Author's Note: Hello all! We've only got about 8 chapters left, so strap in, get ready for the shit-show, and enjoy the ride! I hope I'm not being too cruel, with all these plot twists and such. *shifty eyes* For those that have stuck around, read, and reviewed, and encouraged me both here and on Tumblr, I'd like to extend a very special thank you. You are all amazing and I'm so grateful for your support! Cookies all around! Also, I took some creative liberties with this chapter on certain things, so it is my hope that doing so will be realistic and enjoyable to y'all. Finally, the title for this chapter comes from the CCR song "Have You Ever Seen the Rain." It's one of my favorites and, to me, reflects the mood of the events in this chapter. Welp, that's about it. Read, review, and enjoy!
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Chapter 29 - Yesterday and Days Before
Raoul
I am a haunted man. For the first time in my life, I cannot find any meaning in my suffering, no way to justify or understand what has come to pass. I live with it daily; my life is not at all what I had once dreamed it would be. Years ago, I thought I understood what heartache truly felt like - I was determined that I was well-versed in loss, in longing. Acts of valor would be my saving grace, I was sure, and somehow I could nobly rise above such turmoil if only I was good, if I always did what my purest instincts and best intentions told me was right. With that notion, I was absolutely sure that my own poor heart had been thoroughly shattered beyond repair at the hands of my childhood sweetheart and circumstances of the heart beyond our control. But even so, in the end I could be set free from that pain if I was patient. Time would be my greatest asset.
I was so very wrong, too utterly naive for my own good; it certainly was not breaking ties with Christine that had torn my heart in two - not in the way that I now understand that bleak sensation - and looking back I'd give anything to live in that relatively simpler time. It was a complicated affair of the heart, to be sure - those turbulent times trying to win Christine's affections and fearing Erik's hateful recourse in the ultimate battle of wills have forever been engraved in my memories. But after enduring what I have since we three last met, I find that I much prefer the simplicity of young love to the very real trials of loss and grief. I know true heartache now, and its unwavering presence has rendered me helpless to its cruel whims. To have my family and friends resent me, to feel as though I am drowning in my guilt is now my cross to bear, and nothing can change that - nothing can bring back those that I loved the most.
It's been eight years since Christine and I parted, nearly six since I was forced to say goodbye to Lorraine and Jean-Pierre, but it feels as though an entire lifetime has passed me by. Now, it would seem, I've been burdened with enough weight upon my shoulders to turn me into a bitter and lonesome man. I am no longer the hopeful youth I once was, and that simple truth mocks me endlessly.
I think of my past all the more now that I am obliged to make the journey to London, to a home to which I was not invited; yet my visit could very well mean the difference between life and death for one that I once loved and for another that I long ago grudgingly decided to think of as a friend of sorts. And all the while I wonder if I am brave enough to see this visit through to the end. For, it would seem, I am not the man I used to be - I hardly know myself anymore, and more than once I consider turning back. Honestly, I'm not even sure what compels me to doubt my intentions. But every time that flitting thought of abandonment of my task occurs to me, I force myself to recall that day so long ago, just outside of Paris, when my foolish slip of the tongue exposed two people to their would-be executioner - if not only for the sake of friendship, I know that I am indebted to them for the fact that I had so inadvertently wronged them before. And so, I continue on, searching for figures from my past that likely haven't thought of me in years.
It was not a long journey to London, and if the people I sought still resided within the same house from which Christine's last letter had come, as I strongly suspected, then I would have no trouble finding them shortly upon my arrival. Indeed, I found the house itself with little difficulty. I hesitated before raising my hand to rap upon the door, hearing the faint sounds of a piano within. Was it the Phantom himself that played the music? Or Christine's child? Madame Giry never spoke in great deal of my former fiancee's life, only the most basic reassurances of her continued wellbeing, and I could only assume that the soprano and her husband had prospered. In turn I never pressed for details, opting instead to request of Madame that she grant me the same favor of discretion. I had no idea what I would find beyond the threshold of the house which seemed to loom before me more with each passing moment. I took a deep breath, gathered what I loosely considered to be the last dregs of my courage, and knocked loudly enough to disrupt the steady flow of melodies.
It was Erik that opened the door; I recognized the mask immediately, yet even so the man before me was starkly different than the one I knew so many years before.
When last I saw him, although he had calmed significantly since his time beneath the opera house, he steadfastly maintained an air of disquietude as he and Christine sought their freedom. I could see it in his eyes then, that fearful distrust with which he viewed the world and all who dwelled within it, and it seemed to me that such expressions would remain behind his eyes for the rest of his life. But upon seeing him again in London nearly a decade later, it was immediately clear to me that relocating and starting his life over had changed him significantly. He appeared calmer, initially - very nearly jovial as he held a laughing child in his arms. It wasn't until recognition dawned upon him at the abruptness of my visit that he appeared to bring his shields up once again. He seemed to speak my name cautiously as if he were regarding an ill omen. I could hardly blame him; I was hesitant to warn even Madame Giry of my impending arrival for fear of being followed. God only knew what Erik was thinking about my presence upon his doorstep. The little boy in his arms visibly held on to his father more tightly at the man's abrupt change in demeanor, and I immediately tried to rectify the situation for fear of causing the boy unnecessary distress.
"I apologize for calling upon you unannounced," I said quickly, "I will explain why I had to come if I am permitted, but for now suffice it to say that I had little choice in the matter. Is Christine here? I should like to speak with the two of you together."
Erik narrowed his eyes in suspicion before ultimately deciding to let my say my peace, stepping back and allowing my entry into the foyer as he said, "Come in, Christine should return soon. And no need to apologize, you simply caught me off guard. I thought you were the boys next door looking for my son."
At that I took a closer look at the boy who had by then been lowered to the floor and who held onto his father for strength while eyeing me with thinly veiled curiosity. He was very young, perhaps only four or five years old, but even for his age his eyes seemed bright and inquisitive. As he clung to his father's hand I could clearly see Christine in him - I saw her shyness mingled with her endearing need to put forth a brave face, and I nearly smiled at the similarities the two shared. Yet he only physically resembled her the smallest bit - his father clearly being favored for the dominance of appearance - and for a flitting moment I wondered if this is what Erik should have looked like. Perhaps, if that were the case, he might have been granted a fairer chance in life; were that so, perhaps none of us would have followed the paths we had - ones seemingly chosen for us long before we became cognizant of them. Because in the end, it seemed that we truly had no choice in the matter, no say in regards to our own shared and separate fates. I had to wonder if I had wanted that to be true if only to lessen my deep sense of miserable responsibility, but quickly dismissed the notion. I was certainly not ready to confront my own demons even after so many years of harboring them, nor was it the place to do so while being a guest in another man's home. I shook my head and forced myself back into the present.
"Hello, young man," I said to the child softly, "I hope you'll forgive me for interrupting your morning activities."
When he made no response, Erik prompted him gently, "Remember your manners," then to me, "This is my son, Charles."
I stooped down to meet his eyes, "A pleasure to meet you, Charles. My name is Raoul."
"Hello, Raoul," the child said, shaking my offered hand in a grave and gentlemanly fashion before giggling to himself and making a hasty retreat back to his father's side.
Erik smiled at his son before turning back to me, "You know, we had been under the impression that you had chosen to remain in France in silence. Forgive me if you take this as rudeness, but Christine hasn't gotten a letter from you in years. Why did you come to England now, and without warning?"
"I hadn't meant to stop speaking to Christine entirely. There were some...unfortunate circumstances which rendered me silent," I admitted, "I'm afraid I would have remained so indefinitely without prompting. But things have changed quite unexpectedly, and I felt I had no choice but to come here immediately."
"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he asked with mingled curiosity and concern as he ushered me further into the house and into what appeared to be the parlor.
I shook my head, halting our progress as I took a letter from my pocket and handed it to my former rival, "It's not with me that the trouble lies. Here, this can't wait. You need to read this."
I lived rather like a recluse for many years when I was finally pulled from my self-imposed prison by an unexpected letter. I did not recognize the handwriting in the least, but the name of the signature's owner stood out starkly against all else, and for a time all I could bring myself to do was stare at those accursed symbols in horror and abject confusion.
Somehow, the gypsy Vito had found my whereabouts and wrote to me under no uncertain terms that he was still alive and once again sought out Christine and Erik - he sought his ultimate revenge. Initially, I thought the notion rather absurd, perhaps and insane and unreasonable joke, for I had long believed the man to be dead and gone - Christine had not given many details all those years ago, only noting that none of us needed to live in fear any longer, but her assurance was enough to quiet my mind. Even so, once I convinced myself of the idea that Vito might yet somehow still be alive, I was left wondering why the gypsy thought I of all people would help him in his search. But it didn't take me long to realize that Vito was simply toying with me, aiming to mock us all. He needed not to locate them, but rather had unceremoniously recruited me to become a pawn in his game, a player whose role it was to simply assist him in unnerving the couple, warning them of his position in a sick attempt at a power play before ultimately attacking. In the end the underlying reasons of a madman mattered little to me once the gravity of the situation settled within my consciousness; no matter what compelled the man to reach out to me, I knew I had to warn his targets of his continued survival.
I made several inquiries into the lone gypsy's past, putting together the pieces of a puzzle whose entire image as yet remained a mystery to me. But when I received the details I sought, the answers became clear; I knew once and for all how the letter came to be in the first place and that the words within held no lies. Unnerved, I departed for London immediately.
Erik took the letter and read it, an unsettling combination of anger and confusion appearing in his eyes at the words before him, "What is the meaning of this?"
"Just what it says. Vito, it would seem, did not die as we had all believed. Unless you take this to be some kind of cruel farce."
He shook his head, confirming what I had learned back in Paris, "It's his handwriting. He had a passable acquaintance with an education, I don't doubt that he actually wrote it."
"Then you think this is real?"
"Yes. Clearly he's alive. But I don't understand how. I had…" he paused, looking once again at the child whom returned his gaze with innocent curiosity, "Charlie, go upstairs."
"I want to stay," the boy replied insistently.
"Not this time. You may return when you're called."
"But Daddy - "
" - Charles. Do as you're told," Erik said sternly, then sighed, "When Mama comes home, you will be permitted downstairs. But I need you to give Raoul and I a chance to speak alone."
"Yes, sir," Charles said dutifully before making his way out of the room, accepting his defeat with more grace than most children his age. It was clear to me that he had been raised properly and in the kind of nurturing home that every child deserved - he obeyed his father respectfully, entirely without fear, even if his obedience had been accompanied by the traditional protests of childhood. I was ashamed when I suddenly realized that I had absently wondered if the former Opera Ghost had turned out to be a brute of a father, even after he displayed quite the opposite evidence from the moment I arrived. But even in my shame, I was admittedly glad to see that my terrible suspicions held no ground.
Erik waited until he was sure that we were alone before turning to me again, "When Christine wrote to you about Vito, she explained that he attacked her, didn't she?" I nodded, and he continued, "Did she tell you how he died? That night, I sought him out, and I killed him. I shot him, for God's sake, I was sure he was dead. How could he have survived that?"
I sighed before sharing with him what I had learned back in Paris. Sensing his disbelief and growing panic, I regretted having to strip away his last hopes that his past had not just returned to centre stage with a staggering force.
Vito had indeed been found with grave injuries, ones that should have been fatal. But by a twisted stroke of luck in his favor, before he had a chance to bleed to death he was found by several migrant shipyard workers that had been clearing their campsite by the shore under the docks before the storm brought the tide too far into their midst. Policemen had already been hailed at the first sounds of gunfire, and when the officers arrived they recognized Vito as a rogue gypsy that had stolen from many citizens upon his arrival in London in order to make his way until he located his enemy. Apparently, he had long since been banished by his own people, and with no familial bonds and nowhere else to turn beyond his path to violent revenge, he was left without a soul to vouch for his character. His wounds were treated after his arrest, and after a time he was relocated back to Paris to serve a sentence for crimes committed before his departure weeks before. He was, from what I was told and had briefly witnessed myself, a violent and lustful man, and his crimes against humanity had not gone unnoticed before he crossed the sea. Officers of the law in both countries applauded themselves for their perceived brilliant stroke of good fortune at apprehending him, sent him to prison, and thought nothing more of him.
Just like we had.
There he remained until the war broke out, the siege impacting Paris the hardest. I remember that time well, often wondering if I should go and fight for the sake of recklessness if not simply to end it all, but in the end I held back. It would come to pass that I was grateful that I had chosen to remain indifferent to both sides. Traitors and prisoners of war alike were locked up to while away dreadfully as their fates closed in around them, and it wasn't long before the facilities were filled beyond capacity. Without resources in place to keep them at bay, the prisoners eventually were able to form an uprising of their own, winning their escape and venturing once again into the light of day. Many of them were justified in their freedom; the rest, as it happened, were better off rotting in jail - a fate wholly earned by many of them. Vito was among that foul group, but as the war rounded to its close, he was paid little mind as he went into hiding, awaiting his opportunity to cross the borders unnoticed once again.
This much I had learned from the few city officials that still held me in their favorable regard, and I was grateful to have gleaned as much information as I had in a relatively short amount of time. It was imperative that I bring this new knowledge to the two people that would come to need it most. Erik and Christine had lived their lives entirely ignorant of the danger that waited in the wings at the hands of a violently unstable man, and I shuddered at the notion that had I hesitated in embarking upon my journey even by a day, I would have quite possibly allowed devastating and irreversible events to take place. Seeing for myself just how many lives were truly at stake, I was thankful that I had not chosen to wait any longer.
Erik listened intently as I spoke, but it grew clearer with each passing moment that he was seething by what he was learning. I knew it would be a crushing blow for him - for his family - and I was not surprised by his reaction.
"Where is he now?" he asked with forced evenness.
"I cannot say. I came here as soon as I confirmed that he was alive, and I don't know if I was followed. I don't think I was...Does he know where you live?"
"No, but I wouldn't put it past him to try and find out. God only knows what he'll do to access that information."
"People will get hurt," I observed flatly, disgusted by the means to which the gypsy would likely go in order to right his wrongly-perceived transgressions.
"They will, all by his hand," Erik responded bitterly before continuing with mounting anger, "And then he'll come after my family. I can't give him the chance. I won't."
"What will you do?"
"Therein lies the problem. How can I confront him and guarantee making it out with my own life? He won't be taken down without a fight any more than I will. I need to - "
"Mama!"
Erik started at the sound of his son's voice, but composed himself quickly as the front door opened. Christine looked almost exactly as I remembered her, and I was suddenly overcome by a wave of nostalgia at the sight of my estranged friend. I had certainly missed her companionship as I let it slip from my grasp, but seeing her that day I was aware of just how great of a mistake I had made in abandoning my promise to help our camaraderie endure the test of time and distance. She was not immediately aware of our presence as we made our way once again from the parlor; rather, she kneeled with arms opened lovingly to embrace her child, smiling radiantly as only a doting mother can and kissing the boy as he chattered to her in greeting. She laughed as Charles spoke - it was clear that he often presented himself to her with such enthusiasm.
"My darling, I missed you all morning," she said, securing the child in her arms before standing upright again.
I hung back as Erik approached her, kissing her with a tender familiarity that made me ache for my own lost wife before he spoke in a low voice, "We need to talk."
"What's wrong?" she asked, furrowing her brow at her husband's demeanor.
"A friend is visiting!" Charles said proudly, wholly unaware of his parents' unease.
"A friend?"
"Hello, Christine," I said, approaching the family slowly.
"Raoul!" she gasped, taken aback for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to proceed, before reaching out to awkwardly embrace me with one arm as she maintained her son's balance on her other side, "You're here. After all this time, you're here in London. Is everything alright?"
"There is much to be discussed, I'm afraid," I said solemnly, knowing that Erik didn't want the child to hear what needed to be said.
She nodded, seeming to understand the need for my evasiveness even without knowing the origin of its necessity, before turning to the little one in her arms, "Charlie, why don't you go see Timothy and Victor."
"Not today," Erik cut in, "I don't want him leaving right now."
"May I go play the piano again?" the boy asked hopefully, seeming to know when to choose his battles.
"Yes, run along, dear," Christine replied, setting Charles down. His footsteps were eager as he made his way to the instrument, and with the parlor once again occupied by innocent ears, Erik led us to the dining room instead. I noted absently that the room was very near to the parlor, well within our sight. It was clear that he was growing more nervous by the moment regarding his family's safety.
"Erik, what's happening?" Christine demanded once we were settled once more.
He handed her the letter wordlessly and waited while she read, carefully gauging her reaction as I had toward his own. Her confusion and terror were evident the moment she began to comprehend the words before her, and not for the first time I regretted having to be the messenger that brought forth further suffering - a suffering that should have been a memory. At her insistence, Erik relayed the information that I had given him as explanation for Vito's sudden and unexpected reentrance into their lives, remembering each detail as if doing so might be used as an oath or a talisman of protection for them - as if any misspoken detail would allow a disaster to befall the small family at any moment. Christine listened, but even so I could see the unmasked fright in her eyes - she didn't want to believe what she was hearing, even as the facts mounted against her denial.
"It would seem that he's been free for the last year or so," Erik concluded.
"But are we even sure this is him?" she turned to me, "Did you see him?"
"No, not directly," I said, "I only learned what I have after receiving this letter."
"Then how can we know?" she pressed.
"It's him," Erik said, "I'm certain, and I wouldn't take any chances even if I weren't."
"What does this mean?" she asked after a time, "What can we do?"
"I don't know yet." he responded, seeming to regret the words the moment he said them, "We have to react differently this time. It's imperative that this ends without sacrificing our family. I'm not putting you two in danger."
"This is why you didn't want Charlie to leave," she observed with dread.
"That's correct. We need to be careful until this is resolved."
She sighed and looked very near tears as Erik took her hand, and she was silent for a moment before turning to me and saying hopefully, "If he gave the letter to you, then that must mean he still doesn't know where to find us. He doesn't know exactly where we live."
"I believe so," I said slowly, measuring my words before continuing, "But I also think he simply means to get me involved for his own amusement. I've no way of knowing either way. Besides, this can only be your safe haven for so long. He knows you're in London from your last encounter, at the very least, and I doubt he has reason to believe that you've left since then."
"Our only encounter was at Larwin Square," Erik pointed out almost absently.
"Then perhaps that's where he intends to find you again," I said, wondering if that knowledge could be an advantage over Vito's own plans. If he could be predicted, then perhaps he could be defeated once and for all. For the sake of the family before me, I certainly hoped so. Because the dreadful alternative was that the gypsy would simply bide his time, turning the whole of London upside down until he found the dwelling of his enemy. If this situation was truly meant to come to blows, then better it be on common ground - better there be witnesses and the potential for immediate assistance. Otherwise, I feared that the Lennox family might be cornered in their own home.
We spoke of just that for quite some time, all the while attempting to formulate even the smallest semblance of a measure of safety in the uncertain days ahead while the couple hesitantly came to terms with what the future might hold - with what the past had leveled at us all so unexpectedly. Fate was cruel indeed. Upon reflection, I felt like quite the outsider for my part. Erik and Christine were clearly beyond comfort at how badly and abruptly their lives had changed, and I made no attempt to calm them with useless, empty words - nothing I could have said would bring them peace, I was sure, and I wanted nothing I said to be seen as insincere. I opted instead to be as helpful as I possibly could, giving my opinions when solicited and offering suggestions when it seemed prudent to do so. Ultimately, I'm not so sure if I helped them at all - as time passed us by, it seemed that we had reached a standstill, no clear means to a safe outcome immediately in sight. By the end of the emotionally charged discussion, Erik clasped his hands together in front of him and resignedly rested his head upon them in frustration, clearly agitated but otherwise silent.
"Raoul, what made you decide to come all this way yourself?" Christine said after a brief period of silence, "You could have asked Madame Giry to write, or Meg and Giles."
"Would you have preferred that?" I asked hesitantly, wondering then if I had overstepped the unspoken boundaries of our long separation.
"No, of course not," she smiled reassuringly, "But I'm surprised that after years of silence, you appear with this news. Yet there has been nothing else from you before this time."
"I felt that I owed it to you both to give you this information, this warning. I was the one that led Vito to London in the first place."
"That wasn't your fault. He would have found us eventually," Erik interjected, if not a bit impatiently, though his reminder did little to ease my conscience even after all the years that separated us from that fateful day.
"But even so," Christine continued, "it was still a shock to see you here today, no matter the reason. After so long, I had assumed that you simply had no longer desired my friendship."
"I do apologize for my silence, Christine," I said sincerely, noting the sadness in her eyes at her admission, "I truly didn't mean to be cruel, and I hope you will not view me as such. I did not want any misunderstandings between us. I was simply unwilling to speak to anyone for quite a long time, you see."
"Why?" she asked gently, not knowing just how much pain she was causing me at her innocent request for understanding.
Why indeed.
Some months after parting ways with Christine and Erik after their own marriage and subsequent flight from Paris, I myself was engaged to be married. It was an arrangement set forth by my family, of course. I had not actively sought love at that time, really I had little interest in the phenomenon as a whole, but I dutifully met with the woman of equal noble descent at the wishes of our parents. They felt it was a good match, a sure way to secure the bonds of our families and to ensure that the Chagny line would continue on through the generations. While I was hesitant to begin with, I complied nonetheless, adhering to my stubborn sense of duty where my family was involved. I would not be forced to marry, of course, but I was encouraged to get to know this woman in the hopes that the bonds of love could grow between us. Indeed, we got on well together with time, and I found that it was easy to give in to the urgings of my family. We were content, if not happy, and while I did not find myself madly in love with this young woman, I resignedly found myself in equal measure unable to say no to her.
That is, until I met Lorraine.
She was stunning, and she captured my heart irrevocably from the outset - truly she had proven to be someone that held the power to take my breath away in a manner for which I was wholly unprepared. I once thought myself to be madly in love with Christine, yet as I found myself falling more deeply in love with Lorraine with each passing day, I found that my young soprano's words from so long ago had rung true in the end. Ours was a childish love - lighthearted and fanciful, but completely lacking in the kind of devotion required to sustain a husband and wife. I was grateful to Christine then, knowing without a doubt that she had granted me an immeasurable favor by releasing the promise of her love from my mind. She gave me the chance to find the other half of my heart by simply being my dearest friend - by seeing to my best interests as well as her own. I counted myself in her debt as the months with Lorraine slipped by.
I saw her in secret, initially. She was not of nobility, and my family made it immediately clear that they disapproved of my choice in lovers. After the scandal with Christine and the Opera Ghost, my family was more than ready to dismiss my credibility when it came to knowing my own heart. They simply could no longer condone the idea of me setting off on my own, favoring instead to take the reins of my life in an attempt to harness even the smallest modicum of dignity for our family name. I could not have married Lorraine with their blessing; they were not willing to offer it and were adamantly in favor of me casting her aside to instead marry a woman of finer breeding. But I would have none of that. I had long since grown tired of the constant pandering, of the petty rules by which we were obliged to live our lives simply for the sake of an arbitrary title at the risk of offending our so-called betters. It made me sick, and to be told that I would once again have to sacrifice my own happiness and that of the woman I loved was the final act that compelled me to make my decision. At the risk of losing my title entirely, Lorraine and I eloped and left France for a time, returning to Paris only when we were sure that we could do so without fear of immediate reprisal.
It was there, of course, that bitterness and resentment imparted upon us by my family and peers. They made no secret of their opinions. The only one that stayed by my side was Marcus, and indeed to this day I count him as my closest friend and best ally. It came to pass that Lorraine and I would not have an easy life, but we managed, opting instead to enjoy our marriage and to make our way in the world. We were determined to rise above our seemingly hopeless situation, deciding then that we had been granted a far better life than others and should therefore be grateful and simply enjoy it. And so we did, and along the way we were overjoyed to learn that Lorraine was expecting a child. My child - I was thrilled by the notion, and with my devoted wife by my side, I eagerly awaited the day that I would become a father. I dreamed with my darling Lorraine of all that we would teach our child, of everything that we planned in order to give the precious child a magnificent life.
Our dreams were shattered the night my son was born.
While Lorraine had been granted an uncomplicated pregnancy, the birth itself had proven to be a waking nightmare. She suffered one complication after another, and in the end even the doctor could do nothing to save her or the infant. He cried only once before ultimately dying in his poor mother's arms, and she followed shortly after. I was utterly devastated by the unexpected losses of the two people that meant the most to me - I had never known such pain, and even with the years separating me from those terrible, nightmarish moments, I still feel its echoes with an almost violent intensity. I never could let it go. From then on, I was not sure how to exist - I wasn't even sure if I wanted to anymore.
Beyond Marcus, I had no one to turn to at that point in my life. My family had turned their backs on me, my friends had turned up their noses at my perceived lack of gratitude for my position, and I could do nothing to fight the scandal and rumors that surrounded me constantly. It was only that much worse after Lorraine and Jean-Pierre had passed, and I was rendered entirely helpless to my own plight. I didn't even have Christine to turn to any longer - I had received word from Madame Giry several months prior that Christine and Erik were expecting their first child, and I opted to remain silent for fear of overburdening them. With time, we lost contact entirely, but as it was I could not find it within myself to care any longer. Nothing mattered - everything I cherished was gone, and everything I knew to be good was a lie.
I sighed, recalling the darkest point of my life and answering with forced brevity for fear of breaking down entirely, "After I last wrote to you, I met someone. Her name was Lorraine, and although my family did not approve of my involvement with her, I truly did love her. We married and had a child, a son, but there were complications. They both died."
Christine was visibly shaken by my admission, and responded in a wavering voice, "Oh, Raoul, I'm so sorry," she cleared her throat before standing abruptly, "Excuse me, I need to go check on Charles."
She left the room quickly and Erik, keenly aware of his wife's abrupt change in demeanor, rose and followed immediately after her. I remained in my place, confused by her reaction but knowing it would be rude to follow uninvited. Something had flashed in her eyes - briefly yet unmistakably so - that made me suspect that there was a terrible story behind her hasty departure, and I was unsettled to realize entirely just how far we had fallen away from each other. She was my oldest friend, yet I knew nothing of why she had reacted to my words as badly as she had. Once more, I felt terribly guilty then, silently promising to somehow make up for all those lost years of friendship. I had wronged her more than I knew. Erik returned some time later and explained his wife's curious behavior.
"Christine asked me to apologize for her," he began, "She wasn't expecting your news."
"She seemed a great deal troubled by it," I prompted, mindful to remain respectful as I sought my answers.
He sighed, seeming to weigh his words before finally speaking the truth, "We lost a baby some years ago. Estelle," he explained, saying his daughter's name like a prayer, "She and your boy probably would have been around the same age, actually. Charles came along later. He was quite the surprise, and he's been a blessing to us. But some days are better than others as far as our daughter is concerned. Believe me when I say you have our sympathy."
"What happened to her?"
"It was an accident. Christine took a bad fall, and the baby was born too soon," he said succinctly, clearly as reluctant as I was to speak in great detail on the subject.
"Christine was hurt?" I asked in horror, disturbed by the very idea.
He nodded, "I nearly lost her as well. It was bad enough saying goodbye to Estelle. I can't imagine…" he paused, seeming to think better about whatever it was that he meant to say, "At any rate, I can understand your need for isolation. Christine and I gave in to that grief for a long time. We didn't escape from it quickly by any means."
"Is that why you wear that cross? For your daughter?" I asked, gesturing to the object in question. It had piqued my interest earlier that day - I hadn't taken Erik to be a religious man, and I wasn't so naive as to assume that even time and Christine's positive influence would change his beliefs quite so drastically. I considered him to be agnostic at best, and the presence of the golden cross was puzzling to say the least.
"Yes," he said simply, then, "What was your son's name?"
"Jean-Pierre," I responded after a moment's hesitation, but found I could say no more beyond that. The icy grip of remorse held fast to my heart at the mere mention of my precious child's name. It was a rarity for me to speak to anyone about the tragedies that had transpired so long ago, and it was clear that I was still not ready to give voice to my pain to anyone - evidently, even to someone whose experience of tragedy very nearly mirrored my own. I simply couldn't bring myself to speak on the subject of my departed - I wasn't sure I knew how. I was spared from continuing when Christine returned, more composed than when she fled the room.
"I'm sorry, Raoul. I just - "
" - I understand," I smiled sadly, "Had I known, I would have spoken more tactfully."
"Oh, no," she said in a placating rush, "You did nothing wrong, and you had no way of knowing. As I said, we haven't spoken for quite some time," she paused before continuing softly, "But why didn't you tell me when it happened?"
"I didn't want to burden you," I admitted, "And yet, it seems we lived through similar hardships. I'm sorry we were unable to help one another."
"Perhaps we could have. But let's not speak of it any longer," she said kindly, sensing my unease and changing the subject quickly, "Can I get you anything while you're here? I can make us tea…"
"No, thank you," I sighed, feeling entirely exhausted by my short confrontation of my past. Moreover, I knew there was not much more that my presence could have afforded the couple as the November afternoon descended - they would surely have much more to discuss, and I felt that it was not my place to remain within their home as they did so. I rose from my chair and took Christine's hand in a friendly gesture, "I should take my leave for now. I can return tomorrow, if you'd like. In the meantime, if I can help you in any way with this, let me know. Please."
~~oOo~~
Erik
We were in Hell. After so many years of peace - of true happiness - after so long fighting against the darkness of my past, we were once again thrust into the folds of a horrifying phantasm. It felt too surreal to be anything short of a terrible nightmare. And yet I didn't wake.
The news of Vito's continued survival was so sudden that I found it nearly impossible to rein in my now-turbulent thoughts, my emotions once again becoming erratic as I fought to regain control. Once more I was a prisoner within my own life, unwillingly putting the ones I loved most at risk. My anger was beyond words - it seemed as though I could do nothing but dwell on those dark truths, could not form coherent thoughts in spite of my best efforts other than ones of abject bitterness. I had been granted a reprieve from the punishment of my sins for a time, but it would seem that it was not meant to last. I hated myself for setting such events into motion so long ago, but I hated Vito more. The darkness that held fast to his soul was worse than mine, long-sustained and enduring; I had never wanted to be a monster, while he chose that path for himself quite willingly, clung to it like an emblem of pride, and that absolutely disgusted me. He would not let us go. I couldn't stop thinking of that fact alone - he would not relinquish his old over our lives, the power he once sought over me had transcended through time, and once again I was not the only victim of his driving madness. Christine, Charles, and I had lived happily for so long - it was nearly impossible to comprehend the looming danger that my small family so unexpectedly and unwillingly faced.
Giving in to the worst parts of myself for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was ultimately stunned into a disturbed silence by the time Raoul departed, only distantly aware of him giving Christine the address off his lodgings should we need to contact him before the morning. I vaguely understood that he promised to return the following day, but as it stood I took little comfort in his allegiance to us.
In the span of mere moments, on what should have been a day like any other, our lives had been turned upside down by someone long thought dead. I resented the gypsy for that, perhaps more so in those initial moments than anything else his continued existence had meant for us. By surviving, he had effectively threatened to strip away the happiness and safety that had been hard-won after a lifetime of suffering. I should have been free of him long ago - my wife and child should never have been burdened with the repercussions of my desperate actions. In spite of the evidence presented to me, I couldn't understand how or why this was happening. I had killed Vito, I was certain of it. He was dead, goddammit he was dead! In my mind's eye I saw him plunge into the turbulent waves on that dark afternoon so many years ago. It seemed impossible that he could have survived his wounds coupled with the frigid water - yet somehow I held in my hand a letter from him, written to convey that under no uncertain terms, he meant to finish what he started once and for all. And once again, it wasn't just my life that hung in the balance. So much more was at risk then.
As I heard Christine's voice from the foyer and Charles sighing in frustration as he played a sour note, I knew that I had to protect them once again. They were my life - my existence would be meaningless without them, and they deserved far better than the darkness of my past that wouldn't relinquish its hold over me. I would walk through Hell and face the Devil himself before I allowed any harm to befall them. I'd give my very life for them if it came down to making that sacrifice. Of that, I was entirely certain. But even with my silent vow of protection, my heart wouldn't stop pounding with trepidation. I could not find peace.
I felt as if I was drowning, flayed alive all at once by a nearly debilitating sensation of fear and despair. I hadn't known that desperate and terrible feeling since before Charles was born. Although I was still prone to bouts of melancholy, the intensity had not been nearly as stifling over the years as it was the afternoon that Raoul came to us, and it was disarming to experience it again after living relatively peacefully for so long. It was as if the demons within me had been awakened forcefully, and they were angry. There was a thirst for vengeance within me that attacked from all sides, a visceral response to an immediate and as yet unseen danger. And in turn, I instantaneously felt that darkness threaten to overtake me once more. I wanted to scream in a fit of rage, to lash out until I was completely and utterly exhausted. I saw red, and it frightened me - I wasn't sure if or how I would react to the worst parts of me, but I soon found that I was trembling in a mighty attempt to simply control myself. I wanted nothing more than to fight against that despair. That was how my poor wife found me.
I heard Christine return to the dining room, but I could not meet her eyes as I asked bitterly, "How is it that some ghosts refuse to remain in the past?"
"Erik - "
" - This cannot be happening," I yelled suddenly as I pounded a fist against the surface of the table. She attempted to approach me, to comfort me, but I halted her progress sharply, "Stay away. Just stay back," I snapped, then continued more evenly after allowing myself a moment to check my anger, "Please. I'm sorry."
"I know you are. Just calm down, Erik," she responded evenly, "Be calm."
She sat beside me as she spoke and took my hand before running her thumb over my fingers in a soothing gesture. I watched as she rhythmically crossed over my wedding band, allowing myself to become lost in the repetitive motion in lieu of giving in to the temptation of continuing in my rage. She was obviously shaken by my drastic regression in behavior but she soldiered on nonetheless, and after a few moments of remaining almost entirely still together beyond the connection of our hands, I felt able enough to continue with some semblance of clarity within my mind.
"I don't understand," I whispered, "I thought this was over long ago."
She sighed, "We all did."
"I should have been more careful," I said ruefully, "How could I have failed? Vito was right there in front of me, I was sure he was dead."
"You had no way of knowing that he survived. You were badly injured, and you had to escape so quickly. It wasn't as simple as you want to believe. This isn't your fault."
I shook my head, "I don't know that you can convince me."
She looked at me sadly, but seemed to decide against speaking any more futile words of comfort before continuing, "But what do we do now?"
I thought for a moment before speaking, "I have to try to find him, to finally end this. In the meantime, I'm not so sure it's safe here anymore."
"What does that mean?" she asked, her eyes widening once again in horror. Its presence in her expression broke my heart - we should have been long past such fear.
"It means we would be wise to consider relocating for a time, perhaps further into the city. I don't want to give him a reason to come here. Not with Iva and the boys, or Vera. Everyone is so nearby. We know too many people now, and I won't allow anyone else to be at risk because of me."
"But will we be safer in the city?"
"I hope so. He'll be hesitant to go into crowds, to have witnesses," I reasoned, unsure of whether I was trying to convince Christine or myself of the truth in my words, "Even at Larwin Square he operated under seclusion," I sighed, "This is all I have right now, Christine. I don't know how else to keep you and Charlie safe."
"I trust your judgement," she said after a moment's consideration, "But promise me that you'll be safe. Don't forget your own wellbeing as you try to protect us. I don't want a confrontation between you and Vito again."
"I don't know that it can be avoided, darling," I said gently.
"Find a way, there must be another way to apprehend him," she insisted, taking ahold of both of my hands firmly as she pled, "End this somehow, but don't put yourself in danger again. Do not confront him, I beg of you. I can't lose you, Erik."
I intended to counter her request, but at that moment Charles entered the room, and I couldn't go into detail in front of him. I would not make him savvy to what was happening outside his immediate world of innocence - I refused to take that light from him. Knowing for himself what his parents did for his sake would do nothing to keep him safe from the present danger - even for one as intelligent as him, he was too young to protect himself with knowledge in the same sense that Christine and I could. Moreover, the less he knew about the horrors of the world - whether they prove to be far off or imminent - the better. It was with a bitter resignation that I realized that he would grow to understand those truths himself in time, but I was not going to speed up that process for him if I could avoid it. I would not break my son's heart that way. He approached Christine and reached his arms out to her, silently requesting to be held as his eyes betrayed his tiredness. She held him close to her as if fearing that he would disappear, and in my own heart I felt her agony tenfold. The sight of my beloved wife and child before me was all I needed to strengthen my resolve in those moments.
I forced her to meet my gaze once again as I said emphatically, "You can't lose me, but I won't lose you. I'll find a way to end this, but don't think for a moment that I wouldn't do anything necessary to protect you both in the meantime."
If she meant to respond, I wouldn't have known - I couldn't give her the chance for fear that her words would break me entirely. I stood in a rushed haze and left the room as soon as I finished speaking. I would protect them, but as the night began to surround us I was completely at a loss of how to do so, and that frightened me badly. Suddenly, as I finally began to completely understand the first tremors of my life falling down around me, I felt once more as if I was drowning.
