Welp, this chapter went NOTHING like I had originally planned. Sometimes, your own writing can surprise you, haha. Warning for Raoul lovers out there. He is not very nice in this chapter, but keep in mind that he is pretty much insane by this point. :/
Thank you so much for reading, and please review.
Chapter 28
Christine woke with a start, only vaguely remembering where she was. She could not recall her dream, so she was unsure of what had snapped her into consciousness, whether it had been a nightmare or some other noise. The room was still very warm from the remainder of the fire, and she was sweltering under the thick quilts. She threw them off, standing up to put her feverish cheek to the cool glass of the window.
She sighed into the glass, the coldness of it feeling wonderful against her heated skin. After a moment, she pulled back and looked out the window with tired eyes that were still filled with sleep. It was still nighttime. The rain clouds from before had waned a bit, allowing her to see some stars where there were breaks. She suspected that dawn was still hours away.
And then, her stomach growled, and she wondered if the guard outside would bring her something to eat if she asked. Pulling on her robe as she went, she padded barefoot to the door, unlocking it and opening it quietly.
Though the house seemed still with the late night, there was still a sort of strange energy about it. Christine could not hear anything but her own breaths and the deep, steady breathing of a man guarding her door. It was dark in the hallway, but her eyes had adjusted so she could see that the man's eyes were closed, his head slack against the wall.
He was asleep.
Holding her breath, she exited the bedroom, not even daring to close the door behind her lest she wake the man. The slightest sound could give her away. She slowly and silently tiptoed away from the room and the man, feeling more at ease the farther she got. He had not budged an inch. Some guard he was!
Christine roamed the halls slowly, warily trekking through the darkness. When she came across the grand staircase, she took each step down with care, looking around for anything that might make noise, or anyone that may be watching for her. Oddly, though she had just awoken in the middle of the night, she felt wide-awake. Alert. As if there was something she needed to be on edge about.
Well, she was being held against her will, after all.
She had been to the de Chagny estate before, long ago, when she had been engaged to Raoul. She was familiar the first floor rather well, and could maneuver the halls in the dark without issue. She avoided the northern quarter, knowing that was where the front door was located with, no doubt, men guarding it. She knew it would not be very smart to try and escape this early on.
All she needed was a quick snack, and then she would go back to bed.
The kitchen was found easily, and she lit a single light on a dim level, the slight hiss of the gas making her think she was not alone for a moment. However, the kitchen was empty. Being as quiet as she could, she lurked around the kitchen until she found the leftovers from that night's dinner. She ate some of the cooked potatoes that had long gone cold. They were not very appetizing, but she knew the starchiness of the vegetable would fill her up. To her delight, there was also some cakes left from dessert, and she had a few, washing them down with some milk. If she were going to be held captive, she would eat whatever she pleased and not think twice about it. Besides, it was not as if a little leftover food would be missed in this mansion.
When she finished, she put everything back the way she found it, shutting off the light before leaving the kitchen. With her belly full, her eyes felt heavier already, and she felt ready to sleep once again. As she sleepily walked through the halls, she heard a quiet thud from somewhere, but before she could focus on it, however, the sound of murmured voices registered in her ears. She followed the voices, finding they came from somewhere down the western hall, past the main sitting room and library.
Christine would have left it alone and gone back upstairs, but Raoul's voice was one she recognized, and she was curious as to whom he was talking with this late, and what he was talking about.
He had seemed so disgusted with her after she admitted she was pregnant, and a part of her hoped he would let her go, but the more logical part of her knew he would not give up so easily.
Her stomach twisted with the possibilities of what might happen to her now.
Silently making her way down that hall toward the voices, she saw some light emitting from a cracked open door. Christine stopped a couple yards away, leaning against the wall and listening.
"…do not understand why you would even consider that. It is not right. It is just...awful, de Chagny." She vaguely recognized Monsieur Clément's, Paul's, voice in a low murmur.
"What else could be done, Clément?" Raoul growled back.
Paul shushed him, for Raoul had gotten too loud. There was a long pause, and then Raoul's voice was much lower as he spoke again. "Just the…the thought of Christine carrying some demon spawn from that disgusting beast makes me want to…!" He let the sentence trail off.
Anger flared hotly in Christine's veins, and her fists clenched at her side. How dare he refer to her baby that way! To her Erik's baby that way! God, she could scarcely believe how awful he was now!
And if she did not hate him before, his next words sealed his fate.
She heard a heavy sigh, and Raoul continued. "I know, I know. It would be much too dangerous for her, anyway. I have heard some women die, and some can never bear children again even if they do survive. Also I do not know of any doctor who would be willing to do it, even if I did offer them a large sum."
Her now shaking hand came to her gaping mouth in horror. He could not really be talking about…?
"That is all you are worried about?" Paul asked, bewildered. "You are not worried about the inhumanness of the act? Of the emotional toll it would have on her? I mean, really, what the hell, de Chagny!?"
Raoul seemed to ignore him, talking to himself. "I cannot raise it. I cannot love it. It is not mine. It is that…monster's! The very man I hate. So what, then?"
There was a long silence as he thought, and Christine's heart pounded, her whole body trembling with hate and fear and anger and hurt. She wanted nothing more than to scream in his face, to hit him, to make him feel pain.
The Raoul she used to know was long gone.
"I have got it!" Raoul exclaimed, and there was a slight bang afterward, as if he hit his fist on a table. "She has the thing, we render her unconscious, and drop it off at an orphanage. And then when she wakes, we regretfully inform her that the child did not make it." A moment of silence, and then, "It is genius!"
Christine nearly screamed right then, but she choked on it. Her head swam and her vision blurred, and she was afraid she might faint. She barely registered Paul's shocked reply, as if she heard it from under water. "I…Raoul, sir, this is madness. I do not want any more part in this. I should not have helped capture her in the first place! She is not the insane one, de Chagny. I am afraid it is you!"
Christine only heard the first of Raoul's defensive rebuttal before she ran away on her toes; quiet sobs ripping through her chest as she went. He had planned to—she winced as the thought came out, refraining from gagging—kill her baby! And when he realized that would not suit him, he would just give it away! And make her believe it died!
She ran up the stairs, gasping and crying, and paused when she found the man who had been guarding her door lying on the floor in a strange position. Her heart stopped for a moment, as she could not tell if he was breathing or not. Was he…?
Her building scream did not even have the chance to surface before one gloved hand clamped her nose and mouth, and another arm ensnared her waist in an iron grip. If she had not been in such an emotional state, she might have known immediately whom those hands belonged to, might have felt that person's presence the second she was near him. But she was on the verge of a breakdown, and she was so startled by those hands that she fought them.
The hand muted Christine's cries, and despite her efforts his hold on her never broke. He pulled her into the bedroom with ease, and she heard the door shut behind them. How…?
Too overwhelmed and exhausted to keep fighting, she slumped a bit against the strong form, whimpering.
"Are you quite done, my dear?" the musical voice growled quietly, and he shrugged away from her immediately. She gasped and spun to face him, her frightened tears turning to sobs of relief as she saw the glow of his porcelain mask in the dark.
"Erik!" she gasped. "Oh, Erik!" She slammed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and drinking in his familiar, spicy masculine scent, instantly comforted. He is here! Erik is here! They had not even been separated for a full day, and still it felt as if she had not held him in so long.
It took a moment before Christine realized that he was motionless as stone before her, not returning her embrace in the slightest. Hesitantly, she pulled away and looked up at his face, hating how his jaw was clenched and his lips were pressed in a hard line.
"You are angry," she whispered.
A low growl came from deep in his chest and he stalked forward, causing her to back up.
"Oh, I am way passed mere anger, Christine." His voice was icy and menacing, and she swallowed, wondering how her husband could still intimidate her, even after all this time. He continued forward until her back pressed against the wall. "My wife was captured by a stupid, insolent boy that I despise, all because she did not obey my simple request that she stay indoors." Erik's hands planted on the wall on either side of her head so quick that it made her jump. "Was it too much to ask, Christine?" Even in the dim room, she could see how his eyes blazed, how his wig was slightly rumpled and his clothing disheveled. He looked like he was going to lose his mind. "Was it really such a hard demand to follow?"
"A-are we really doing this right now, Eri—" she tried to ask, voice shaking, but one of his gloved hands clamped her mouth shut again.
"I do not want to hear it!" he snapped.
Christine felt a distressed flutter in her belly, and she rubbed a hand over it. It is all right, she thought toward the bump. Her free hand came up and caressed the unmasked side of Erik's face. He did not respond at first, but then he leaned slightly into her touch desperately, as if he could not help it, removing his hand from her mouth and shutting his eyes. He sighed then, and as he did the anger seemed to ease, just a little.
"I know, Erik," she murmured, smiling apologetically through her tears. "I am wretched and stupid. I know. I am so sorry. I love you."
A low whine sounded in the back of his throat, and he surged forward until their mouths met in a desperate kiss. He was not gentle. His hands fisted in her hair and he kissed her hard and long, and she adored every second of it. If they were not where they were at the moment, she might have had him take her right then. But no, that would not be smart, given the circumstances.
Erik finally pulled away once they were both gasping for breath, soft leather caressing her face, her hair. "Are you all right?" he asked breathlessly. "Are you hurt? Did he touch you?"
Christine could have lied and said she was fine, but she truly was not all right. She had been stolen from her husband. She had been promised by Raoul that he was different, and then mere hours later he had tried to force himself on her again. No, she was far from all right. Not after this day. Not after what she had heard Raoul saying about her baby, what he planned to do. It was all too much, too awful.
What could she do but cry harder? The events of the entire evening were too much for her to handle, and she could still feel the mental and physical exhaustion despite the excitement she also felt from Erik being there. She buried her face in his chest and cried, and this time he hugged her to him tightly.
And then, she remembered the man who had been guarding her room. She gasped, looking at Erik's face. "The man just outside the door," she whispered, eyes wide. "Is he…did you…?"
"Shh," he stroked her face. "He is simply unconscious. As are the men I encountered outside, as are the men at the front door. None of them saw me, I made sure of it. They will wake and have no idea what happened." His words made her sigh in relief. "I could not do it, Christine. I could not kill them."
She pressed her lips to his again urgently, thankful that he did not kill. Oh, how she loved him! "How did you know this was my room?" she wondered between kisses, clutching at the lapels of his coat and pulling him flush against her.
"I saw you standing at the window," he rasped, his hands splayed across her back. "And then you left the room…" He pulled back, eyes questioning.
"I got hungry," she explained, and she loved how his expression warmed, and a hint of a smile played at his lips. Perhaps he would forgive her after all.
"I should have known, I suppose," he whispered, palming one of her cheeks sweetly. She covered his gloved hand with her own and smiled.
"What now, Erik?" she breathed, her smile faltering. "What are we going to do?"
He did not answer, and his lips pressed together in a hard line.
"You want to kill him, don't you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," he admitted, avoiding her eyes.
Christine found it strange how just minutes ago she would have been happy with the thought of Raoul dying. He had thought of killing her baby, and she was so filled with hatred for him that the force of it scared her. But now, as she looked at her husband and rubbed a caressing hand over her stomach, she knew was true, pure happiness was, and she knew that killing would never bring that. Killing was wrong, and Erik should not be subjected to performing that deed ever again.
And Raoul…
Paul's words echoed in Christine's mind. She is not the insane one, de Chagny. I am afraid it is you!
He was going mad. He was a complete different man! Yes, he could control his own actions, and he chose to make things worse by drinking. But still, Christine could not help but feel at least a little responsible for the way he had changed so drastically.
Tears flooded her eyes again. Oh, how she was sick of crying.
"I understand, Erik," she said. "I love you, and I can not judge you. But I do not think you should kill him, despite everything." Her voice trembled, and he finally met her eyes. "Raoul is…deeply damaged by all of this. Because of me, and he is not the same man I once knew. He needs help. Not death."
"Christine," Erik groaned quietly, grabbing her shoulders. "How do you expect me to leave him alive? He will only try to take you from me again!"
Erik was right, and Christine knew it. She chewed on her lip for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was sure. "You may not kill him, Erik. That is final."
"We shall see about that, my dear," he growled, and turned expectantly toward the door. He stood tall and confident, and the door swung open, making Christine jump.
Raoul stood in the doorway, a distressed looking Paul close behind him. Christine's heart pounded when she saw what was in Raoul's hand, pointed at her husband.
A revolver.
"I thought I recognized that voice," Raoul said, disgust covering his tone. He was visibly tense, unmistakable hate in his glassy eyes. "Hello, ghost. I knew you would be joining us."
