A/N- Ok, since I haven't been updating in a while since last chappie, I am
gonna try to do it more often...and kudos to DolphinAnimagus! Yes, the golden
eyes are Erik's, and you have guessed correctly for the blue-eyed man!
YAYNESS! And we won't see anymore of the therapist ...I only put it in to
increase tension and to make Christine's life seem more unfortunate...but, I
must say, I think it added a little something, don't you think? And, Linky,
if you're still reading this (and I hope you are), if you go to my url
) and read the bio, you will
see that I wrote what happened when I tried to call you...hope to talk to you
soon! Oh, by the way, please R&R! I'm desperate! (story gonna end soon!)
(not yet though) PS- The ending to this chappie is different to what I had
before, so you need to read that before proceeding to the final chappie
(for those who need to reread, the new material begins where you see ---).
XII.
Christine shuddered as she looked back around to the door that was open, now locked shut. She hated the room in which she stood. It was not only the dusty room she had to spend every day in during her time at the opera house, it was the passage way to the underworld, to Erik. She had not been in it for so long, and she could tell, neither had anyone else. She looked at the floor, which was strewn in dust. The flowers she had gotten from her admirers (particularly, Raoul) from her last performance were also trailing the floor, now all dead and decaying. She could not even tell which flower was which kind. Her eyes lifted to see her bed, still covered in her silk sheets and woven blanket. Mama Valerius had woven that blanket for her when she was only a small toddler. She had watched the careful handwork of Mama Valerius and saw that she was putting forth her best efforts to make such a blanket. She had cared for it ever since she first received it, vowing to always keep it close. But she grew older and saw she had no need for the blanket except when she was sleeping and cast it to the dark shadows of her closet, not seeing it for almost seven years. When Mama Valerius had died, she had wept for days, almost months, knowing that she would never see that kind old woman again. It was only her and Papa, and then, Papa died, and she turned to the opera theatre to give her a job, and a job she was granted. She had no where else to go, and no one to comfort her, so she took back her blanket, to remember all of the good times she shared with the two people she loved most. Now looking at the cobweb- covered blanket, she knew that she was no longer a little girl, but a woman, grown up after so much torment.
There was a sound. "Who is there?" she called. No one replied. She took a step back and her heel landed on a wooden piece from the violin that had just been playing moments before. Forgetting the violin, the candles, and everything else that seemed to work by itself, she turned back to the door, trying to find out a way to get out, since no one would come in and find her. She started to try fiddling with the lock, to see if it would budge, but it would not. She banged on the door, pushed against the door, rattled the lock, but nothing would work. ---She tried and tried as long as she could and when she felt she had no strength left, she slid to the floor, resting her head on the door that stood behind her, having not moved a bit.
He was close. So close to being reunited again with the one he had lost one year ago. He could almost taste his victory. Seeing her again would bring a joy to his heart that he had not felt in so long. His footsteps grew stronger and harder and resounded back to him in perfect rhythms of courage, beating soundly with his heart as he grew closer to the room, a look of pride on his face.
Christine could do nothing but surrender herself fully to the darkness that was surrounding her. She grasped the sparkling chain around her neck and toyed with it as she looked around for something that could help her try to get out. She could use her chair as a battering ram, she thought, recalling the usage of battering rams in an opera they had once preformed. The door was too strong. She could never break it down with the thin chair and her small figure. She looked around at all of the other things in the room, racking her brain for anything that would be helpful. Nothing came. Whatever little hope she had inside of her was extinguished.
He began to feel afraid. What if she did not recognize him? What if she had forgotten him? What if she had found another? What if...he no longer questioned. There were too many 'what if's in everyone's life, including his own, and he did not need more. He could only hope for the best. He ran faster and faster as the old theatre images rushed past his eyes, making him long for his love even more.
There was no way out, no solution, no end. She could think of nothing, her thoughts ending on one answer: death. She would die there, alone, falling forever into legend, never to be found by anyone. Tears caressed her cheeks and fell to the floor where they landed without sound. Her life was alone now, pointless. She was trapped.
Closer and closer he got as he raced the halls searching for his beloved...
Her hands came to her eyes in bitter weeps of sorrow...
The doors of the hallway rushed past him as he searched for the right one...
Cries of anguish became louder as her diamond tears traced the floor...
A few more doors and he would see her again...
How could it end this way? She pounded her head in angst and torment against the door...but she stopped and noticed something. The door pounded back. Her tears slowly subsided as she heard through the door, someone yelling. She listened for the caller, and heard it clearly:
"Christine!" called the voice. She has heard that voice somewhere before, but she could not think of where, and confusion swooped down upon her. Her mind was amiss with jumbles of confusion all the time in her life and she was tired of never being able to sort it out.
"I am here! Help!" she called out to the mysterious person. He pounded on the door, but it would not budge. "I will get you out!" he shouted to her, trying to calm her.
"Tell me, who are you?" she questioned, wanting to know of her mysterious rescuer.
"Why, Monsieur de Changy! How delightful to see you after so much time," called Erik's voice hauntingly, though Christine could not see him through the door. He must have snuck up on Raoul- wait. She was no fool. That couldn't be Raoul! Erik killed Raoul a year ago! It couldn't be! Could it?
"Let her go, Erik!" Raoul yelled back to him. Christine thought about the voice. Could it be? Could it possibly be Raoul? Alive?
XII.
Christine shuddered as she looked back around to the door that was open, now locked shut. She hated the room in which she stood. It was not only the dusty room she had to spend every day in during her time at the opera house, it was the passage way to the underworld, to Erik. She had not been in it for so long, and she could tell, neither had anyone else. She looked at the floor, which was strewn in dust. The flowers she had gotten from her admirers (particularly, Raoul) from her last performance were also trailing the floor, now all dead and decaying. She could not even tell which flower was which kind. Her eyes lifted to see her bed, still covered in her silk sheets and woven blanket. Mama Valerius had woven that blanket for her when she was only a small toddler. She had watched the careful handwork of Mama Valerius and saw that she was putting forth her best efforts to make such a blanket. She had cared for it ever since she first received it, vowing to always keep it close. But she grew older and saw she had no need for the blanket except when she was sleeping and cast it to the dark shadows of her closet, not seeing it for almost seven years. When Mama Valerius had died, she had wept for days, almost months, knowing that she would never see that kind old woman again. It was only her and Papa, and then, Papa died, and she turned to the opera theatre to give her a job, and a job she was granted. She had no where else to go, and no one to comfort her, so she took back her blanket, to remember all of the good times she shared with the two people she loved most. Now looking at the cobweb- covered blanket, she knew that she was no longer a little girl, but a woman, grown up after so much torment.
There was a sound. "Who is there?" she called. No one replied. She took a step back and her heel landed on a wooden piece from the violin that had just been playing moments before. Forgetting the violin, the candles, and everything else that seemed to work by itself, she turned back to the door, trying to find out a way to get out, since no one would come in and find her. She started to try fiddling with the lock, to see if it would budge, but it would not. She banged on the door, pushed against the door, rattled the lock, but nothing would work. ---She tried and tried as long as she could and when she felt she had no strength left, she slid to the floor, resting her head on the door that stood behind her, having not moved a bit.
He was close. So close to being reunited again with the one he had lost one year ago. He could almost taste his victory. Seeing her again would bring a joy to his heart that he had not felt in so long. His footsteps grew stronger and harder and resounded back to him in perfect rhythms of courage, beating soundly with his heart as he grew closer to the room, a look of pride on his face.
Christine could do nothing but surrender herself fully to the darkness that was surrounding her. She grasped the sparkling chain around her neck and toyed with it as she looked around for something that could help her try to get out. She could use her chair as a battering ram, she thought, recalling the usage of battering rams in an opera they had once preformed. The door was too strong. She could never break it down with the thin chair and her small figure. She looked around at all of the other things in the room, racking her brain for anything that would be helpful. Nothing came. Whatever little hope she had inside of her was extinguished.
He began to feel afraid. What if she did not recognize him? What if she had forgotten him? What if she had found another? What if...he no longer questioned. There were too many 'what if's in everyone's life, including his own, and he did not need more. He could only hope for the best. He ran faster and faster as the old theatre images rushed past his eyes, making him long for his love even more.
There was no way out, no solution, no end. She could think of nothing, her thoughts ending on one answer: death. She would die there, alone, falling forever into legend, never to be found by anyone. Tears caressed her cheeks and fell to the floor where they landed without sound. Her life was alone now, pointless. She was trapped.
Closer and closer he got as he raced the halls searching for his beloved...
Her hands came to her eyes in bitter weeps of sorrow...
The doors of the hallway rushed past him as he searched for the right one...
Cries of anguish became louder as her diamond tears traced the floor...
A few more doors and he would see her again...
How could it end this way? She pounded her head in angst and torment against the door...but she stopped and noticed something. The door pounded back. Her tears slowly subsided as she heard through the door, someone yelling. She listened for the caller, and heard it clearly:
"Christine!" called the voice. She has heard that voice somewhere before, but she could not think of where, and confusion swooped down upon her. Her mind was amiss with jumbles of confusion all the time in her life and she was tired of never being able to sort it out.
"I am here! Help!" she called out to the mysterious person. He pounded on the door, but it would not budge. "I will get you out!" he shouted to her, trying to calm her.
"Tell me, who are you?" she questioned, wanting to know of her mysterious rescuer.
"Why, Monsieur de Changy! How delightful to see you after so much time," called Erik's voice hauntingly, though Christine could not see him through the door. He must have snuck up on Raoul- wait. She was no fool. That couldn't be Raoul! Erik killed Raoul a year ago! It couldn't be! Could it?
"Let her go, Erik!" Raoul yelled back to him. Christine thought about the voice. Could it be? Could it possibly be Raoul? Alive?