"What?" I asked. I was shocked for two reasons. One: Raoul had said
Erik's name. Two: the question was completely insane.
"Christine," Raoul walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders, "you don't have to lie. I know that Christian is not my son." I stared at him, my mouth open in shock. How did he know? I had known Christian was not Raoul's son since before he was born; but how did Raoul find out?
"Why would you think that Raoul?" I asked innocently.
"I've known for a few months now. It's quite obvious Christine. He looks nothing like me and everything like him. Well," he laughed bitterly, "maybe not everything. At least Christian is good looking." I stood up and slapped him across the face, angry tears forming in my eyes.
"Don't you ever, ever, insult Erik again Raoul! Ever, do you hear me?!" I screamed. Raoul looked stunned. He had his hand on his face where I had slapped him. He recovered quickly.
"Christine he's dead!" he roared.
"No Raoul!" I yelled. I fell to my knees and covered my face with my hands. "Please don't! Don't say that!"
"Why Christine?!" He shouted. "Are you afraid of the truth? Erik is dead do you hear me?! Dead!" He pulled me up off the floor and looked me in the eyes. His last words before he left the room were barely a whisper. "Erik is dead."
I walked in a daze back to the parlor. Christian still sat at the piano playing the gypsy song I sang to him as a baby. It was the song Erik sang to me the first time he took me through my dressing room mirror. Unable to stand it anymore, I ran out into the hall and yelled for our butler.
"James!" He walked out of the dining room.
"Yes Madame? I was just setting the table for dinner," he said.
"Never mind that James. I need a carriage," I told him.
"Now Madame?" James asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Very well. I shall tell the stable boy to ready the horses," he said and walked away.
A few minutes later, my carriage was ready. I climbed in and pulled the hood of my cloak over my head.
"Where to Madame?" the driver asked.
"The Paris Opera," I replied.
"Right," he said and we were off.
"Christine," Raoul walked over to me and put his hands on my shoulders, "you don't have to lie. I know that Christian is not my son." I stared at him, my mouth open in shock. How did he know? I had known Christian was not Raoul's son since before he was born; but how did Raoul find out?
"Why would you think that Raoul?" I asked innocently.
"I've known for a few months now. It's quite obvious Christine. He looks nothing like me and everything like him. Well," he laughed bitterly, "maybe not everything. At least Christian is good looking." I stood up and slapped him across the face, angry tears forming in my eyes.
"Don't you ever, ever, insult Erik again Raoul! Ever, do you hear me?!" I screamed. Raoul looked stunned. He had his hand on his face where I had slapped him. He recovered quickly.
"Christine he's dead!" he roared.
"No Raoul!" I yelled. I fell to my knees and covered my face with my hands. "Please don't! Don't say that!"
"Why Christine?!" He shouted. "Are you afraid of the truth? Erik is dead do you hear me?! Dead!" He pulled me up off the floor and looked me in the eyes. His last words before he left the room were barely a whisper. "Erik is dead."
I walked in a daze back to the parlor. Christian still sat at the piano playing the gypsy song I sang to him as a baby. It was the song Erik sang to me the first time he took me through my dressing room mirror. Unable to stand it anymore, I ran out into the hall and yelled for our butler.
"James!" He walked out of the dining room.
"Yes Madame? I was just setting the table for dinner," he said.
"Never mind that James. I need a carriage," I told him.
"Now Madame?" James asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Very well. I shall tell the stable boy to ready the horses," he said and walked away.
A few minutes later, my carriage was ready. I climbed in and pulled the hood of my cloak over my head.
"Where to Madame?" the driver asked.
"The Paris Opera," I replied.
"Right," he said and we were off.