a slight smile curved his lips. She knew that look. He was eyeing Raoul up before deciding how to get him out of his way. Perhaps he would throw Raoul over the opera boxes' railing after destroying Christine's and Raoul's chance to have children. Not that she was any good with dead Raoul, because then his penis would be useless anyway when it came to reproducing….Hm. Did she even want children?

Christine rose too, readying herself for a senseless jump attack against Destler, but then she felt a sudden air shift near her face.

"A funny thing just happened. As if a bullet grazed me," she mumbled, confused.

"It did," Destler said.

"Christine… your cheek is bleeding," Raoul whispered and moved towards her, but Destler was quicker and threw her to the ground.

A chaos erupted throughout the opera. Shouting, screaming, crying. Christine had always thought to be the first one to act if something catastrophic happened – but instead of some serious Xena-action, she lay on the box floor like a frozen turkey until Destler yelled her to start crawling.

And crawl they did. Christine ditched her heels, but losing the shoes helped a little. It was the tight dress that made it hard to move quickly. Destler noticed too. Amazingly, in a time of panic and fear for life, Christine had time for virtuousness, for when she felt Destler's hand on her hips, she remembered her panties that she wasn't wearing.

"Hey! No!"

"We will get killed if you continue moving like a snail."

"I don't have anything under the dress!"

And then he ripped the garment with his knife. She let out a mortified shriek that quickly turned into a low growl when the dress fell apart around her.

"Oh my god! Oh my butt! Oh god! Raoul!" she shouted like a damn damsel in distress. She fucking hated it when she had to ask for someone's help. Raoul, who was third in their crawling line, looked over Destler.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked and grabbed Destler by the shoulders. Christine tried to stand, but Destler snatched her back down by her wrists, causing her to fall down on her nose. Her dress slide down her back, revealing more skin.

Great. The position of a saluting butt. Christine wanted to die. Considering that someone had just shot at her, hoping for such relief wasn't far-fetched.

"Let her go," Raoul demanded. Destler turned to give him a hesitating look before sucker-punched Raoul in the gut. Hard. Raoul literally went down.

Horrified, Christine screamed again.

"WHAT! No! Don't! Stop that!"

Raoul was surprisingly quick to cover from the blow and in turn hit Destler, in the nose. Christine tried to come between them, but when she felt air caressing her bare vulva, she changed her direction toward a pillar. She started to cough. Smoke? She peeked over the boxes' railing. The stage was on fire! And it seemed that the three of them were the last ones around.

Where was the shooter? What the hell was going on!

"Oh god, oh god," she whispered frantically. She looked at the fighting men. When Destler was on top of Raoul, she crawled back, took Destler's knife and sliced his tuxedo enough to have fabric for a hip clothing, as if she was Tarzan. She wrapped it around her waist, sighing in relief. The men didn't even notice.

"Hey, stop that already!" she said angrily. "Stop it! Raoul don't hurt him – "

But then it was Destler who was on top, choking Raoul with some robe-looking thing. Christine couldn't see clearly. The smoke was already spreading around the building.

"Stop it!" she screamed.

"You should come with me," an unfamiliar male voice said behind her. Christine turned. A man in black, wearing a white mask. With a pointing gun.

"And who are you?" she asked, coughing.

"A man with a pointing gun."

"You must have made a mistake. I am a mere tourist here. If it is money you are after…"

"No. I am after you."

"What. My name is Ursula Binder. I am from Germany. And I believing that I no know you."

"Christine… you shouldn't lie."

"I am being serious here! Really. Well. I don't have money. For crying out loud, I am wearing a hula made from tux. Do I look rich to you? There won't be any ransom to have -"

The man hoisted Christine up.

"Raoul!" she shrieked. Finally, Destler and Raoul took notice. Destler's eyes were dilated black. Despite the now mangled tux, he still managed to look threatening, feral even. Christine wondered if he even was from earth.

"We meet again, O.G.," the masked man snickered, while holding the squirming Christine still. She managed nothing but dropping "the hula". Automatically, each male eye pair looked down.

"Don't stare!" she snapped. Destler was first to recover.

"Let her go," he ordered. As scary as his voice was, it was a rather useless order.

The masked man with a pointing gun laughed. "No can do… Besides… have you seen The Dark Knight? A very poor choice of words!"

"Come up with some own material!" Christine mumbled in panic when the kidnapper moved her towards the railing.

"Don't! I love her!"

Surprised, all three of them looked at Raoul who in turn was staring Christine, panting for breath. Fear in his eyes. He looked so young all of a sudden, the seriousness of a journalist all gone. She had never seen him scared. He looked like a little boy. Christine suspected she looked like an embryo then. They really didn't belong to this nightmare around them…

As if melting in front of the expressed love, the masked man said in a softer, even voice: "You know what I want, O."

Destler was still looking at Raoul. Christine cried mentally. Raoul didn't express his love to you! Do something, Destler! She didn't want to die anymore. Raoul loved her!

"You heard him!" Raoul said in anguish. "Whatever he wants… give it to him."

And then… someone was shooting again.

"Who the hell…," the masked man yelped, crouching down, taking Christine with him.

"I thought it was you who was doing the whole shooting thing," Christine whimpered.

"No. I am on my own mission here."

"You think you run well with me in your arms? Leave me now, when you are still alive. Your arms are sweaty, I can feel. You are just as afraid as I am. Leave. Now."

"I can't. You are my key."

"What key…?"

And then Destler was there, interrupting, shoving Christine away.

"Take him with you!" Destler shouted to her, nodding towards Raoul, while punching the life out of the masked man. He was animalistic, as if with Raoul he had held something back. With Raoul, it had been hay rolling between lovers.

Destler's hands moved in a way that told fighting wasn't unfamiliar to him. He knew what he was doing. Like he was trained to do realised, he could kill with bare hands. Christine watched the display of brutal testosterone with both fascination and disgust. It was a battle between an ant and a rhino, even though both were the same size. She felt bad for the masked man, but then again, he had threatened to throw her to her death.

"Go and stay down until you get to the corridors!" Destler ordered again.

She obeyed this time. "Come," she managed and took Raoul's hand. They ran.

Unfortunately at some point she lost her way. And also her consciousness.

Three hours later Christine came to her senses in the Destler mansion. She was under a warm blanket, still in her pink dress. There was a huge bandage on her cheek, but amazingly nothing hurt. A pair of men's pajamas was placed next to the bed. The usual Destler treatment. As if it would have been so hard to go into her room and look through her… oh. Yes. Better this way.

She hurriedly put the overly big garment on and rushed her way to Destler's dark office.

He looked cool and comfortable whereas she was the epitome of a mess when she slammed his door open. He was drinking something red, looking mysterious as ever behind his massive table, his odd eyes half-way closed. A burning candle on his table casted a magical glow around him. Was he drunk? Christine wondered. In his other hand he held the drink, in the other was a… small monkey statue? Christine looked at it curiously. Maybe he had a monkey collection somewhere?

"I see you have recovered," he stated calmly, and suddenly his eyes popped open, his typical wolfish, as-if-he-knew-something-that-she-didn't –smile on his lips and turned in his seat this to look at her.

Don't let his peculiar voice, no, his peculiar everything, distract you. Focus, Christine. "I want a divorce!" she demanded.

"Maybe we should try some counseling first. What, you think it was me who caused the fall of the opera?"

"Well?"

"We are not getting divorced."

Christine had expected as much. She placed her hands on her hips in a demanding manner, doing her best with the drooping sleeves.

"Well, I did read the fine print of our contract. I can pull out of it."

"True. But you don't want to do that. I think I should let you know that I have power..."

"Yes. Over gays at the Broadway. And the idle idiots of upper class."

"Well. But I am not a mere composer."

For a change, it seemed that Destler was about to tell something revealing. The air around them felt ominous to Christine. She remembered what Raoul had told her. To tell the truth, she didn't really believe anymore that Destler would actually hurt her, but the business he was involved in obviously would.

"Stop right there. I don't want to hear it. I want to… leave when it is still possible."

"It is already too late… for your own safety, you have to stay. From now on, Dumbo will take you to the Lovers' rehearsals."

Christine's face paled to nothingness. "I want to call Raoul. Where is my purse?"

"There is no way out of this. I already told you."

"Is this about… the thing Raoul said?"

He set his drink and the statue down on the table. "The thing? You mean his confession of love? No, this is not about it."

"Oh."

"You know… If I were you, I'd carefully consider that love." His tone was challenging.

"Well… Lucky for you, Raoul is not into men."

He ignored her. "Yes, it was very dramatic, like in some epic love story, when he declared his affection to you… But not only five minutes later, he comes running out of the building, turns around and says: 'I thought she was behind me'."

He chuckled.

Christine felt anger coursing through her. "You are a cruel man."

That seemed to stop his happy mischief. He sobered, and focused his eyes back on Christine. Looking a bit like a child whose candy someone stole.

Creep.

"Well. It was not his fault that I got lost," she continued bravely.

She watched warily when he rose, took the statue and the candle with him, and walked across the room, pass her. She heard him do something that she guessed was putting the statue on the self.

"Had it been my love, she would have walked out of there beside me. Or in my arms. But never behind me," he said coolly. She could feel his eyes on her back, but she wasn't going to turn around. She wouldn't let him circle her like some predator.

"Well. As you said, things don't always go like in movies. It was an emergency! No one thought straight. And just because he is a man and I am a woman I shouldn't wait him for the rescue. And you said 'take Raoul with you'. Well, luckily the fire fighters found me in time."

"Not them. It was me. I carried you out."

Christine's heart jumped. He had moved right next to her, looking down at her, the candle's light competing against his eyes' strange aura.

"Well. Then I thank you for my life."

He nodded absent-mindedly.

Christine pondered if it was wise to push it, but asked anyway. "Why aren't you angry? Raoul still doesn't know about our marriage."

He sighed. "I knew you weren't going to tell him... Doesn't really matter now."

That was unexpected. "What? Where is Raoul? Did… did you do something to him? Why did you start to beat him? There was no need! You ripped my -"

"He was slowing us down. We had no time for useless heroism... So I decided to try to render him to unconsciousness. I could have easily carried him out. He doesn't seem to weigh much... And he is fine. He is coming to see you tomorrow."

"Maybe I should go to see him…"

"No. You stay here."

Christine took a step away from him. It felt suffocating when he was just an inch away from her.

"But I want to leave! I can go to… Finland. They will not find me. I mean, what is this all about anyway? This is absurd! They? About who are we talking about? Who wants to kill you? And who was that masked man? I think it would be better for me to leave now. Will this situation ever be over? When our year is over, what makes you sure that they won't come after me?"

"That is not important." He was looking at the floor, the space between them. Christine wondered if she had somehow insulted him by moving away.

"It is! Should I be aware of old grannies? Or just masked men?"

"Unless you want to die, you stay. That is final," he stated chilly and returned to his chair.

Defeated, Christine sighed and turned around. She was so tired it was useless to try thinking nothing but finding a bed and sleep until she had enough mental power to figure out how she was going to cross this troubled water she was facing.

"Christine. You should know something."

She stopped, her back to him.

"I… I understood you today in the park. It seems we have a lot in common. I fear I have become something I once hated. Or perhaps… perhaps it is just you. You make me question myself. "

A pause. Then, "I don't particularly like that feeling."