Chapter #21

A Woman Stretched Alone

Christine re-emerged into existence slowly, mindful of every aching muscle she possessed in her body. Her arms lay at her sides, heedless of her commands, and every beat of her heart was answered by an agonizing pressure within the walls of her skull. She fought against consciousness, not seeking freedom from her fresh aches, but for the dreams she was leaving behind.

"No, not yet," she wanted to whispered to their fleeing bodies. "Just a little more time."

Headache. Chills. Paralysis. A vague dampness around the body.

Where was she?

Her arm hung over the side and she knew it was not her bed. Her own could fit four full-grown people. The coverings were coarse against her skin.

Nausea. She felt ill. If she slept, it would go away. No, her mind was wide awake and the dream was long gone.

Christine slowly opened one eye, then the other. She was definitely not in Erik's home.

This room was sparsely decorated; A few photographs and other trinkets gave the impression that someone lived here but did so for practical reasons alone. Next to the bed on a small vanity was a likeness of a young woman with light hair and laughing eyes. The image must have been over twenty years old and Christine felt as if she knew her.

The door opened and Meg came in carrying a teapot and bread on a simple wooden tray. She was too focused upon her task to notice anything beyond keeping the teapot's balance, and Christine smiled at her friend as she tried to keep it vertical.

By now, feeling was returning to her arms, prickling along her limbs in annoying pins and needles; more frustrating still, the pain in her skull persisted. She was finally able to budge one arm from its awkward position, moving it onto her stomach, and discovered much to her horror that she wore a plain shift and nothing more.

Meg caught her friend's movements and her look of concentration instantly changed into one of delight.

"Christine! You're awake!?"

She deposited the tray on the dresser and sat down on the bed. The extra weight caused the bed to shift slightly and Christine bumped into Meg's thigh.

"How do you feel? No, don't tell me yet. Maman said you might be weak when you woke. Here, have some tea."

Christine clearly had no choice in the matter, and submitted to her friend's orders. She had not realized how thirsty she was until the chamomile hit her tongue. Suddenly, she felt as if she had gone years without liquids, and the cup was empty moments later. Meg took it away and Christine waited for another; she did not think the entire contents of the teapot would be enough for her.

"Now," Meg left the cup on the tray and arranged herself on the bed, "how do you feel?"

Tired, she wanted to say, and thirsty. When she tried to voice this, scar tissues clamped down in her throat and no words passed through. Christine clutched her neck and coughed; tears appearing in the corners of her eyes from the sharp pain.

"I'm sorry, I forgot. He said you would not be yourself yet. Here, have some more tea."

Christine waved away the offer at the mention of a 'he.' There was no doubt in her mind who he would be, but she could not imagine her frightening tutor conversing with her best friend on her health or any other form of normal conversation.

Christine covered the right side of her face with her hand. Meg did not understand what she was doing and handed her more tea. Christine batted the cup away and tried again. When Christine gave her best scowl, Meg knew what she meant.

"Oh! He's not here right now, but he was a few hours ago. I didn't even notice that he was gone until Maman called to tell him that his tea was ready. One moment he was here, the next, poof!"

Meg laughed, Christine smiled. Meg often gave off the appearance that any situation no matter how dire or how hapless could be solved with several minutes of laughter. Christine knew it was all an act, that Meg felt things far deeper than she let on. But that streak of maturity inherited from her mother still took Christine by surprise whenever Meg decided it was needed.

"Christine," Meg said, leaning closer into her friend's body, "do you remember what happened?"

Christine started to shake her head 'no' but stopped herself and shrugged. She remembered the visit to the apothecary's wife with Sorelli, the attack in the alley, and the appetizers at Madame Ferry's; everything after that was a blur.

"Maman said you were ill, but that was is. Christine, what is going on? Is this his doing?"

There was no question in who she was talking about. Had their roles been switched, Christine might have wondered the same thing. In her eyes, there was no one really to blame . Sorelli, maybe for her poor decisions. But even the lustful dancer could not have predicted what had or would happen in the future. Erik only had excellent timing.

Christine shook her head. Meg's eyes softened. She took Christine's hand and held it to her chest.

"Do not, under any circumstances, try to die on me again, Christine. If you do, I shall be forced to use Maman's cane on you and you know how I think that thing is ugly." Meg raised Christine's hand and kissed it. "Maman told me to fetch her when you awoke. Will you be fine by yourself if I go?"

Again, Christine nodded. She was getting used to the non-verbal communication, even if it was limiting. Meg squeezed her hand one last time and with a final smile, left the same way she came.

Alone again, without her best friend's presence to distract her, Christine's physical state would not be ignored. She was tired and slightly cross. Her head ached, her throat was sore, and she resented the fact that she was nearly naked without any knowledge of how she had become so, or who had been the one to put her in such a state. The thought of Erik removing her clothing was too embarrassing to consider, but clearly, she had been in no condition to do so herself. There was always Meg or Madame Giry.

Christine sank down under the covers. The movement pushed her long hair into a wild bush around her skull. Christine touched the strands found that they were soft with a light sheen to them, their usual roundness compromised by the hours she had lain on them. If she had been out as long as she suspected, she doubted anyone would risk putting her in a bath. She also doubted what she was about to do was wise, but anything was better than lying in this bed another moment.

Slowly, she inched her way towards the edge of the bed. The muscles in her abdomen quivered as she tried to sit up. Her body obeyed her commands, but they carried out their tasks as if they had all the time in the world.

Sitting straight up in bed was almost too much, and she was panting when she finally managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She placed one foot on the floor, then the other. She braced her hands on Meg's mattress and tried to ease her weight onto her legs. They gave out and she tumbled back onto the bed. The second time, she was able to stand, but when she attempted walking, she ended up on the ground, her legs trailing somewhere behind her.

She heard the door open, and stiffened slightly in apprehension. She wondered if it was more embarrassing to be undressed by a stranger, or be found on the ground with one's feet tangled behind their body. Her energy was spent and she lay facing the bedroom wall, waiting for her visitor to decide what to do. Heavy footsteps crossed the room and then stopped inches away from her body.

She thought she heard a sigh, or was it a groan? Arms lifted her off the ground and held her as if she weighed next to nothing. A hand brushed against her forehead and when the wayward curl no longer obstructed her view, she found herself looking into the face of Erik.

"Did you hurt yourself?" he said. He looked concerned and very annoyed.

Christine shook her head no. She would have a bruise on her forehead, but nothing hurt worse than her pride.

Erik placed her back onto the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"If you need anything, tell me or the Giry's and we will provide it for you. You are to do nothing besides recover until I say you are healthy again. No talking, no strolls, just rest. Do you understand?"

He was dressed elegantly, as if ready for a night at the opera. His hat, cloak, and tailcoat were absent, but he still had the look of a man on his way to a formal event. The sight brought Christine's own state back to her attention, and she scooted her way farther down under the covers.

Erik pulled Meg's desk chair next to the bed and sat down.

"Madame Giry felt it would be best for you to recover in their home where they can attend to your needs that I am not capable of fulfilling. I do not fully know what caused the illness, but when you do recover, I expect a full report on your evening at the Ferry's."

His hand disappeared into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of creamy, expensive paper. He dropped it on her lap and sat back to let her decide what to do with it.

Christine, now having recovered a bit of her strength, was able to lift it. She unfolded the paper and held it to the light. The handwriting was familiar, but she could not remember from where.

My Dearest Mademoiselle Daae,

I hope this letter finds you in a better state than when you left. My gracious hostess checked into the matter and discovered that aged, possibly rancid, beef has been the cause of several illnesses in her staff. The matter has been dealt with and those responsible have been put out. I myself suffered the day in bed and I hope your experience was no worse than mine.

I write this letter to beg your attendance next week at my intended's home. My dear Philippe has finally seen the error in his ways and agreed that an announcement of our engagement would be more agreeable now than after the new season at the opera. Your attendance at Madame Ferry's home made the evening very enjoyable and I hope you would do me the honor of being at the de Changy Château, this coming Friday.

Your doting friend,

Lady Kathrina Deveraux

Erik watched her reading the note. When she had opened her eyes back in his home when all seemed lost, it was heaven. When she squeezed his hand to let him know she was indeed alive, he felt he may die of happiness.

That joy was doubled at seeing her alive, doing something as ordinary as reading a letter. But it could not dismiss the crushing fear he had felt as he watched her die or in the filthy grip of that man in the alley. He did not know how to fear, he choose instead to hate.

When she was done, her arm dropped down onto her lap and lay like a dead fish. She looked thoughtful, as if contemplating a hidden meaning in the noblewoman's words, or perhaps trying to recall what she had meant in the first place.

"I have already taken the liberty of sending your regrets, my dear. Do not bother to look outraged," his voice was cool and level, but with an edge that made her head snap to attention. "If you think I am letting you wander the city after nearly…" He paused, and then continued, "…after all that, you had best rethink it."

She was glad she had no voice. It saved her the trouble of starting the same argument over again. Her hands lay above the covers on her lap. One held the letter, the other was empty. Christine closed the left hand into a fist, and then opened it again. She did it again and again and the patterns on her palm were still the same.

How long? she wondered. How long had she been unconscious and who was it that nursed her back to health? She looked at Erik and he looked back. Those tired, pleading eyes told her more than his words ever did but words still stung and she could not find it in her to be forgiving now.

Christine raised a hand and pointed towards the small clock on Meg's dresser. Erik turned, saw it, and understood.

"Three days," he said. "Your fever broke sometime yesterday."

There was a knock at the door and at Erik's call, Madame Giry entered alone.

"I apologize for the intrusion," the ballet mistress did not look the least bit sorry. "Christine needs a bath."

Erik stood up and nodded at Madame Giry. Before he could walk away, he felt something tug on his sleeve. Christine was on the other end and for once, it was she whose face was unreadable.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was a rough shadow of its usual beauty.

She squeezed his hand with a surprising amount of strength and before Erik could think about what was happening, he squeezed back.

Madame Giry shut the door behind him when he left. She turned and leaned against the door and gave Christine a slight smile. She returned it. Her eyes were obscured from fatigue and the weight of all that she knew, but a look passed between them and an understanding of something was shared that warmed Christine.

Madame Giry came to the bed and handed Christine a towel. "Take no offense to what I am about to say, Christine, but you really need this."

And Christine was in no position to disagree.

A/N: I can honestly say this is the last of the slow chapters. After this, I throw it into the blender again and things get messy to say the least.

A wealth of thanks is owed to my new beta, who graciously stepped into place to correct my foibles. To take on a story nearly half-way through is no easy task and I thank her for her efforts, wisdom, patience, and all other good qualities she has.

Also, there has been a lag in reviews lately. I take most of the blame for writing forced chapters and have, say, three month lags in updates. But readers need to know that any author is very insecure when it comes to writing and any kind of response, whether good or bad is our lifeblood. I can see who gets updates and how many hits each chapter receives, so please, do me a favor and leave a review.

On a side note, I watched the Herbert Lom version of Phantom over the weekend. No chemistry between Christine and the Phantom whatsoever, he seeks her out to teach her how to sing and it goes no further than that. If you're an obsessive, like me, see it just so you can say you did. Other than that, it's not a very entertaining piece. sigh What I'd give for a Kay-inspired movie.

Review, review, review, please.