Chapter Twenty-Eight: His Challenged Fate

"Christine?" A sweet, feminine voice called her name from beside her. "Christine?"

Christine blinked back the tears that clouded her eyes as Meg laid her hand upon her arm.

"Christine, please, say something."

Christine shook her head, blinking profusely. She laid her forehead in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Meg. Forgive me."

Meg warily smiled.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine." Christine cleared her throat. "What were we discussing?" She asked dazedly.

Meg let out a soft sigh, her voice suddenly becoming serious.

"Christine, you have been here for three days since your return from Paris. You haven't left your room until this morning and you certainly haven't spoken to Mama and me, either. Now, please," she pleaded, taking Christine's hands in hers, "talk to me. Tell me what happened. Will they release Erik?" She asked bluntly.

Tears spilled forth upon Christine's face as she looked fixedly into Meg's concerned eyes. She hadn't any idea what to confide to her dear friend and believed that if she had any inkling of where to begin she doubted she would confide the truth to her anyhow. She didn't wish to burden the Girys with what had occurred while she stayed with Raoul in Paris. Yet they were all she had left, besides Raoul and Philippe. They deserved to know the truth. After all, Erik meant everything to Meg and Madame Giry, too, how could she possibly not tell them?

Christine shook her head. She was completely and miserably torn.

"I-I don't know, Meg." She finally spoke. "I truly don't know."

Meg bit her lip then pulled away from Christine, falling back in her chair, tears filling her own eyes. Christine looked down in her lap shamefully. She hated this.

They were seated within the gardens, drinking tea in the white gazebo that Erik had built for the Girys while he lived with them some years ago. Christine was trying desperately to enjoy the crisp, breezy morning, Meg, too. But as the morning slowly went by, it seemed impossible. Erik was no longer in her life and nothing else in this entire world would convince her otherwise of the miracle of his return. It was over. He was gone, never to return to her.

Christine wrapped her arms about her suddenly chilled body.

"I think I shall return to my room, Meg," she whispered as she rose from the delicate glass table that was trimmed with white finishing. "I am not feeling very well."

"You will do nothing of the kind, Christine Daaé." An authoritative voice came from behind her.

Meg awkwardly looked away and out into the gardens as Christine froze at the sudden sound of Madame Giry's strong voice.

She felt the mysteriously daunting yet loving ballet mistress walk up behind her, followed quickly by her soft hand upon her shoulder.

"Please, sit, my child."

Christine nodded automatically, knowing full well Madame Giry's gesture wasn't a request but a command. She sat once more, Madame Giry joining her and Meg.

She poured herself some tea, took a prim sip then laid her hand upon Christine's.

"How are you feeling this morning, Christine?"

"I'm fine." She lied.

Madame Giry set her teacup upon the table then placed her hands in her lap. She nodded her head.

"Christine, dear, I cannot express enough how very sorry I am for what has occurred. It—"

Madame Giry drew in a slow breath, choking upon her words. Christine couldn't decide if she'd done so in order to cover a small sob or if she was just having a difficult time finding the right words. She quickly looked over at the ballet mistress who'd been a second mother to her, concern in her hazel eyes.

"Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry laid her hand upon her mouth, causing Meg and Christine to immediately stand before her, wrapping their arms about her shoulders and body. She quietly wept.

"Oh, Mama," Meg consoled.

Christine rubbed Madame Giry's back in comfort. She raised her hand up to stop them.

"I'm all right, dears. I'm quite all right." She paused, drawing in a long breath. "He was my dearest friend."

Christine and Meg froze at her words though they both already knew the dark truth. Yet hearing them aloud was still quite overwhelming, still shocking. Christine felt incredibly selfish. She wasn't the only one mourning the enigmatic composer. It was just as before. The Girys were grieving, too, especially Madame Giry, who'd known Erik for twenty-five years.

Madame Giry turned to Christine as they sat once more before the table.

"You truly don't know if he shall be released, Christine?"

Christine slowly shook her head.

"No," she replied meekly. "I don't. Raoul promised me that he'd write as soon as it is determined—" She swallowed hard. "As soon as it is determined whether he shall live or…die." Her throat closed as she held back her seemingly endless tears at her last word.

"Do you think they will let him live, Mama?" Meg hopefully asked. "Perhaps they won't release him. But they may allow him to live."

Madame Giry shook her head, taking another sip of tea. Christine knew Madame Giry was doing all she possibly could to keep her prim and proper composure perceptible.

"I don't know. He has been a wanted man for years. I don't suppose it's possible. He shall either die or be released, all or nothing. All we can do now is wait." She spoke grimly.

Christine abruptly stood from the chair, suddenly furious.

"There is no use in waiting! It's over! He's gone, never to return!"

"Christine—" Madame Giry began.

"No! I won't hear it! I can't take it anymore! Now, please, I don't wish to speak of it any longer."

She began sobbing as Madame Giry stood beside her, gently grasping her wrist. Simultaneously, Meg walked around the table, wrapping her arms about Christine's waist.

"Hush, darling. Everything will be all right. We're here, my sweet child." Madame Giry soothed.

"It's never going to be all right." Christine sobbed. "Nothing you can say or do will console me or will bring him back to me. It's over. Erik is gone."

She pushed away from Meg and Madame Giry and began leaving the gazebo when she abruptly stopped in her tracks, an agonizing question upon her lips. A question she'd longed to ask them both since Bernard had first brought her here after that life shattering morning.

Christine swiftly turned on her heel, facing them both once more.

"Did you know of Erik's marriage?" She softly asked. "O-of Geneviève?"

She noticed Meg freeze at her question, her face gone pale. But Madame Giry remained calm, her face expressionless, her dark eyes somber.

"Yes," Madame Giry simply answered after some time.

Christine was fuming but found herself too exhausted to argue. She desperately wanted to yell and scream at this confession, but couldn't find the will to do so. She didn't have the heart, didn't have the soul. But she had to know why. If she had known it would have possibly changed everything.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She dejectedly asked. "Please, tell me why."

"Oh, Christine," Meg spoke but was stopped by Madame Giry.

"It wasn't our place to tell, child. The decision was Erik's. We wouldn't take that away from him." She shook her head, visibly realizing that any explanation wouldn't be enough. "It simply wasn't our place."

"We didn't wish for you to become upset, Christine." Meg continued. "We were afraid you wouldn't return to him if you'd known. We wanted to protect you—"

Christine clenched her fists, her sudden desire to fight back and defend herself overcoming her lost senses.

"Why is everyone trying to protect me? You two, Raoul and Philippe, Erik! Why? I am not a child! I can take care of myself." She cried. "Why doesn't anyone believe that?"

She wrapped her arms about her body. She felt lost and helpless. Her life, Erik, everything was gone. All she had left were the Girys and the de Chagnys, and yet, here she was, knowingly destroying them with her words. All they'd wanted was to help her, to love her, yet she wouldn't have it. She would embrace the darkness as Erik had, live her life alone.

She didn't want another in her life, didn't want anyone.

Christine miserably sobbed, falling to the ground, vigorously shaking her head. She slammed her fists upon the rough ground of the gazebo, incredibly angry with herself.

That is not what you want you little fool! You know you need them in your life! You cannot live a life of solitude. Erik wouldn't allow it! Why are you pushing them away?

"Christine," a clam voice broke through her demented thoughts, sitting down beside her and laying her hand upon her shoulder.

Christine wiped her nose with her hand, then her cheeks, giving in to Madame Giry's comforting touch.

"You're angry, Christine." Madame Giry spoke. "You're upset, you're lost. You're very frightened. I know, darling, I know," she breathed as Christine began to cry once more at her direct words.

Madame Giry embraced her.

"But you aren't alone, Christine. You aren't! Meg and I aren't going anywhere and neither are the Comte and Vicomte. We're grieving, too." She slightly pulled away and looked intently into Christine's eyes. "If Erik is truly gone, Christine—" She blinked back tears and sighed deeply, a sudden thought occurring. "Were you able to visit him? Were you able to say…goodbye?"

Christine winced. While in Paris she hadn't thought once of actually visiting Erik in prison, she hadn't believed it to be possible.

You stupid woman!

Tears began spilling forth as she thought of her recklessness. She'd been too consumed with how to save him, forgetting completely the possibility of seeing him, of making things right between them before his imminent demise, whether it be the end of his life or their love. She had spoken such horrible words to him that morning, words she desperately wanted to take back, and now she'd never be able to apologize, to seek his forgiveness. She would never say goodbye.

He was gone.

Christine cringed, forcefully closing her eyes. She felt she might be sick. She grabbed her stomach.

"Christine?" She heard Meg's concerned voice before her.

"Meg, go and find—"

"No, no," Christine stopped Madame Giry. "I'm all right. It isn't necessary. Please, don't go, Meg." She reached her hand out to her sweet friend.

Meg hastily sat down beside her and Madame Giry, taking Christine's hands in hers.

"Christine, what is it?"

Christine bit her lip as Madame Giry wiped her tears away. Yet it seemed futile considering they kept pouring forth. She couldn't help herself. Her soul, her heart, was gone, sadness would forever envelop her. She truly believed it.

"Christine?" Meg inquired once more after some time.

She drew in a long breath. She'd informed Philippe of her cruel words to Erik that ill-fated morning, and he'd understood completely. He promised her that Erik had forgiven her, that he understood. But the opinion of the Girys mattered, too. She needed to hear their reassurance of Erik's love and forgiveness. But she also needed to hear them tell her that she was a stupid, foolish girl. She wanted to be hurt for what she'd said to him, for what she'd…done to him.

"The last thing I said to him was that he didn't love me as much as I love him! I told him that I'd never forgive him for leaving me! It was awful! My words, my childishness, how could I say such things to him? Those will forever be my last words to him! We argued!" She yelled. "Our last conversation together was an argument! I will never forgive myself!"

Suddenly hysterical, Christine threw herself into Madame Giry's arms, Meg wrapping her own about Christine.

"Hush, child," Madame Giry soothed. "It is over now, just as you said." She grabbed Christine's face between her frail hands. "And you know he has forgiven you! He loved you with his entire being, Christine. He never loved another! You, Christine, it has always been you! He knows you hadn't meant those words. You were scared!"

Christine noticed Meg look down at the ground at Madame Giry's passionately blunt words. Meg had loved Erik once, perhaps still loved him. It must have hurt to hear her mother fervently tell Christine that Erik had only loved her and never another.

"And he knew you loved him with your soul, Christine." Madame Giry furiously continued. "Don't you ever think otherwise, Christine, that he didn't know you loved him! I will not hear it! You were scared! You only spoke out of your concern for him! Those words certainly wouldn't make him believe you thought he didn't love you, that you didn't love him because of them! You mustn't think such things!"

Madame Giry abruptly stood then, smoothing her skirts, her outburst hurting her. She laid her hand upon her forehead. Christine noticed she was trembling.

Meg stood, too, laying her hand on Madame Giry's shoulder.

"Mama, please," Meg pleaded.

Madame Giry exhaled.

"I'm sorry, Christine. God, I am sorry." She walked to the table and sat down, visibly settling down and collecting her thoughts. Christine had never known Madame Giry to be so angry, so impassioned. Not for some time, not since she'd pleaded with Raoul and the managers of the Paris Opera House to beware of Erik's machinations. It frightened her to rediscover this terrified and angry woman.

"Are you expecting to hear from the Vicomte soon?" Madame Giry finally asked, breaking the solemn silence that seemed to last an eternity between the three anguished women.

Christine slowly stood, hesitantly walking toward Madame Giry.

"I don't know."

Madame Giry nodded.

"I suppose you wouldn't." She sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled—"

Christine shook her head, diffidently laying a hand upon Madame Giry's shoulder.

"I needed to hear it. I've been a fool."

"No, Christine," Meg spoke. "You aren't a fool. You're frightened."

"I don't know what to do without him, Meg. I don't think I can live without him."

Meg shook her head, laying her hand upon Christine's shoulder.

"You can, Christine. You must. Erik would want you—"

Christine furiously shook her head, pulling away from Meg.

"Please, don't, Meg. I couldn't bear it."

Madame Giry stood then, taking Christine's face between her hands.

"Time, Christine. I know you don't wish to hear it now, but time will heal you. I promise you."

Christine swallowed hard, looking down upon the ground. Madame Giry embraced her, laying her head upon Christine's. She felt Meg tentatively lay her hand upon her back.

"Perhaps you should return to your room, now, Christine. Enough has been said for one day. You mustn't relive everything now."

Christine nodded her head in compliance. Madame Giry grasped her chin, obliging Christine to look into the dark eyes of the compelling ballet mistress.

"You may not wish to confide everything you're feeling to us, now, Christine. But with time you may. Don't burden yourself with this horror, this despair. Don't bury it deep within yourself. You must let it in and seek forgiveness. I know you are weeping for Erik, that you will always grieve for him, but don't bring this solely upon yourself. Let us in, Christine. Please, my dear, let us in. We only wish to help you."

Madame Giry kissed her forehead as Meg laid her head upon Christine's back.

"We love you, Christine." Meg softly declared.

Christine nodded, wiping her wet cheeks.

"I know. I love you both."

Madame Giry softly smiled then gently touched her cheek. Christine warily smiled in return then tenderly pulled away from the Girys' embraces and slowly returned to their small cottage.

Once she reached the door she turned to them and slowly nodded with acknowledgement toward them. Madame Giry had wrapped her arm about Meg's shoulder, Meg's head laying upon her mother's, their tearstained cheeks visible from the cottage.

Christine absentmindedly wiped her own face at the sight of them then turned to the door once more and went inside, silently shutting the door behind her.

***

Meg fell into her mother's arms as soon as Christine disappeared within the cottage, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Mama, I cannot do this. What if he is dead?"

Berenice wrapped her arms tightly about her trembling daughter.

"I accepted his fate long ago, Meg. You must, now, too."

Meg pulled away from her mother and looked fixedly into her eyes.

"How can you say that, Mama? You don't mean it!"

Berenice grasped her daughter's hands.

"Meg, his fate was decided the moment he abducted Christine through her mirror all those years ago. He lived for her and now he will die for her."

Meg shook her head furiously.

"No! I won't believe it! Stop this!" She pulled her hands free and laid them upon her ears. "I won't listen to this." She began running toward the cottage.

"Meg!" Berenice exclaimed. "Please, Meg!"

But it was too late. Meg had hastily entered the cottage, slamming the door behind her. Madame Giry let out a long sigh and vulnerably fell into the chair upon the gazebo.

"Damn you, Erik," she breathed, not really meaning it. She slammed her fist upon the table. "Damn your mother to Hell!" She yelled now, with brazen conviction.

The man hadn't known what love was, hadn't felt it, had never been embraced by it, all because of his vain and coward of a mother.

Damn that wicked woman!

Berenice poured herself more tea then sipped it, closing her eyes as its warmth enveloped her, its liquid a small comfort.

She never met Erik's mother. He certainly hadn't a clue as to her whereabouts, hadn't a clue as to whether she was even alive.

Berenice shook her head. Of course she wasn't alive, the woman was a whore. If she hadn't died because of her nonsensicality of life then the French disease surely had taken her worthless life.

Why couldn't the woman have loved her son unconditionally? No matter that he wasn't physically perfect in the eyes of society. Erik is a good man.

Was a good man, her distraught mind whispered within her.

Berenice shook her head, abruptly standing from the table. She began pacing the gazebo.

No! He isn't dead!

Tears burst forth upon her flushed face.

But he will be.

Berenice sighed, turning her thoughts to his mother once more. In a morose and twisted way, she was grateful to the woman. If it hadn't been for her casting Erik away, for her abandonment, her treatment of the boy, then she'd never had known the man.

She'd never have found him trapped and beaten and cruelly exposed at that carnival all those years ago. He'd never had escaped to Persia those years before she'd saved him and found temporary peace while designing and building for the Shah. He'd been accepted there, had a seemingly nice life there.

Berenice suddenly frowned, crinkling her brow.

She'd never known why Erik had left Persia after only living there for a few years. She never dared to ask him. All information he'd ever given her of his tormented life had been volunteered. He'd always confided to her willingly. She never pushed him for the morbid details of his life. Yet through all of his truth, he'd never revealed why he'd left Persia. And when he had spoken of his former home, he only spoke of its beauties. She hadn't wished to ask him of its cruelties, his reasoning for leaving, believing he'd had a dark and terrifying reason for leaving in the end, only to return to a country that had been the bane of his existence from the moment he'd taken his first breath.

"Madame Giry?"

Berenice shook her head as her thoughts were interrupted by Olivie's soft voice.

"Yes, Olivie, what is it?" She kindly inquired.

"The Vicomte de Chagny is here, Madame."

Berenice's eyes widened as she swiftly turned toward Olivie. She swallowed hard as her body suddenly began to tremble.

"Where is Christine?" She hastily asked.

"I believe her to still be in her bedroom, Madame. That was the last I saw of her."

Berenice nodded her head.

"Thank you, Olivie."

Olivie briefly curtsied, causing Berenice to softly smile. The young maid never needed to indulge in such formalities yet never obliged to her and Meg's desire of her not doing so. She was ever the sweet girl.

"Olivie," Berenice called after her as she turned to go.

"Yes, Madame," she asked.

"Where is my daughter?"

"I last saw her entering her bedroom as well, Madame."

"Please, Olivie, make sure they both stay there until I say otherwise. I wish to speak with the Vicomte alone first."

Olivie furrowed her brow, clearly confused and reluctant.

"Of course, Madame," she complied after a moment then turned on her heel to go.

Berenice exhaled, resting her hands upon the glass table.

The Vicomte personally coming to inform Christine of Erik's fate couldn't possibly be good. Erik was either already dead or certainly well on his way to become one with God in Heaven.

A thought suddenly occurred to Madame Giry. Would Christine return to the Vicomte upon learning of Erik's fate? She gulped as she realized of the harsh possibility and Erik's reaction to it.

He would want it.

No other man beside the Vicomte loved Christine as deeply as Erik. No other man could protect Christine as best as the Vicomte could. And he would. His name, his nobility, his family, could certainly protect Christine from the law, from embracing a dark despair for the rest of her life. Christine wouldn't be alone, either. She may never love the Vicomte as she loved Erik—

Madame Giry scoffed. Of course Christine wouldn't love the Vicomte as she would always love Erik. She silently berated herself for even thinking of the possibility of Christine falling in love with the Vicomte even deeper than she had with Erik. For her soul would surely wilt away and die with Erik once she discovered his dark fate.

The only concern now was whether or not Christine would comply with remarrying the Vicomte. Perhaps not now but in time she would see the light, would realize that marriage to the Vicomte was the logical choice to make.

Berenice shook her head at her own thoughts. Christine had made the so-called logical choice five years ago and found herself trapped within a hopeless marriage because of it.

But Berenice hadn't believed for a moment that Christine didn't truly love the Vicomte, for she'd seen the two of them together over the years of their marriage. Christine had loved the Vicomte very much. And despite him being the logical choice, the right choice, in the eyes of society, that hadn't been the true reason whatsoever for her potential surrender of her life to Erik in order to save the Vicomte's. She had done it because she loved him and she wouldn't have had it any other way. She'd wanted him to live even if it meant her life would forever be embraced by Erik's darkness.

But now to choose the Vicomte because it was the logical choice, well…Berenice knew Christine wouldn't have it. She'd never choose because it was the right thing to do but because her heart and soul believed it to be.

No, Christine would never love another man, never lie with another, never give all of her to another.

Christine was forever Erik's and there was no doubt that she'd die with Erik once she learned of his sealed fate. A fate that had truly been sealed the moment Erik had abducted Christine though her mirror, as she'd confided to Meg moments ago, and gave Christine his music and soul all those years ago.

Berenice sighed as she left the gazebo and her bleak thoughts with it, and slowly walked toward the cottage, the Vicomte along with Erik and Christine's fate waiting inside.

It was time.