Chapter Twenty-One

It seemed like he was always the object of attention at some point during the week. At the Opera Populaire, he was disappearing and appearing quite often. He was surprised no one had added something up. But that was life in a superstitious world; if it's not normal, everyone laps it up.

But back at the Moulin Rouge, people seemed to be watching him wherever he went. He didn't really care anymore but it was a little unnerving nonetheless.

He walked up the wooden staircase, thinking about how different this all was from the opera house. It had been a strange time there. But here he was again, back in the Moulin Rouge. Only this time there was no Duke, no death, nothing to rip Satine away from him.

A few women in heavy make-up that were lazing on the stairs looked up and smiled at him. 'Mornin', Christian,' said one brightly.

'Heard you had a spin at the Opera Populaire, hey?' asked another, nodding.

Christian smiled at them. 'Yeah, a very strange place to live.'

'Better than here?' asked one, curling a strand of hair around her finger.

'Of course not,' Christian said, shaking his head. The girls giggled and one said 'Satine's up there,' as she extended a finger up the staircase.

'Thanks,' said Christian, his chest feeling heavy. He ran up the stairs, unable to wait to see Satine.

The Argentinean had not dropped the conversation until finally coming to an idea that Christian felt, perhaps, guilt mixed in with the lovesickness, which Christian strongly objected he had. He hated the Ghost and loved Satine. He probably felt guilty, but not lovesick.

He was about to open the door when it was flung open. A young man who looked severely angry walked out the door, pushing past Christian and growling to himself. He was dressed in expensive clothes and his hair was sandy. He was down the staircase and out of sight within a second.

Christian looked through the open door at Satine in one of her expressive gowns, who was glaring determinedly after the man. His heart didn't soar at the sight of her but he was taking some time to realise she was alive again. When she saw Christian she snapped, 'What?'

'Who was that?' asked Christian, arching an eyebrow.

Satine blinked and said in a different voice, 'No one, Christian.'

'That didn't look like no one,' said Christian slowly.

'He heard I was here and wanted... you know. I told him no.'

'Oh,' said Christian, nodding.

'Yes,' said Satine. They stood there for a while as Christian added it up in his head.

'So Harold said you didn't have to... anymore...'

'He said to do whatever would make us happy!' Satine cried, jumping over the bed and latching onto him, pressing her lips against his and tilting her head. He was slightly surprised at this and nearly pulled away at the sudden contact but she grabbed his neck and deepened the kiss. His chest felt worse and his mind seemed to be suddenly on some kind of adrenaline rush, flicking through pictures, voices, scenes...

'Christian?' Satine asked, pulling back and looking confused. Her lipstick was smudged so he probably would have some on his face. He ignored his head and grinned at her. His face hurt. 'Yes?'

'You seem a little... tense,' Satine said, hanging her arms around his neck.

'I don't feel too good today,' Christian said, shrugging.

Satine frowned. 'Oh, poor baby.'

'Er.' How did he react to that again? He couldn't really picture anyone ever saying that to him (he felt he would've reacted better to 'you idiot. Why?'). Was this something new of Satine's? 'Can you tell me where you were?' he asked. 'All this time?'

Satine smiled mischievously. 'All in good time, love.'

--

'Do you reckon someone might die today?' asked Meg, glaring at the floor. She and Christine were both sitting on the Countess's bed; Meg had her arms and legs crossed and she was hunched over, scowling downwards.

'It's definitely possible, I'll give you that,' Christine replied bitterly. She was sitting in a much more upright position, one hand on her stomach. I'm having a baby...

'How could he?' Meg said. 'You can't just leave in the middle of a relationship to go back to a dead romance!'

'I think it's either one ghost or another. And I don't think Christian or Erik would be pleased we're talking about this,' Christine said, shaking her head. 'But I am actually surprised no one died yesterday or the day before that.'

'That's it,' Meg said, standing up and moving to the door, 'I'm off to the Moulin Rouge –'

'You are not,' Christine said flatly, jumping up and grabbing Meg's arm, pulling her back. 'You can't go! Your mother doesn't want you to interfere.'

'I won't be talking to Erik, I'll be talking to Christian,' snapped Meg. 'Mother won't mind about that. She just doesn't want the ghost to kill me.'

'Not today,' said Christine, shaking her head so hard her dark curls hit the sides of her face. 'They're rehearsing all the ballet today. You can't.'

Meg stared at her. 'So what do we do?'

'Tomorrow – tomorrow I'll go to the Moulin Rouge. I'll talk to him.'

'And what about me?' Meg asked, frowning. 'It was my idea!'

'He doesn't need someone to yell at him right now, he needs someone to just tell him calmly that he is a complete idiot,' Christine said firmly.

'Of course he needs someone to yell at him!' Meg said angrily.

'Not right now. When he does, I'll get you to help, I promise.'

Meg glared at her then sighed, 'Okay, fine. Why not today, though?'

Christine stared at her. 'Meg. Rehearsals.'

--

Even though he was exhausted, even though he felt terrible, as soon as Christian sat down on the bed he felt wide-awake. His mind felt perhaps a little clearer, but his chest felt just the same. Satine pulled the covers over her and snuggled down; not, he noticed, against him, but just curled up by herself. It didn't seem awkward though and he was fine with that.

Glancing at Satine then to the open balcony of the Elephant, he unbuttoned his shirt and let it drop to the floor. He felt hot all of a sudden. Maybe he was coming down with something...

I'm not lovesick, he told himself. Or guilty, I don't want to hear it.

He lay down, pillowing his head in his hands and staring up at the ceiling. It was too warm to cover himself in blankets. He sighed; he wouldn't be getting to sleep anytime soon. He didn't know how Satine could stand it.

Maybe he was coming down with something. It would figure well enough why he felt sick. Of course! It wasn't guilt or anything else, he was just probably sick. Amazingly enough, that thought seemed incredibly comforting.

Sitting up and slipping out of bed, he walked out to the balcony, up the staircase that wound up the corner of the elephant's head and sat down, not on the seats, but cross-legged on the ground.

It was cooler out here; the stars were wonderful and the moon – though it was not smiling at him, in fact it seemed to be frowning – was shining brightly.

Did he have to ever think about what he'd put the Opera Ghost through again? He groaned, put his head in his hands and said fiercely 'Stop it. This won't help you. It's over, nothing ever happened and you never have to think about it again.'

That's not true. Did you or did you not just ruin someone's life?

'Ruin his life?' Christian laughed, but he didn't know why he was laughing; he felt angry that the question had come up in his mind. 'How could I ruin his life? He obviously didn't care enough about me to trust me...'

Okay. You're saying he didn't trust you... but he slept with you numerous times –

'I'm not finishing that thought,' Christian said, looking up at the sky. His chest was aching hard from the thought of all this. It should be my head, maybe I'm really sick. 'I'm not going on with this.'

The stars, the bright silver sparkles that lit up the black that slowly faded outwards to blue at the corners of the sky as it disappeared behind buildings, had no comment.

It was starting to get colder. He rubbed his hands together and half-wished he had brought his shirt out.

Something behind him rustled and he whipped around, ready to – do something.

But it was only a bird, chirping as it flapped its wings hard, up into the sky, not giving him any sign either.

'Well, there you have it,' Christian shrugged, 'when you've got a problem like this, no one is going to help you.'

Within minutes he was back in the bed, feeling sleepier and colder but not better.

--

The next morning however he'd managed to feel somewhat better; he rolled over to say good morning to Satine –

– Only she wasn't there.

Christian blinked, staring at the empty space next to him. He wasn't too worried about where she was, nor, to his surprise, that she wasn't lying there with him.

His chest gave him a dull reminder it was aching and he told it to shut up. He rolled out of the bed, his head feeling clearer than yesterday. He was about to pull the shirt he'd been wearing yesterday on when he just decided not to. He had quite a lot of time to do nothing so finding a clean shirt and wearing that instead wouldn't be hard.

It wasn't, but for some reason, it seemed harder to do nothing than usual.

He stood out on the balcony for a while, the morning air only slightly chilly, looking up at the sun. It was something he definitely hadn't seen up close for some time. He'd either been in the Opera House or under –

He turned quickly and decided to get out of the Elephant – he opened the door, leaving the exotic Indian room behind, running quickly down a carpeted spiralling staircase and leaving it altogether. He could either leave the Moulin Rouge and go to his apartment or go find Satine.

He was surprised he was making a choice about that. Satine, he thought, shaking his head, turning to walk further into the Moulin Rouge –

Christian did not expect the first person he'd see that morning would be Harold Zidler. Nor did he expect that the first person he saw that morning would also be the first person he'd walk into that day.

As he basically bounced back, he looked up at Harold and didn't know whether to smile or be wary; Zidler was a nice man, it was simply that he could be pushed to do not very nice things. Such as sell Satine to the Duke. That hadn't been a good start.

Zidler smiled down at him, his ginger moustache sticking out. 'Christian!'

'Morning, Harold –'

'It's so wonderful to see you again!' Zidler, already a big man, seemed to just make himself bigger with his gestures and his emphasis in speech. 'We hear you've been at the Opera Populaire!'

'Indeed I have,' Christian shrugged, grinning a little. He'd missed this place.

'Wonderful! Do you know how many people will be coming to your play?'

'Not really –'

'No chance you could fire up some more ideas that we could show here, could you?' Zidler asked, waving his hand around. 'You are a splendid young writer!'

'I could give it a go. Um, do you have any idea how Satine's –?'

'Alive?' Zidler finished. 'Only God knows! And her, of course, dear boy, why don't you ask her?'

'Because she won't really answer,' Christian said without thinking.

'Ah, well, maybe you'll never know?' Zidler shrugged, only it seemed like he was doing some kind of dance move perhaps because of the attention drawn to this one shrug. 'But keep your mind open! The Moulin Rouge could use some extra money, hm?' Zidler clapped Christian on the back and Christian winced. 'So, how long until opening night?'

'I think... five days?'

'Ha! Wonderful! We shall make sure everyone is there, absolutely everyone!'

'Okay. Thank you.'

Zidler laughed and turned to walk back into the Moulin Rouge, not looking behind him once. Christian waited until Zidler has disappeared before he followed.

Where was Satine?

The dance floor was empty unless you counted the few girls sitting in the booths, talking about some kind of 'secret celebration' Zidler was throwing, if Christian heard right. He didn't really care; he knew what he should be doing at the moment was finding Satine.

Then why did he want to leave the Moulin Rouge for the day? He wanted to spend a day in actual Paris, not in some kind of prison world where as soon as you walk into it you become entangled.

He thought hard. Where would he go if he left the Moulin Rouge for a day?

Christian felt a sudden pang to go to the Opera Populaire. Specifically under the Opera Populaire –

'Oh, God,' he hissed, putting his head in his hands. What was wrong with him? 'I have to find Satine,' he said finally, trying to move towards the staircases.

But something stopped him. Perhaps it was that Toulouse, Satie and the Argentinean had just appeared at the other side of the room and he wasn't in the mood for an interrogation. Maybe it was Nini, who was staring at him through heavily made-up eyes, as if he was missing something so important that was happening here, like she had often to the Duke when it was Christian and Satine's 'Secret Romance'.

Or maybe it was that suddenly he felt he was going to throw up for no reason.

He turned and ran out, past the Elephant, through the doors, to the real outside –

After about three minutes, eighty deep breaths and at least three gagging attempts, he managed to calm himself down. What had that been?

He heard footsteps and tried to stand up; thankfully, he managed.

And his jaw dropped.

Christine smiled politely at him. 'Good morning, Christian.'

--

:O Am I laughing evilly right now? Sh-yeah.

Hope you enjoy reading! Thanks again for the wonderful reviews!