Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. What? I repeat myself? Ha! Never!
Chapter 8
Thoughts and Dreams
Christine couldn't sleep at all that night. She tossed and turned on her bed, weighing each contestant for her heart in her mind over and over again until the room seemed to spin around her. But amidst these thoughts came overwhelming feelings of guilt; not for Raoul, but for Erik. The pain in his voice echoed in her head again and again as the look of pain on his face appeared in her mind.
"I do every time..."
No matter what she did to him, Erik's love for her never dimmed, but grew. Her real feelings became far more apparent to her, as did her own unworthiness for the genius, in her eyes. Erik deserved better than her. She had been selfish, conniving, manipulative, and all out hurtful to him the past few weeks as her plan had formulated. As for Raoul, the only reason she still considered him was because Erik deserved better. The Vicomte was not the man she loved, she knew this now. But was it too late?
Past the point of no return
No backward glances
these games we've played till now are at an end...
Hot tears streamed down her cheek and onto her pillow, gleaming in the moonlight. Oh Erik! I love you, I know that now. How could I have been so horribly blind? Forgive me, please Erik, just once more. Oh how could you love me now? Her body shook with her sobs as she silently wept, alone. She hadn't felt so alone since her father had died several years before. Except now no one could know, she could not tell anyone her sorrows or receive any consolation.
Wishing you were somehow here again,
wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed
if I just dreamed,
somehow you would be here...
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!
Passing bells
and sculpted angels,
cold and monumental,
seem, for you, the wrong companions-
you were warm and gentle...
Wishing you were somehow near again,
knowing we must say goodbye...
Try to forgive,
teach me to live,
give me the strength to try!
No more memories,
no more silent tears,
no more gazing across the wasted years...
help me say goodbye...
Christine decided at last that she could not marry Raoul; she couldn't let him accomplish his underhanded scheme. And Erik...well, if he could possibly forgive her and still want her to marry him, she was his. But this last thought was nearly a hopeless one to her; how could he still care for her, despite what he had said? Christine finally cried herself to sleep a few hours before dawn, dreamless save for Erik's face and voice in her mind.
Meanwhile, Erik was unaware of his beloved's thoughts and was having dreams of his own. If any had been present to see him, they would have seen a smile playing on his lips as he dreamed the most pleasant of dreams...
Christine was dressed in the bridal gown and veil, with the ring on her finger. She smelled like the roses she carried, and she looked even more beautiful than they. As the customary kiss was given after their vows were said, a loud protest echoed throughout Erik's home underground.
"Noooo!" Raoul splashed through the water.
Erik and Christine broke apart and stared in surprise at the intruder.
"No, Christine, don't!"
Erik sighed and pulled out his lasso, preparing to pun-jab the young Vicomte. Unfortunately, Raoul made the wise decision to raise his hand and take the lasso off of his neck as it fell. Erik ground his teeth and threw down the rope, advancing towards his rival and wrestling him to the gate, where Christine helped him tie her former suitor to the iron structure.
"Wait!" Raoul gasped. He stared at Christine, "Christine, please, tell him to let me go. Please, my love, I beg of you."
Christine folded her arms and glanced at her new husband, "Well, my love? What shall we do?"
"Plan B." Erik advanced again towards the Vicomte, opening his vest and removing the comb that lay securely in one of the pockets.
"No, no, Erik..." Christine stayed his arm and a sigh of relief was emitted from the fop. His relief was only temporary, however, because an evil smile crept across the red lips of his former betrothed, "Let me."
Erik smiled and handed her the comb.
Christine took it, her evil smile ever broadening, and held it in the air with both hands.
Raoul's eyes widened, "No, no please! Not that!"
SNAP!
"NOOOO!" Raoul screamed as Christine broke his comb and dropped it carelessly into the water.
But more was to come, for the newlyweds both attacked him then, in different ways. Erik mussed his hair, heedless of his screams. Christine brought forth a scroll and read his sentence:
"The Vicomte will be tied to the gate until 5:00 pm, at which time he will be shown a mirror and forced to stare at the shadow which will have grown on his face at that point. Then, the mud pies he so carefully avoided as a child will be brought to him for his supper and smeared on his white shirt, though not on his face because mud is good for the skin, and also will be smeared beneath his manicured nails. His hair will be mussed every hour on the hour until knots form which are hopeless to untangle. Erik's musical box will play constantly. Christine will do her Carlotta imitation every fifteen minutes until the prisoner is released. Erik will shave one eyebrow and Christine will shave the other in five minutes' time. When the prisoner is ready to be released, a skunk will be brought forth to give the victim a new scent as he returns to his home to live with his humiliation."
Raoul had passed out as soon as Christine had mentioned his five o'clock shadow. Their plans were carried out flawlessly, adding to the joys of the day...
It was at this time that Erik woke up.
"Blast!" He slammed his hand against his pillow. Then he smiled, remembering the look on Raoul's face when Christine broke his comb. "Priceless." He lay down again and went back to sleep.
Raoul had collapsed onto his bed after having drunk all that Vodka with Erik, and the deep sleep he fell into afforded him the most pleasant of dreams...
He rode through the streets of Paris on a white horse, wearing his favorite shirt: A white poet shirt which displayed his freshly-shaven chest, causing all the women in his path to swoon. As he reached the Opera Populaire, he leaped gallantly off of his horse, catching Christine as she too began to faint. Just then, Erik appeared from around the corner.
"You failed to heed my warnings, monsieur." He drew his sword, "Now you must pay!"
Raoul laughed and drew his sword, "You will find no fear in me, Monster. En garde!"
The two engaged in a dramatic display of swordplay; Raoul pretended not to heed Christine's gasps and cries of fear for his life. His hair remained perfect throughout the entire duel, and he didn't sweat a drop, much to his pride and pleasure. He won the duel in less than a minute, running his sword through the Phantom's heart.
Christine ran to him and kissed him, praising his wonderful swordsmanship, his beautiful hair, his handsome, flawless features, etc etc etc. However, he no longer needed her, since he had killed Erik; he didn't care anything for her outside of taking her affections away from his adversary, who now lay dead a few feet away. He pushed her aside and strode toward Meg, who also had watched the duel from a balcony. Raoul quickly scaled the wall and kissed her, the chorus girl becoming limp in his arms. Christine promptly screamed and fell into a heap on the spot(horrified at the exchange in the Vicomte's affections)as Raoul carried Meg in one arm as he repelled down the wall with the other. His triumph was abruptly ended by a growl to his right. Raoul whirled around to see Erik standing upright and armed, blood still wet and dripping from his heart.
"You're supposed to be dead!" He gasped.
"You fool! No one can kill the Phantom of the Opera!" Erik lunged towards him, piercing his side before he was able to block the blow.
"And before you die:" Erik showed his adversary a mirror as he slashed his face, "look upon your face, Vicomte! Now mock me, if you dare!" He laughed, an evil, maniacal laugh that sent chills up and down Raoul's spine.
"NOOOOO!" He screamed...
Raoul sat straight up in bed, panting, covered in a cold sweat. His sudden movement instigated a horrible pounding in his head and he promptly fell back onto his pillows, regretting ever having tasted that vile liquid known as Vodka. Reminded of his dream, he hastily checked his face, then grabbed the mirror he always kept on his bedside table and looked into it in the moonlight. No scars, no blade marks whatsoever on his perfect face...except...what was that! He stared harder at the barely visible mark on his chin, then gasped in horror: A PIMPLE!
