A/N: Okay, so we're going back in time just a little bit. This chapter happens after Christine overhears Erik and Emily's conversation, before his suicide attempt. Now we get to see her side of the story, i.e. WHAT IN THE HELL WAS SHE THINKING TELLING RAOUL THE BABY WAS HIS?
P.S. Oh. My. God. That was the second most reviews I've EVER received for a chapter! Reviewers, you are loved and appreciated more than you know! Kisses!
This time, he did not wait for the water to reach his calves before catapulting into the whitewashed halls. Everything was exactly as it had been the previous two times in this Hell-bound ship, save one glaring detail.
There was no sound.
He saw his feet trudge through rising water, but did not hear them splash; he reached the baby's room, but did not hear its cries; he felt the Siren's presence, but did not hear her fatal song.
He stumbled as he ran, trying to get to the end of the hallway before the water devoured him in its churning black depths again. It seemed an eternity that he sprinted through the liquid ice, screaming with all his lungpower into this silent nightmare. Some buried instinct told him that if he could just reach the end of this hallway, just push himself hard enough and fast enough, he could outrun his destiny and find…
What?
A light, faint and blurred at first, glowed ahead of him. The water was waist-deep, and he could feel the deadly numbness seep through his nerves. Gnashing his teeth, he reached up and grabbed hold of pipes that ran the length of the ceiling. Hand-over-hand, he pulled himself forward, refusing to be defeated again. The light grew stronger, to an almost blinding intensity, as he rounded a bend in the hallway and caught sight of his final destination. It took him a few more powerful swings to realize that the light came from the Siren herself; her ivory skin emitted a radiant white glow that made her look undeniably celestial. In her arms was the green-eyed infant, watching him with a keen intelligence unfit for a child so young.
The sight of them waiting patiently just a few meters ahead, was exactly the motivation his fatigued, numb body needed. The water was at his neck now, and rising quickly. Sucking in a deep breath, he let go of the piping and kicked off from the wall, swimming with every last ounce of energy he could muster. His lungs were on fire, his eyes burning from the salt, but the light was so near he could feel its warmth permeating the icy water.
At last, at last, he reached out his fingers and grasped the Siren's slender hand. All around him was silence and ice, but then she smiled, and her voice suddenly resonated through his very soul.
"Wake up, Raoul."
Something warm trickled down his face. Raoul's lashes fluttered and he blinked twice, reaching up to touch his cheek. His fingers found fresh teardrops, and he frowned; had he been crying in his sleep?
Too tired to care, he turned over and tried to fall asleep again, longing to hear the Siren again; her soft, melodic voice never failed to touch the deepest places his heart and warm him to the very core. Closing his eyes, he began to drift off again. But before he had fully slipped away, he heard her voice again; he smiled.
"Oh, Raoul." But there was something wrong. He didn't feel the sting of freezing water or see a white light— and the Siren's voice was broken and choked. Was she… weeping?
He frowned and opened his eyes again. Down by his waist, the mattress sagged as if another body were perched there. Some of his sleepy haze dissolved at this revelation, and he twisted to look. Expecting to find Emily, a protest rose on his tongue, but it stopped short at the vision before him.
I must be dreaming still, he thought vaguely, a small frown creasing his smooth brow. For, seated on the bed next to him sat the Siren, bathed in pale moonlight. Her eyes brimmed with tears, which spilled over as she met his gaze.
"You," he whispered hoarsely.
The Siren's lip quivered, and she tried to smile. "Me," she answered.
Raoul sat all the way up, too afraid to blink. "This is a dream."
A whimper caught in the Siren's throat, and she shook her head vehemently. "No, Raoul. This is reality." She reached out with one slender, pale hand and touched his cheek. Her skin was warm, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. He had stopped breathing altogether, and his lungs protested with a harsh coughing fit. Instinctually, he turned away to cough into his fist, and then dread clawed at his heart— he was sure upon turning back that the apparition would be gone.
But, to his never-ending surprise, she remained, a troubled look marring her exquisite features.
"You're ill," she whispered, her lips drawn in the most beautiful frown he had ever seen.
"Lay down," she insisted. At first he stared at her dumbly, and then her hands were pressing gently on his shoulders, and he could do nothing but obey. A fresh flood of tears gathered in the Siren's chestnut eyes as she took his hand in hers and brought it to her cheek. Raoul was sure his heart would hammer right through his ribcage as she pressed her lips into his palm, kissing the flesh with heartbreaking tenderness.
For an eternity, they sat that way, staring at one another. A surge of emotion pounded through Raoul's veins, but he could not understand it; he was trapped in the void between dreams and truth as the past and present collided in a jumble of fragmented memories too tangled to comprehend.
At last, he found his voice, though it was almost too soft to hear.
"Little Lotte let her mind wander." It made no sense at all, but it was the phrase that burned his heart and his tongue, begging to be voiced. Fortunately, the Siren seemed to understand the significance of the riddle, for a light of recognition sparked in her bottomless eyes.
Sighing as if in relief, the Siren lay down, resting her head on the pillow beside his. "Little Lotte thought, 'Am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or shoes?'" She was crying, but a broken smile touched her rose petal lips. "Oh, Raoul!"
It was too much. Memories shoved themselves against the barrier of his mind, trying their damndest to break through. Lies blended and merged with truth until one was indiscernible from the other. He had no idea what to believe any more. Who was this Siren, this… angel? The word stuck out in his mind, and he latched on to it.
The Angel of Music… He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in short bursts. The end of the rhyme came to him suddenly: 'No. What I love best,' Lotte said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed, and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head…'
Raoul, it scares me…
And he'll always be there singing songs in my head…
No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy…
Say you love me every waking moment…
Christine, that's all I ask of—
Raoul's ocean-blue eyes went wide, his chest heaved, and he turned to look at the woman beside him with an overflowing heart.
"Christine!" he cried. Her face lit up with a radiant smile at the sound of her name, and before Raoul knew what he was doing, his lips were on hers. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before responding with a desperate hunger. Time eroded, for it was no longer important. The facts had yet to fall into place, but he remembered this woman. He remembered his Little Lotte of the sea, with her red scarf and pink cheeks, her chestnut curls and honest eyes. If nothing else, he knew that he was in love with her.
Eventually, they were both crying too forcefully to kiss, so he simply held her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers.
"You were dead," Christine sobbed. "They told me you were dead."
He nodded. "I was dead. I… I'm still not sure what happened."
But Christine was too hysterical to help him fit the puzzle pieces together; she shuddered violently and clung to him as if he would disappear into thin air if she let go. "It wasn't my fault, Raoul! I didn't mean to… you were… you were gone and I thought… I didn't know!"
"Shh," he whispered, shifting her down to his shoulder and rubbing the small of her back. "It's going to be alright, Christine. Everything is fine. I'm here. I'm here now."
His words did very little to calm her, however. Something had obviously traumatized his beloved in the time they had been apart. Who knew how long it had been? Weeks? Months? God forbid… years?
"Forgive me." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please, forgive me."
Raoul shook his head and ran his fingers through her silken curls. "Whatever it is, Christine, it doesn't matter any more. It's behind us." He pulled away just far enough to look her in the eyes, and lifted her chin with his finger. "We're together now, and that's all that matters."
But Christine could only shake her head miserably. "No… no, you don't understand. Everyone thinks I…" She choked, bowed her head, and drew in a shuddering breath. "They thought I killed you. So I r-ran away. And then the baby—"
At that, he froze, and jerked back a little. "Baby?" His eyes went wide as he followed Christine's hand down to her belly. The blood had drained from her face, and she opened and closed her mouth several times in a fruitless attempt to explain herself. Almost as winded as her, Raoul stumbled over his words as he gasped, "Christine, you're… we're going to have a baby?"
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A/N: Blasted POV swaps. On to Chrissy, if you please.
She knew what her answer should have been.
No! Your baby is dead, Raoul. That's what I was about to tell you. On accident, I killed it, because I didn't know it existed. And then I went back to Erik, and fell in love with him all over again… and now I'm carrying his child, and if he wasn't so damned impossible, I would be with him right now!
Several times she drew in a breath to tell him. And several times she failed. Guilt flooded every vein in her body, and her conscience was divided in two.
Tell him the truth! one half hissed. Look at how much trouble your lies have put you in already!
But the other half, a guilt-inducing hiss, insisted just as adamantly, Murderer! You killed this man's child and committed adultery with his loathed enemy! This is your husband. Make up for what you have done. Let him think this child is his. You owe him that much.
She hovered indecisively between the two answers as her heart ripped in half. It was déjà vu, really; she was torn between the two men she loved, and either way she chose, she could not win! To answer that the child was Erik's would break Raoul's heart, and to answer that the child was Raoul's would be to deny the love and passion she had shared with Erik.
After a too-long, heavy silence, her guilt won.
"Yes," she whispered. But then the lump in her throat doubled in size, cutting off any further explanation. Fortunately, Raoul was too overwhelmed with that simple answer to ask for any details.
"Christine!" He laughed, pulling her into a tight embrace. "My love, that's… that's wonderful news!"
Erik, she cried internally, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!
But on the outside, she smiled and laughed along with her husband. "You are pleased, then?"
He squeezed her once more and then pulled back, a look of utter incredulity and innocent delight written in every line of his handsome features.
"I… I can't believe it!" Raoul admitted, grinning from ear to ear. "Christine, we're going to be parents!"
Though she despised herself for it later, she couldn't help but be grateful for his cheerfulness toward the subject. It was certainly an upgrade from Erik's reaction to their child's existence! While Raoul was ecstatic at the thought of fatherhood, Erik withdrew violently from it and lashed out in anger. Perhaps, for the child's sake, this was a good idea after all.
Her musings were cut short, however, by the click and clatter of the bedroom door. She looked up, then sneered, at the sight of Emily storming over the threshold.
"Raoul, whatever she says—don't believe 'er!"
Though Christine was admittedly a pacifist by nature, the sight and sound of this woman incited an animalistic rage in her that reared its ugly head with fangs bared.
"Stay away from him," she snapped, wrapping her arm around Raoul's waist protectively. "You've done enough damage already! Just leave us alone!"
"Damage!" Emily shrieked, her eyes wild. "I saved 'is life! I nursed 'im back to health! I traveled to a strange country so 'e could be with 'is brother! I 've risked everything for this man, while you ran off like a coward into the arms of—"
"This is my husband!" Christine interrupted just in time. "Not yours, Emily! Your little game of make-believe is at an end!"
"Like 'ell it is!" In four strides, Emily had crossed the room, and Christine rose to the challenge. The women stood mere centimeters apart, matching snarls on their faces. "Admit it, you little whore: you abandoned 'im, and you jus' can't stand the thought that you've been replaced!"
"I beg your pardon?" Christine laughed scathingly. "Who are you to call me a whore?"
Finally, Raoul seemed to recover from his shock enough to put in lamely, "Both of you, please…"
The women ignored him.
"Leave 'im the 'ell alone, you deceitful bitch!"
"So, I'm a deceitful whore, am I?" Christine planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Why does that sound so familiar?"
Emily's face hardened and her eyes flashed. Before Christine had time to react, Emily had locked her hand into a fist and swung it forcefully at her cheek.
Just in time, Raoul stepped between the women and caught Emily's fist in his firm grip, his eyes as tumultuous and angry as the storming sea.
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A/N: Back to Raouliekums.
"Enough of this!" As sickly as he was, his grip was firm on Emily's hand. He was wheezing hard for precious air, but the instinct to protect Christine gave him strength he didn't know he possessed.
Panic seized Emily's features as she grasped his fingers with her free hand. "Surely you don't believe these lies!" Her eyes searched his, pleading.
Raoul stared at her evenly. He felt Christine's warm hand slide up his back for support, but did not break eye contact. "The time for games is long past, Emily. If what Christine says is true, I could have you arrested on several charges and quite likely thrown into jail for the rest of your life."
But there was still fight left in the feisty young British woman; it appeared she was ready to go down kicking and screaming. "You just met 'er this afternoon! Some mangy street rat was tryin' to rape 'er. Remember?"
"It was a fortunate coincidence that my husband found me before that horrid man could do me any harm," Christine said pointedly. Anxious to avoid any more physical clashes between the two women— Emily could easily overtake him in this weakened state, if she so chose— he reached up and touched his wife's shoulder in a silencing gesture.
"I 'ave never seen this woman before in my life!" Emily squawked. It was probably the first truth she had spoken in the entire time they had known one another, he thought bitterly.
"No," he agreed. "But I have. Those dreams I had, when I first woke… of a little girl on the beach, who had lost her red scarf—"
"Our daught'r!" Emily screeched. "She looked a bit like this woman, and they 'ave the same name. You're confused. You've been through a trauma. Don't do something stupid on account o' this stranger."
"I am not the stranger here!" Christine interjected, despite the meaningful squeeze he gave her shoulder. "I was that little girl with the scarf! The wind caught it and tossed it into the ocean, and Raoul saved it for me. That's how we met. I still have it tucked away in my drawer at the de Chagny mansion, along with our marriage certificate. You can't win; you're just digging yourself deeper and deeper into a pit of lies!"
"Raoul!" Emily begged, her eyes filling with tears. "You can't believe 'er! Who was the one who cared for you all this time, eh? The one who made you supper and gave you medicine and worked to keep food on the table and wood on the fire?"
Before he could respond, Christine barked out a response with uncharacteristic venom shining in her eyes. "How valiant of you. Selling yourself to a few extra customers so you could afford two tickets to France and conveniently meet up with Raoul's wealthy family."
Emily's face flushed deep red. "I didn't even know 'e was a bloody Viscount! It 'ad nothing to do with the money—" Her sentence, which had begun so forcefully, faded into a humiliated silence as she realized her error. Desperation shone in her eyes as she looked up at Raoul. "I mean…"
"Enough, Emily," Raoul whispered, shaking his head. "Whatever your intentions were, the game is over. Leave us now, and don't come back. I shall be lenient, for you were a very gracious caretaker, even if the means were questionable. But if either Christine or I should discover your presence on this property again, I shall not hesitate to alert the gendarmes."
The woman before him crumpled to the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clutched to his pant legs and buried her face in his thigh.
"Don't do this," she begged. "I did it all for you, you must know that! I love you."
Christine opened her mouth to speak, but this time Raoul shot her a fierce look, and she closed it again. Stifling a sigh, he dropped to his knees in front of Emily and gripped her shoulders.
"If what you say is true, then let me go," he said quietly. "My heart was claimed long before I entered your life."
Emily was silent for a long moment before she looked up at Christine with pure loathing. "Yes," she whispered. "Too bad 'er 'eart isn't so steadfast in its devotion."
Raoul frowned, confused. He looked to Christine, who had gone pale, one hand resting on her abdomen.
"You heard him," his wife choked. "Get out."
Without another word, Emily rose to her feet. She stared deeply into Raoul's eyes, as if searching for the slightest trace of doubt or regret. Evidently she found none, for she shot one last, venomous glance at Christine, and then disappeared into the night.
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A/N: One last time, switch back to Christine. Whew! This chappie is long, hmm?
Emily's last words had effectively struck their target; tension hung thick in the air between husband and wife de Chagny as they lay in bed, both wide-awake despite the late hour.
Christine bit her lip and swallowed hard, trying to keep her tears at bay. This was the very last thing she needed. The one thing she treasured above all else about her relationship with Raoul was its simplicity. He was dedicated, strong, and easy to read— a stark contrast to Erik. No emotional baggage had burdened their marriage before the accident. Life had been uncomplicated, if redundant. But now… now she had a dark secret, and it was slowly gnawing at her, threatening to destroy everything she held dear.
Squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she attempted to bridge the gap that had grown between them since Emily's entrance.
"Raoul…"
He did not move. "You don't have to explain yourself. I already told you, whatever happened during my absence is in the past now."
She sighed. "So you're thinking about what she said too."
At last, he turned over and met her gaze. "No. I'm thinking about its effect on you… and the baby. Do not let her jealous fit upset you so. As far as I'm concerned, she was spouting yet another lie in order to turn me against you, and it didn't work." He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Get some rest, darling, if not for your own benefit, then for our child's sake."
Our child. It sounded so terribly wrong, and her heart squirmed in protest. Still, she forced a smile when he scooted down to place a kiss on her belly.
"Good night, both of you." His smile was so easy, so reassuring, that she couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved. Perhaps it was just her heart, then, that had been pierced by Emily's lance. Thank God, it seemed that Raoul was willing to turn a blind eye to what had happened over the past few months.
But try as she might, Christine could not. Long after her husband's soft snores filled the room, she lay awake, her mind reeling. At last, after hours ticked by fruitlessly, she slipped out from under the sheets and sat at the desk in the corner of the room. Glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn't wake Raoul, she lit a match and held it to a small candle on the desktop. Bending her head in the light's way so that it would not disturb her sleeping husband, she took out a piece of stationery and a pen, and crying silently, began to write.
Erik,
I am staying with my husband. In time, I may forgive you for lying to me—twice— but I cannot forget the significance of such actions. Raoul is alive, and my vows before God were to him. You will not understand this, but my loyalty belongs to him, even if my heart does not.
I told him the child is his. Do not ruin this for me. You do not want it, and Raoul does. The burden is gone from your shoulders; enjoy your freedom.
Sincerely,
La Comtesse Christine de Chagny
It nearly killed her to speak with such curt, cold detachment. She had to pause several times as she was writing to wipe her tears away; Erik could not know that her heart had shattered several times over as she wrote. By the time she signed the last flourish on the "y," her lungs ached from suppressing soul-deep sobs. Once the envelope was addressed and sealed, she collapsed onto her folded arms and wept.
Sweet, understanding Raoul did not question her when he found her doubled over on the desk in the morning, fast asleep. Weak as he was, he lifted her into his arms and brought her to bed, and had a servant deliver her letter to the abandoned opera house without so much as a second glance. When she woke, she spent the entire day in bed, complaining of a headache. She was not strong enough to tell her husband that she was dying slowly of a broken heart.
A/N: Well, that was a real cheerer-upper, wasn't it?
Just so you know, this is basically the low point of this story. I mean, how much lower could I possibly bring these poor characters? It's uphill from here, for the most part— but knowing me, there will be unexpected dips and turns to deal with before we get to the end. Hang in there!
-gives everyone a cup of hot chocolate because I feel bad-
On a lighter note, I threw in a few references to other movies in this chapter. My cousin caught one immediately from Moulin Rouge, and there are lots of others. Who knows their stuff? Impress me. ;)
