Chapter 43: Suppressed Silence
Christine shuffled behind the maid with her hands clasped together and head down. It was her natural response to the situation; a posture that gave her some comfort against her uneasiness inside. She did her best to seem collected as she walked past the many servants, though this was far from the truth. Her heart rattled in her ribcage so furiously she was surprised no one could hear its terrified quiver. All of them were looking at her. Why wouldn't they? She was the woman that broke their master's heart; a simpleton like them that had blown the opportunity of a lifetime. They must have looked at her with scorn and disapproval.
The maid kept a quick pace, clearly in a rush. Christine did her best to keep up, though her legs slowly began to turn to jelly. It was like she had never walked before. What if the Vicomte was angry with her? What would she do? How could she explain herself?
Her arms gripped at her elbows, a silent hug to keep herself together. Why did it matter if he yelled at her? Didn't she deserve it? She remembered Raoul's hollow eyes as he stared down at her from the deck of the ship. Charles de Chagny had every right to be upset with her. She was part of the reason his son returned a broken mess.
She gulped down her fears as the maid opened two large, wooden doors. Her initial reaction was to cry or sprint towards the door. But instead, she nodded towards the maid before stepping into the unknown.
She recognized the room immediately. This was Charles de Changy's office. One large, mahogany table stood out to her left, near the two large windows that displayed his estate. Charles stood there, a glass of whiskey in one hand while the other leaned on the table at his side. He stood calmly, leaning against the table. She stared at him a little longer than appropriate. She expected a wrathful aura to radiate off his hardened features. Instead, he seemed completely stoic. Though he returned her gaze, his eyes gave no indication to his emotions.
Christine had to look away. Not only was the uncertainty killing her, the unexpected crowd around them confused her. The rest of the crew waited in the office, all silent and looking towards her as well. Andre and Firmin sat in two chairs near Charles. They were both finely dressed in black suits that seemed almost baggy on their emaciated frames. Christine studied them intently. They seemed more full of life and less like a bag of skeletons. Their fidgeting eyes still portrayed their shattered dispositions despite the return of colour in their cheeks.
The rest of the crew was spread throughout the room like clockwork around the elaborate center rug. Carlotta and Piangi sat across from the door. They had returned to their luxurious apparel, though their softened features were uncharacteristically pleasant. The ballerinas and their fearless leader sat across from Charles, each of them sitting shoulder to shoulder to all fit on the couch with a small space next to Jammes. Louis and Gabriel stood behind them.
Yet her eyes were immediately drawn to the golden locks that stood before her. She had seen them in this room many times before, yet the mere sight of them caused her breath to hitch. Raoul sat with his back to her. A shiver crawled down her spine and she had to fight to stop her body's natural shake. She could see the bandages were removed, but could not see the extent of his healing. Even when his father said her name out loud, he refused to turn and look in her direction.
"Ah yes, Mademoiselle Daae. Please sit." Charles de Chagny motioned to the couch directly across from him. Jammes had saved her a spot, though Christine was hesitant to join them. Sorelli sat at the other end of the sofa. Her gaze remained focused ahead, refusing to look in her direction.
Christine nodded meekly before sitting. She kept her eyes downcast. All of the eyes in the room were upon her. Their gazes burned at her skin and she did her best not to quake under their intensity. More than anything she wished she could read their minds to understand what they were thinking.
This is your fault! He is dead because of you!
Christine released a shaky sigh. Of course, she already knew what they were thinking. Facing the people affected by her decisions was much worse than being scolded than Monsieur de Chagny. Maybe it was the punishment she deserved?
"Now we are all here, I will begin." Charles de Changy's voice was much calmer than she had anticipated. It was just as stern and curt as she remembered, though she could not find any traces of malice and anger. It confused her. Her eyes hesitantly fluttered up towards him as he spoke.
"I will be brief, though, I must say...I never imagined that this would happen. I never imagined the Opera Populaire crew would be involved in a political operation, nor did I imagine that you would all suffer so greatly."
Christine felt her heart ache. Sorelli let out a near silent cry as she tried to hold back her tears.
"The past month, you have been subjected to humanity's worst cruelties at no fault of your own." Charles stated, his tone somber. "The Shah used you in a game that was never yours to play. The torture you have all endured...it is something I cannot apologize enough for. When this journey began, we were under the impression that your managers would return their stock and be rid of the Shah. We could never have anticipated this, though we bear the blame in your suffering. I must apologize."
Charles took a deep breath before taking a quick swill of his whiskey. The room sat in a pregnant silence. Christine's jaw felt locked, though her eyes scanned around furiously. She went from person to person, expecting one of them to speak up. Yet none did. When her eyes found Raoul's staring off into space, she was certain they would remain in silence forever.
Charles stood straight, pacing into the center of the mat. "Know that I too suffer alongside you. My son, God rest his soul, fought for what he believed was right. He understood the dangerous grip the Shah had over Europe, and refused to let his friends die by those same hands. It is for those principles he died for. I plan to continue to respect my son's wishes, as I expect you all to as well. He thought about the good of this country over himself. I hope we can all agree we will continue to do the same."
The crew nodded solemnly.
"We are sorry for your loss, messieurs." Madame Giry stated, her hoarse tone cleared with a quick cough.
Charles gave a small nod. "I appreciate that, Madame. Now, I am afraid we must get down to the business at hand. I am sure you are all wondering what is next. Fortunately, that is one issue that has already been resolved."
Christine furrowed her brow. Nearly everyone seemed to stiffen. Clearly, Christine was not the only one who felt clueless. Charles's fingers tapped against his whiskey glass as one hand buried itself in his trouser pocket. He wore a fine suit, one that was expertly tailored to his lean frame. He sighed, almost dramatically. "In order to protect this country from global backlash and political strife, the police and I have worked diligently to keep the news out of the press. You must understand, if the world was to know of what happened in Persia, there would be unrest throughout Europe. News of the France's involvement in Persia could lead to a war."
The group gasped, glancing around at each other.
"But monsieur, France was not involved. We were kidnapped!" Carlotta protested.
Charles de Chagny shrugged. "But was it not your crew that helped the rebels come into power?"
"No." Meg joined. "We had no part to play in that, we were just dragged along."
"I do not believe that is entirely true, do you, Christine Daae?"
Christine stiffened. Hearing her name roll of his sharp tongue petrified her. Her thudding heartbeat rang in her ears as she tried to find the words to respond.
"Mon-Monsieur?"
"If I am not mistaken, Mademoiselle, it was you saved some of the rebels from their death, was it not? In fact, it was you who saved the man that killed my son."
Her stomach flipped. The only person she could have possibly saved was Erik after he battled against Hakeem. He too must have thought the worst. Before she could leap to Erik's defence, Charles continued his accusations. A flicker of a acid burned in his words. Christine felt the urge to shrink in within herself to hide from their vicious sting.
"And was it not you who helped discover the tunnels that lead to my son's demise? In fact, was it not you who caused my sons to travel all the way to Persia because of your message?"
Christine's fingers trembled against the fabrics. Every word that slivered off his tongue cut at her soul. That note had been Andre's, yet, it was her that sent it. Did that make it her fault? But she had only meant to save her friends, not start a political war! Her mind spiraled downwards into darkness. She had nearly forced the Chagny brothers to come to Persia, when they didn't need to come after all. She had helped Erik and Nadir. It was her who defied the Shah and Sultana. What if all of this could have been avoided if she had just done nothing? Was he right?
"You are mistaken, monsieur."
The entire room turned to face Piangi. He seemed to nearly regret his words, trembling at the quick glare that came from the viscount. He quickly gulped before forcing his thoughts out of his mind.
"Christine has done nothing but throw herself into battle to save us. She performed in front of the Shah with little practice and saved our lives because of it. In fact, she has been through so much to keep us alive that she is hardly to blame!"
"Then who do you blame, Signor Piangi?"
Christine shuddered at Charles's words. They were taunting him, almost as if they were inviting an answer. Piangi fell right into his hands.
"The managers! Sophia and Ignacio! They were the ones who started this whole mess with Persia to begin with. The note Christine sent was from Andre and he told her to send it. Sophia and Ignacio helped them lure all of us for ransom and then sold out your plan for money! Your son knew about the tunnels just as much as Christine did, and neither of them were to blame."
"Precisely." Charles agreed. Charles turned until he faced the shaking backs of the managers. The two of them looked down at their clasped hands. Christine could see them trembling in their seats.
Piangi was taken aback by the vicomte's suddenly cool demeanour. Charles smiled victoriously as he gestured towards the managers. "As we all seem to agree who the guilty party is here today, you will not be surprised to hear their fate. Monsieur Andre and Firmin will be escorted to a State penitentiary once the police arrive. There, they will be treated for their insanity and serve for their crime. You must have noticed Monsieur and Madame Caron's absence. They were arrested last night and will face a private trial sometime next week."
"A private trial? Is that legal?" Gabriel asked under his breath.
Charles either did not hear him or ignored him. He turned back towards the crew and pointed towards the door. "Any moment now, I am expecting a detective from the police to arrive. He will interview each of you. Please, tell him everything you deem necessary. You have been through so much and will have plenty to tell. But understand that once he leaves, those words will leave with him. "
"So you are saying..." Piangi started.
"Yes monsieur, you cannot tell anyone about what has happened. Not your families, not your dearest friends, not even other members of the police. The officers that are here today will be the only members of the force who know about the incident and will deny any meeting here today. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, you all returned a few days late from your original travel plan. France was not involved in some coup in the east, and my son died from a tragic boating accident. As unfair as this may seem, I promise you this is the best alternative. I am sure none of you want to be entangled in political games or the press's claws. It would be nearly impossible to escape. It would be a shame if any of you were found to be...to blame."
His final words barely escaped his lips before he took another swill of whiskey. Though they were a mere hush within the air, they were said with such distinction that Christine heard every syllable. Her entire body shivered. When Charles de Chagny uttered those last words, he stared directly at her. Her face paled at the words. If word got out about their involvement, would she too be arrested?
Her entire body began to quiver. For what? What on earth had she done wrong? Her eyes naturally turned to Raoul for consolation. He was there! He had to understand! Yet he refused to meet her gaze, instead turning his head ever so slightly in the opposite direction. It was as if a desperate hold over him forbade him from looking at her, lest she break his resolve.
Her eyes returned to the folds of her skirts. She was alone. More than anything she wished for someone to just hold her. Was that too much to ask? Why had she become so childish lately, wanting something as silly as human connection in a time like this? Wasn't she supposed to be brave?
"The Shah and his corruption has stained this country, but because of my son and your bravery, his infectious grip will no longer hurt us. I encourage you all to respect Philippe's dying wishes and continue to protect this country."
Christine felt her stomach twist. Tell no one? How could she live her life knowing full well what she had been through with no one to talk to about it? She glanced around the room and was somewhat relieved to see that everyone else seemed just as shocked.
"But, monsieur. We have been through so much-" Madame Giry tried to argue, but Charles de Chagny cut her down with the calm sharpness of his voice.
"Then you will have no need to relive it through words. Forget that this ever happened."
Carlotta scoffed at his words. "I do not wish to raise suspicion in any of us, but how would you be able to monitor such a promise? We all have loved ones we confide in, others who would grow curious over our journey and the changes we have been through."
"I am afraid, Signora, there are ways in which you can be monitored. Do not be naïve to think that the government is unaware of your involvement. I can promise you, they will be monitoring you. There is always a crack in the wall, a person listening closely, an eye that watches from a distance. To disobey would result in terrible consequences."
Carlotta gulped. She quickly gripped onto Piangi's hand.
A swift knock at the door ended the conversation. A butler entered. He bowed slightly to the vicomte.
"Detective Leroux, sir."
"Of course, let him in."
Christine barely noticed the plump man as he entered. Her mind was too transfixed on Charles's words. Everything he had said was, in fact, true. She had as much to do with the events of that night as Raoul and Erik. It was her that sent that note, her who performed in front of the Shah. All that time, she had believed she was being brave to save her friends. How stupid of her! She was just leading them down a path of despair. Was Darius's death on her hands as well? Would any of this had happened if she had just not been there?
As Detective Leroux explained how the interview process would go, Christine's mind was off in its own world. If she wasn't here, then maybe this would all have been better. No one deserved to die because of her negligence and naivety. Why did she have to survive when Philippe and Darius had to die? Neither of them had done anything wrong. In fact, she was certain both of them had families to go home to. Raoul and his father must have been devastated.
God, she wished she could trade places with Philippe.
NO.
For a moment, it was as if her entire body shook. Erik's voice boomed in her ears as his face appeared in her mind. They were back on the roof above the palace. The sunset reflected off his porcelain mask as he stared into her eyes. She could see all of the angles of his chin as he smiled softly in her direction. Her heart began to ache. That was the day that he had told her all about her past. It still hurt her to think he had been tormented to such horrors at a young age. Yet, when he looked at her on that roof, it was as if he radiated joy.
She wiped away a tear from her eyes. Her drowning thoughts would not bring them back together again. If they were reunited from two completely different lives in France and Persia, they could be reunited again. He would find her, he just would have to. She clung onto the thought like a lifebuoy in a tumultuous sea. He just had to be alive.
"Mademoiselle Daae? May I speak with you?"
Christine blinked. Carlotta and Piangi were both gone. Jammes was holding onto her hand as the entire room sat in silence. Detective Leroux stood near the door, staring at her quizzically.
Christine felt her cheeks redden. How long had she dozed off for? "Y-yes. Of course."
Jammes gave her a reassuring squeeze before she stood. Meg and Madame Giry smiled at her warmly.
"We will see you after, okay?" Meg whispered. Christine nodded, glancing over at Sorelli. Her eyes seemed lost in front of her, completely unaware of Christine's presence. The sight sliced at her heart. She took a deep breath before walking towards the officer. The last thing she noticed was the empty chair near the door, the one where Raoul was sitting. She had no idea when he left.
"And where is the Phantom now?"
Christine fidgeted with the fold of her skirt. "I do not know. We were separated during the coup. After passing out, the next thing I remembered was waking up on a train to Beirut."
Detective Leroux scribbled down some notes on a small pad. He stared up at her, raking the pad of his thumb across his mustache. "Do you think he will return to Paris?"
Christine hesitated. Yes, she internally thought. He just had to. Yet, if the Vicomte de Chagny thought that Erik killed his son, wouldn't this man too?
"I-I don't know. He never returned to Paris before, so I do not see a reason why he would now."
Detective Leroux raised an eyebrow. He leaned back into his chair. "Very interesting." He muttered.
Though her body shook from fear, she had answered truthfully. She told them of their travel and of the Phantom's aid. She described the Sultana and the Shah, as well as their time in the Harem. if there was anything she believed to be of use, she told it. She described Mozaffar and Nadir's few words of the exiled son. Yet Detective Leroux kept a calm demeanor despite what she told him. He asked questions bluntly, quickly scribbling down any notes he could.
"You know, this is not my first experience with this supposed 'Phantom'."
Christine furrowed her brow. "Is that so?"
He nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. "Many years ago, I was called to the Opera Populaire over a believed attempted sabotage. You see, the chandelier above the stage is held up by three very strong ropes. Two of them had been cut with a knife. Yet, all of the cast and crew were accounted for, no one reported any mysterious folk walking about. It was as if a ghost had tried to bring down the chandelier before changing his mind...It was quite a peculiar affair. I always wondered what would stop a man from completing a task when they seemed so hell bent on completing it. Those ropes are not easy to cut, you know. It must have taken an awful amount of strength and dedication to cut the two. It was as if...well...I don't know. I am just man with many speculations you see."
Christine didn't say anything. Detective Leroux closed his notepad and smiled at her weakly. "You may go, mademoiselle. I must ask that you remain in Paris for a few months until this investigation is closed. I believe the vicomte mentioned that you had a guardian living in the city?"
"Yes, Madame Valerius."
"I see. I am afraid that I must ask you to remain here for a few days. It is just a safety precaution, then you are more than welcome to return home. The Vicomte has already agreed to hosting you here for a few days more. Your guardian has been informed of your arrival, though has been told that you will be here for a few days to recover from your journey. I am sure you understand?"
Christine nodded, though she wanted to cry. More than anything she wanted to flee from this place, yet it seemed as though her misery would be prolonged.
"Thank you for your time. You may go."
Christine nodded, quickly standing to leave the small parlor. Just as she closed the doors, she let her body lean into them for support. Her body felt numb, yet electrified by the adrenaline that coursed through her body. She didn't know how to feel. Was she ridden with guilt or ecstatic that this ordeal was close to finished? Was she miserable over Philippe and Darius's death or relieved to hear that the detective believed Erik to be alive? She hugged herself as she walked back towards the Vicomte's office.
A sound caught her attention. Her original plan was to return to Madame Giry and Meg. There was much to be discussed. Were they to remain here as well? What were their plans after all of this had blown away? Yet as she walked towards the office, she caught sound of Raoul's voice caught her attention.
"Father, I am-"
"Do not speak to me." Charles hissed. The two men stood near the entrance to Charles's office door. Raoul's hands were buried in his pockets and his back hunched as if it carried a great weight. This made Charles de Chagny seem much taller and foreboding as he glared down at his son. "I am constantly cleaning your messes, and for what? Some pathetic little ballet rat? I do not want to hear another word from you. Not only do I have to clean this up, I have to console your mother over the loss of our son."
Christine's lower lip trembled. Charles had always been harsh on Raoul. Even as children, she could see how he favoured his eldest son. Yet the way he talked to Raoul now was as if he was not their son at all, a mere stranger he had the misfortune of raising. Raoul nodded before turning away and down the other end of the hall. Christine turned. Clearly, the older vicomte did not want to be disturbed. She would catch up with the others later. A rest in her room may be what she needed anyways.
Just as she began to walk towards the staircase, a low growl caught her attention.
"Do not leave so quickly, Mademoiselle."
Christine froze. How on earth had he seen her? She turned, shivering as Charles stalked towards her. A dark scowl formed on his face, though his words were seemingly calm. It was like a tiger lurking in the distance. She was unsure if he would pounce or simply watch her as she walked on by. The closer he came, the more terrified of him she became.
"I am sure Detective Leroux informed you of your living situation for the next couple of days?"
Christine nodded meekly. "Yes...I.. thank you."
"Do not thank me." He waved his hand dismissively. "You are only here to ensure a couple of loose ends, my dear. It was almost necessary if I must say so."
Christine dared to meet his gaze. "Loose ends?"
He smirked, stepping back from her. His attention turned towards one of the portraits against the wall. Christine had no interest in examining the source of his attention. His words seemed foreboding, as if her staying here would cause something rather terrible. She shivered at the thought.
"I must applaud you. You seemed to neglect key details from your statement to detective Leroux" He stated evenly. "You have an uncanny aptitude for lying, it seems."
Christine hugged herself tighter. Why did his insults blend so easily with his tone? If she wasn't used to it, would she have missed them all together? "I am sorry, monsieur. I do not understand..."
He snickered to himself, his dark laugh echoing off the walls. "You did not mention that you were in love with the phantom. Why was that? It is clearly obvious your silly engagement to my son is over. What hurt could possibly come from admitting such an important detail? No matter, your interview with him is over. Though, I will admit, I am relieved to hear the news. It seems even I can fall to your lies."
"I didn't lie to your son-"
"Regardless of your intentions, I am glad to rid the potential smear on our family name. Marrying a poor ballerina would bring nothing but misfortune and scandal to this family. It is nothing personal, just politics. You must understand."
Christine found herself nodding at his harsh words. She had always known that she would not have been welcomed into the family. She was poor, without a family or a name to bring to the table. Everything she would ever own would come directly from Raoul and his family. She would have nothing to offer in return. Not only that, she was aware of the gossip and shock within the aristocracy at their short courting. Raoul had always dismissed it, but Christine knew she would never fit in. Though Charles's words stung, she understood the truth behind them.
Charles sighed. "You will remain in your room. I will ensure that food is brought to you and that you are taken care of. Once I am certain that you are no longer needed, you will be sent home. Though, in return for my kindness, I must demand that you rid any hope of reconciliation with my son."
Christine glanced up at him. "Can we not still be friends?"
Charles laughed. "For what purpose could he possibly serve you now?"
Christine felt her cheeks redden. "He has always been my friend-"
"Things change." He glared at her, as if daring her to speak against him. "Raoul will be leaving in a few weeks. He will be going on an expedition to Antarctica, if all goes well. You will remain here until I deem it acceptable for you to return. Once you have gone your separate ways, there will be no need to keep in contact." Charles leaned in closer to her, his voice lowering to a dark hiss. "I will make this abundantly clear. You are forbidden to leave this place without my permission. You speak to no one, though if you hear any rumors of a certain ghost returning to this country, you will inform me immediately."
Christine gasped. She stared up at him in disbelief. Gathering the little courage she could summon, she took a step backwards. The more space she had from him, the better. "Am I a hostage here too?"
"Consider yourself collateral." Charles retorted. "I have it on good authority that bastard lover of yours died in the coup. Yes, look at me when I say these words. It is incredibly likely that he is dead."
Charles gripped onto her chin, forcing her teary eyes to stare into his. She refused to accept his words. Erik could not be dead. He just couldn't! She tried to wriggle free of his grip or open her mouth to deny him, but he latched onto her jaw so tightly she couldn't move.
"If I have any inclination that you are hiding something, or that he has returned to Paris, I can promise you that you and everyone you love will suffer. I have enough evidence to link you as a confidant to the Shah as well as enough members of the crew to support my claim."
"You're lying!" She cried through gritted teeth.
Charles scoffed. "Do you really think they are all your friends? Don't be so foolish!" He let go of her chin and forcefully pushed her back. She stumbled, halting a few feet away from him. Christine panted as he pointed towards her.
"If you know what is good for you, you will follow my every order. Once I can ensure that the monster that killed my son is dead, you can return to your normal life. My family has been through enough hurt and pain. Do not be the reason we have to suffer anymore!"
Christine struggled to breathe. The mere thought of Erik being dead just couldn't be true. A growing hollowness carved in her heart, despite her attempts to fight it. If Erik was dead, if Charles did believe his contacts, then there would be no need to keep her here. No, Charles must have believed he was alive! Otherwise, why would she be kept here?
"And my friends?" Christine asked.
"Already gone. I have no use for them."
Christine's lips formed into a thin line. Charles de Chagny was a cutthroat businessman and nothing more. He saw people as tools and she refused to play a part of his game. If Erik was alive, he most definitely would try to find her. Him coming here could be incredibly dangerous. She quickly formulated some sort of plan.
"I will follow your terms, under a few conditions."
Charles glared at her. He remained silent, letting Christine continue. "Erik deserves a fair trial and...and I want to visit my father's grave."
Charles stalked forward. Christine trembled as she tried to hold her ground. He stopped with a hair's distance between them. Christine held her breath as he stared down at her. Those blue eyes, at first, seemed exactly like Raoul's. In fact, Charles had many similar physical characteristics to his youngest son. But the raw fury that radiated off him was unlike anything she had ever seen before.
"I will prepare a carriage for you. You will return before sundown."
With that, he left. Christine tried to barter or demand that he agree to her terms. Instead, the Vicomte ignored her as he walked to his office. With a loud click, he locked the door behind him. Christine stood trembling in the hall. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. If Erik was alive, what hope would he have here? A butler emerged from the office and asked that she followed him. It took everything she had to keep up with the older man. Her only plan was that she could get some sort of message out to Erik before he came here. Maybe he was already watching her, and would follow her to her father's grave?
Her lower lip trembled as she boarded her carriage. A uniformed man sat next to the carriage driver and Christine could just see the outline of a gun in his pocket. Of course, there would be no escaping from Charles's guard. Even if Erik was able to subdue him, Charles had made it abundantly clear that he would hurt the ones she loved if she did not turn him in.
There was no sign of him. Her plan would be utterly futile. If Erik wasn't dead now, he most certainly would be on his way here. She wanted to collapse into a ball. All her emotions hit her at once. This was all her fault. Philippe's death, Raoul's pain, Sorelli's depression, even Charles's wrath. If she hadn't been so careless, then none of this could have happened.
On top of that, she was yet again putting Erik in danger. Of course he would come to rescue her. But yet again, she was in the clutches of a mad man who would stop at nothing to ensure that he suffered.
The carriage ride was too short. She cried into her palms, doing her best to muffle her pained moans. They were supposed to be free. Returning to France had been all she had dreamed about for so long, yet this was nothing like she had imagined. Erik would have been besides her. Nadir and Darius would be ruining their heated moments with their poor timing and jokes. Madame Giry would scowl at them unapprovingly as they began to court like normal adults. Jammes and Meg would tease her and tell Erik all of her most embarrassing moments. Madame Valerius may have even knit him a scarf.
The ache in her heart was too much. Why did her dreams hurt her so much?
Her body moved on its own accord, a programmed walk she had taken many times. Though her tears had subdued to mere sniffles, the emptiness in her soul became to powerful to fight. She let it take over, clouding her vision with guilt and remorse. It should have been her. Maybe in death, she could have lived happy dreams. maybe there, Erik and her could live peacefully.
Through her tears, she asked the guard for some space as she approached her father's grave. He seemed hesitant, but reluctantly agreed. Soon, she was alone with the lone tombstone before it. The carved name of her father gleamed up at her. His grave was the last one in front of a small mausoleum. She stared at it for a long time, unsure of how much time passed before she opened her thin lips.
"You were once my one companion. You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and father. Then my world was shattered."
Her words were a ragged whisper on the wind. The last time she sang, she was defying a mad tyrant in a distant land. Now, she was completely destroyed. No father, no Erik, no anybody. Had Charles been serious when he said members of the crew would speak against her? Even Sorelli, who was devastated by her loss, wouldn't have done such a thing...would she?
Christine let the music in her head overtake her. "Wishing you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seem if I just dream, somehow you would be here."
She collapsed on her knees as her mind was assaulted with thoughts of her angel. She remembered his enticing scent of spices and heat. His bony fingers and cool skin that soothed her. That stunning voice that she would have followed anywhere. Would she ever hear it again? His song was the first sensation of life she had felt in so long, yet now it was ripped from her. She was certain she would never live again. "Wishing I could hear your voice again. Knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could."
She shook her head. No, she would never feel again. The rest of her life would be a hollow emptiness. Her dreams would only drift back to the times when she was blissfully unaware of how lucky she was. Her childhood with her father and angel. Though she may have been poor and starving, those days were her best. Oh, why did she spend her time daydreaming! Why couldn't she hold her father closer and confess her love for her angel sooner.
Her voice cracked. She had never told Erik that she loved him. If her guilt didn't kill her, her regret surely would. There were words that spiraled in her head, but she could not produce any sound beside a few shaky wails. Could she learn to forgive? Could she be taught to live? Oh why couldn't' the past just die!
her fingers gripped onto the gravel in front of his grave. She leaned into the cobblestone, as if it could bring her closer to her father. Could she feel his once warm skin through the solid barrier? Could she ever feel anything ever again?
"Ang-Anngeeell." She cried into the gravel. Who knew how long she laid there. Was it hours, minutes, or even seconds. She lifted herself to her shaky feet.
A sliver of red caught her eye. At the door of the Mausoleum was a lone, red rose. She stared at it, a patch of colour against the gloomy exterior. Numbly, she shuffled towards it.
Erik used to leave her roses. A single rose after her performances. Her father loved roses and used to leave them at her mother's gravesite when they were in Sweden. She climbed the steps until she was in the Mausoleum. Gently, she picked up the rose, taking in its sweet scent. It smelt like spring.
"Oh angel." She cried, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. "Find me again."
From the darkness of the shadows, a lone voice rang in her ears. "I will always find you."
I am so grateful for all of your reviews and comments. It is currently waaayy past my bedtime and I will reply to your comments soon! Hope you enjoy! Sorry for the late chapter!
