The climax approaches! Any guesses on what will happen? Let me know by leaving me a review. ;) Thank you for reading.

Chapter 26

Christine felt positively ghastly when she finally came to. The only things she could focus on as she roused into consciousness were the awful queasiness she felt, her pounding head, and her aching body, that happened to be lying on something very soft. Soon, however, the shock of those things wore off and the memory of what happened, and where she must be now, registered in her mind. The realization only made her feel sicker.

Opening her eyes slowly, her aching head protested, and she emitted a pained, feared whimper. She found that she had been laid down on some extravagant, four-poster bed that was dreadfully unfamiliar, and she sat up warily, slowly. Her eyes darted around the room that she was in, large, unfamiliar, and like the bed, extravagant, but thankfully empty of anyone else but her.

Still, Christine had no doubt in her mind where she was: a bedroom in The de Chagny's estate, and the nausea only got worse at that discovery. She had a strong feeling that she was going to vomit.

And then, the bedroom door opened, and Paul entered the room with a bucket, closing the door behind him. The sight of him and the memories he brought only intensified Christine's urge to get sick, and she clamped a quick hand over her mouth, gagging.

Without a word, Paul handed her the cold metal object and stepped back, an apologetic look on his face. Right on cue, Christine vomited into it, mortified that she had an audience as she did so, and wondering how Paul had known she would need to. She moaned miserably once her stomach was emptied and she could breath again.

"My apologies," Paul said when she finally pulled her face out of the bucket. "One of the unavoidable side effects of the ether, I am afraid."

Ether? Oh, what he must have used to render me unconscious, she thought. Christine glared at him with accusing eyes that were red rimmed and wet, and she wordlessly handed him the bucket when he reached for it, blushing in embarrassment despite herself.

"I will see to it that you receive something to settle your stomach," he said quickly over his shoulder as he strode from the room.

The second the door shut behind him she jumped off the bed, ignoring how the movement made her head pound even more fiercely. She raced toward the door, but before she could reach it, a tugging at her ankle caused her to trip, and she landed on her hands and knees with a pained hiss. What…? She examined her ankle and was shocked to find that it was incased in a chain, connected to the bed. "No!" she gasped in horror.

She was not sure whether she felt more angry or mortified at the moment, but either way, hot tears pooled in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. With reluctance, she made her way back to the bed and sat at the edge helplessly, facing the window. The skies were still gloomy and grey, but even darker now, and she suspected that it would rain. Would Erik make it home before it did?

Erik.

Christine burst into sobs, her hand covering the cries that she could not control coming from her mouth. Her husband would return home, only to find that she was gone, and God, he was going to be furious. Her heart broke as she imagined how angry and worried he would be, how he would think only the worst. She wanted nothing more than to be there to calm him, reassure him that she was okay, that she would never leave his side.

Obviously, that was impossible.

It took a while and countless deep breaths, but her tears were somewhat under control when Paul returned with a mousy servant girl. She had set a tray on the bench at the foot of the bed and left without a glance in Christine's direction, rousing her suspicion. Ah, so did everyone in the house know what was going on?

When Paul saw her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes, he immediately looked shamed and unsure. His obvious discomfort at the situation filled Christine with a vague hope that maybe he was not a bad man after all, and maybe he would even help her.

"The Vicomte is on his way," he finally stated nervously. "He knows you have been found, and is racing home to see you." He said the last part like it was a good thing.

Christine's stomach twisted with dread. "Please, Monsieur Clément," she begged, moving from the bed to stand before him. "You have to let me go before he gets back. I am afraid of what he will do to me." She said the last sentence slowly, emphasizing each word.

He looked baffled as he looked down at her. "Miss Daaé, I am sure he would not hurt you in any way," Paul tried to assure her, but she was already shaking her head.

"Then you do not know him like I do!" she cried. "The last time we spoke face to face, he…he was unstable and terrifying. He grabbed me, Monsieur! And that is not the worst that he tried to do." Her voice broke on the last word, and she pressed her lips together to hold back a frightened sob.

Paul stared at her with disbelieving eyes, his hands rising in a calming gesture. "Now now, settle down, Miss. Just eat your bread, drink your tea, and you will feel much better. Everything will be fine."

The way he said those things, like he was addressing a small child, made her think that he thought her mad. Perhaps Raoul had already told all of his search team that she was. If that were the case, Paul obviously would not believe anything she told him.

She sighed in defeat, tears falling down her cheeks, and obeyed him only because she was famished and would never deprive herself for her child's sake.

Paul sat in a chair beside the fireplace across the room from Christine, watching her. Christine had not notice that he stayed at first, devouring her bread and gulping her tea, thankful to chase away the awful taste of bile from her mouth. But when Paul had coughed, her head snapped up and saw that he was still in the room.

"Why are you still here?" she asked hotly.

"I am supposed to make sure you do not try anything…funny."

Christine raised an eyebrow at that. "I can hardly try and escape. I am chained to the bed." She lifted her imprisoned ankle for evidence.

"I can see that," he scoffed. "But I am…supposed to make sure you do not try and, ah, hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself?" she repeated, exasperated. On instinct, one of her hands came to rest on her belly. "Why on earth would I do that?"

Before Paul could answer, the bedroom door swung open, banging against the wall in a way that made Christine jump. Paul stood quickly from his chair, and Christine was horrified to see the reason why.

Raoul stood in the doorway, looking much healthier than he did the last time she had seen him. He still looked thin, but not as tired, his eyes—though still wild and piercing—a bit clearer, and his posture perfect. He had not been drinking, it seemed. Well, perhaps he just was not drunk at the moment. He first stared at Christine, unsmiling, but something about his face screamed satisfaction. It made her stomach roll once again.

And then he turned to Paul. "Ah, Paul ol boy!" Raoul greeted the man with a firm handshake and a grin. "I knew you would come through for me. Your payment is waiting for you downstairs, and you must stay to celebrate. But for now, I would like a word with Miss Daaé alone."

She almost wanted to correct him by saying that it was actually "Madame Destler", but she refrained for Erik's safety, of course.

Christine stood warily, hoping her face did not give away her fear, and that she appeared brave. Paul gave her one last unsure glace and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Silence.

Raoul stood tall a few yards away, and Christine was frozen where she stood near the window. They just glared at each other for a while, neither of them really knowing what to say. Christine was visibly angry; fists clenched at her side and chin raised defensively, but there was still fear in her eyes, she was sure. She trembled slightly.

Finally, the silence became unbearable and Christine finally spoke. "Bravo, Monsieur le Vicomte," she said bitterly, giving him the chance to respond but continuing when he did not. "You have successfully kidnapped me. Now what? You expect me to just forget everything and fall back in love with you?" She laughed once without humor, hoping he did not notice how her voice shook. "I hope that is not what you expect, because you will indeed be disappointed."

His eyes narrowed further. "It worked for him, did it not?" Raoul spat. "Obviously being your perfect match in every day did not work, so I thought I would try it his way. You are mine now, Christine. Whether you like it or not."

"I will never be yours," she said slowly. "I am his, whether you like it or not!"

Raoul's jaw clenched, and she could see that her words were only making things worse. She internally chided herself, swallowing as he took a step closer.

"Careful, Christine," he warned. "Everyone already suspects that you are insane, and all it will take is one order from me to get you committed to the asylum."

Christine sucked in a gust of air; his words making her feel sick again.

He continued coldly, taking another step forward. "Do you know how poorly the asylum treats their patients? It had been said that if one were admitted without actually being insane, just being there alone is enough to drive one into complete madness. Now, is that what you want, Christine?"

She ignored his question, and also tried to ignore the fact that he was now standing right in front of her. "He will come for me," she stated simply. "Surely you know that."

Raoul nodded. "Oh, of course he will! And when he does, he will be caught and taken to rot in prison where he belongs. And I will have you all to myself." He eyed her possessively, reaching one of his hands up to stroke her hair.

She flinched away from his touch. "Raoul," Christine warned seriously. "He will kill you. What makes you think you will be able to capture him?"

"I have enough men," he said confidently, though his teeth were slightly clenched in frustration. "He will be no match for all of us."

Christine sighed, the sight of this angry, bitter man suddenly overwhelming her with sadness. He was so different from the charming, warm boy she once knew, and she realized it was all her fault that he had changed. "Oh, Raoul," she whispered, her eyes swimming with moisture, looking directly into his. "Who are you?" She could see in his eyes that he understood what she meant, but he held fast to his defensive expression, saying nothing. "You are not the same man I once knew. I…I suppose I am the one to blame for that. But can't you see what you are doing is just wrong?"

"What he did was wrong!" Raoul suddenly shouted, making her jump back. "He stole you from me, took you away from me! You were mine, Christine." His voice broke on her name, and his own eyes were wet now. He reached up to touch her hair again. This time, she let him, and he continued in a mere whisper, "But…I am still me. I still love you more than anything."

Christine shook her head, the tears spilling over, but before she could say anything he spoke again in a rush. "I know you are thinking about the last time, and I am deeply sorry for…the way I behaved. I was out of my mind that night, truly. But I have been doing better! I have not been drinking near as much as I was. For you, Christine." Raoul took her hands, and his wild grey eyes were pleading into hers. "I swear it will all be like it was before. We will be happy."

His sudden change in demeanor was almost disorienting. Though his words did seem genuine, she knew that there was no way she could be happy with him. Her heart belonged only to Erik, and his child in her womb. Nothing else mattered.

Still, she was not sure what she should say to Raoul now. Of course she would not tell him that she was pregnant. There was no telling how he would react, and she had to protect herself and her baby. So what should she do? Play along?

Chewing on her lip, Christine sniffled and removed her hands from his to wipe her wet cheeks. "We shall see," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes. "Will…will you unchain me? I promise not to run. I am sure there are those who would catch me if I tried, anyway."

"I was not planning on keeping you chained long. Just until I got here." He bent down as he spoke, taking a key out of his coat pocket and freeing her ankle. "There you are." Raoul seemed cheered at her compliant attitude, even though she was obviously unhappy. "The washroom is through that door," he pointed to the door in the northern corner of the room. She merely nodded, staring at the floor. "I do not…suppose you would join me for dinner?"

Her first instinct was to glare at him for the idiotic question, but she refrained and just shook her head. "I just…need to be alone for a while, Raoul."

"Right," he sighed, disappointed. "I will have a servant bring you your meal, then. And someone will always be right outside your door in case you try anything. But you will be a good girl, yes?" He lifted her chin gently with one hand, smiling softly at her.

"Yes," she whispered, defeated.

He nodded once, picked up one of her hands, and placed a swift kiss on her knuckles. "I love you, Little Lotte," he whispered, and then turned and strode from the room.

Christine vaguely heard him converse with whoever it was guarding her door, but she did not have the energy or emotional capacity to listen. She could feel the overwhelming grief creeping up to her heart, and she did not try and fight it. She only glanced out the window, saw that it had started to rain, and put her face in her hands and wept.