Chapter Seven
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. It belongs to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber.
And all my days are trances;
And all my nights are dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams—
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal steams.
-Edgar Allan Poe, To One in Paradise
Christine sat in one of the empty dressing rooms, watching Madame Giry bustle around. Meg placed another blanket around her shoulders, her red lips set in a grim straight line that matched the frown on her mother's face. Neither of the women spoke, leaving Christine to drown in her own thoughts. The blue-eyed girl almost wished that they would talk or reprimand her because her thoughts were eating her away from the inside out. The pain was gnawing painfully on her heart.
She felt empty inside. Salt had been poured onto her heart, which was full of tears. Nothing had gone as she had planned. It had all broken… all of the stability had fallen apart. Erik was not supposed to be alive. He was not supposed to be the living, breathing man who had caused so much havoc in the Opera House two year before. He was supposed to be dead. And he wasn't. No matter how many time he had said that Erik no longer lived, she had seen it in his eyes. The enamored, passionate man still lingered inside the prison the Phantom had locked.
However, it was not the fact that he was alive that bothered her most. It was the earth-shattering revelation that had plagued her when she sat on the cold stair that had lead her down one of Erik's many secret passages. How had she not known something that had been in her heart for two years? How could she have overlooked the burning, powerful love that she held for the masked man who lurked in the dungeons of the Opera House?
Disgust in the form of nausea swept through her and she fought the bile rising in her throat. She had been so stupidly blind and so horribly cruel to him during those long days and endless nights at the Opera House. How? How could she have been so vindictive if her feelings for him ran so deep?
The boyish, striking face swept through her mind like a slap the face.
Raoul.
She had been having a childish love with Raoul de Chagny. She had been wrapped up in his constant words of adoration, his tears that had fallen for her. He had been so caring and so determined to find love in the blue-eyed beauty that Christine had woven her feelings into the fairy tale. She had remembered the days when she and Raoul had been children, and had played for countless hours as if they hadn't a care in the world. And as it happened, Raoul had been her Prince Charming in that fairy tale. He had saved her from the cruel hands of the beast that had taken her from him.
Christine leaned forward as her breathing became labored. She fought to keep the nausea down. Had she blocked out her feelings for Erik because of his face? The answer made her vision blur. She had. She had deserted her Angel because he had finally trusted her… he had finally put himself in her hands by showing himself to her. And she had rejected him because of the infection that plagued his face.
"I do not deserve to live," Christine gasped, her breathing now harsh and loud.
"Christine? Christine!" Meg kneeled in front of her friend, clasping the girl's hands in her own. "Oh my God, Maman!"
Christine's eyes fluttered closed. The last thing she saw was Madame Giry's face in front of her own, and the last thing she felt was her body crashing into Meg's arms.
Raoul de Chagny arrived in Paris the next morning, sitting in a carriage next to the silent Corin. He wrung his hands together nervously as he looked out at the people already out and about in the large city. He had visited Paris several time in the last two years, but now he held a dark loathing for the city that he had never experienced before. Christine could be anywhere. His heart jumped as he thought of the horrors that could have befallen his beautiful fiancé.
When the renovated Opera House was in view, the blue-eyed young man visibly blanched. The memories that he held of that specific building never made him feel quite settled. He could almost feel the hot rays of the African jungle on him. But that was a long time ago, Raoul said to himself, shaking his head. There was no African sun. You've never even been to Africa. With a sigh, he turned to glance at Corin.
Corin sat peacefully, his gloved hands folded in his lap. His eyes skimmed the masses of people that littered the Parisian streets. The memories of the past did not haunt Corin. He was not a man who dwelled on the pain of past events or emotions. He was a man who focused on the here and the now. Therefore, he didn't understand, nor feel a speck of, Raoul's strangling anxiety. He felt rather calm, and the carriage ride had proved quite comfortable.
"Raoul, honestly," the man said, glancing at his manicured nails with a smirk of mild amusement playing on his thin lips. "You are acting like a fool. Your woman will be fine, and then you can sleep in peace."
Raoul said nothing, but looked away. His eyes lingered on the Opera House as it faded from his view behind the curve of a street and the façade of a building.
A few minutes later, Corin and Raoul were stepping out of the black carriage and onto the cobblestone street. This part of the city reeked with expensive perfume and divine food. Women of money were dressed in fine dresses of bright colors, and their men clothed themselves in fine cotton or smooth silk. In front of the two men loomed Corin's office building, where his business was centered.
Corin was a very young, but very powerful man. He had inherited his father's millions at the age of seventeen when the man died of heart failure. With his wife long deceased and no other children to his name, the money had went to the man's only son as his will demanded. Though the other family members still living had been quite angry, no one could argue with the old man's wishes. Corin, who had always had a mind for business, had spent his money wisely, dabbling first in stocks, then shipping, then in politics. By the time he was twenty, he was one of the richest men in the city. And now, at twenty-five, he was living luxuriously as the Comte of his rather large estate.
"I only need to stop in for a moment, and then we shall go and have breakfast. After, we can look for your Christine," Corin said, walking quickly toward the large front doors of the building. As Corin was much taller, Raoul had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged strides. A man dressed in slick clothing and a hat pulled open the door with a "good morning, Monsieur".
"I'll only be a moment, Raoul. Just wait here."
Corin disappeared around a corner, and Raoul sighed, glancing around the interior of the building. It seemed comfortable enough, with plush chairs and a fireplace adorning the far side of the room while the other side was home to a desk. A man stood behind the marble desk, sorting through papers and only looking up when someone came to speak to him.
Raoul moved to the side of the room where the chairs were. He sunk down into the comfortable, feather-filled cushions, letting the tense muscles in his back loosen. He was nervous, and wanted Corin to hurry. He needed to find Christine and make sure that she was all right. Yet still, he didn't know why she had brought herself back to Paris. There was nothing in the city for her, spare some lovely stores to shop in. But if that had been the case, she would have let Raoul accompany her, not leave without so much as a warning. The contents of the letter had confused him more, as she had almost pleaded with him not to follow. That thought evoked guilt. He had disregarded her wishes, which had been plain and simply stated in her curvy penmanship. He trusted her, yes… but her actions had made a doubtful fear rise in his heart.
Then do I trust her? he asked himself. How could he, when she was being secretive with him? If something was wrong, surely she could tell him. He loved her more than life itself… he would do anything for her. And yet, she apparently was blind to that fact. Raoul ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He needed to find her, if only for the reason to understand why she still refused to trust in him completely.
But Christine had never trusted in him completely, he knew that. He didn't blame her, though he didn't know why she could not make some exception and trust him fully. She had been betrayed in the worst of ways… the mere thought of the man behind the mirror who had stolen her innocent mind and poisoned her heart made his hands tighten into fists. Christine had suffered so much due to the events that were caused by the obsession of the "Phantom." She had never fully recovered, even if she had ceased scolding Raoul for leaving the framed newspaper clipping in the front hall. However, he noticed that whenever he eyes wandered to it, she flinched, emotion blooming in her eyes.
He didn't understand it! He didn't understand Christine! How could she feel any compassion for the monster that had attempted to destroy what they had planned for each other? Her sentiments had obviously changed, for when he had taken her down into his lair for the first time, she had been most appalled by him. Raoul remembered the night on the roof of the Opera House, when they stood protected by Apollo. And yet, even after the ordeal he faced with the torture room, and the prospect of the death of Christine, himself, and all else who had been in the Opera House on that faithful night, she still cried for the monster! She had grieved over his death, for Heaven's sake!
"Raoul? I am quite finished here. We can go, though I do wish to make one more quick stop."
Raoul was snapped out of his thoughts by Corin's voice. He looked up and offered a smile before standing. "I hope all is well?"
"Yes, all is quite well. I dare say, I did not think it would be a good investment. But it seems that Paris is quite excited. I am rather pleased." Corin smug look and obvious lack of details caused Raoul to raise an eyebrow.
"You've told me of no investment," the young man said, following Corin out of the building. With Corin climbing into the carriage first, Raoul questioned, " Tell me, what have you put money into?"
"The renovation of the Opera House, of course," Corin scoffed.
Raoul slipped on the steps. He could feel the blood drain from his face. "Excuse me?"
Corin glanced curiously over his shoulder. "The Opera House. You did not know that I had come to terms with my uncle, and would be putting a investment into the reconstruction?"
"I… no, I did not." Raoul recollected himself and climbed into the carriage, seating himself across from Corin. "Is that where we are going?"
"Yes. Oh, come now, Raoul. Don't give me that look. We'll be there for no longer than ten minutes, I promise you. You'll be stunned, Raoul. The place looks marvelous! I must say, despite my uncle's lack of brain cells, he's done a wonderful job with the Populaire so far..."
Corin continued talking about the Opera House. But Raoul wasn't listening. He was lost once again in the depth of his thoughts.
Back to the Opera House?
After the horrid past that had plagued him there?
His stomach twisted into knots. This was not how he had planned his day in Paris. He had planned to find Christine, to demand an explanation for her sudden departure, and then to take her home. And now, he was being brought back to a time that he hated coming back to. Every time Christine had mentioned his name, he had felt sick, with tears stinging his eyes in the memories of the cold, dark dungeons and the hot, metallic forest.
The Opera House came into the view Raoul had out of the carriage window. His stomach dropped as they pulled to a stop in front of the monstrous yet gorgeous building. Raoul mechanically followed Corin out of the carriage and towards the large doors of the building. He felt numb. Several men greeted Corin as they traveled up the concrete steps. Raoul nodded blankly at them as a greeting, afraid that if he spoke a salutation, his voice would crack. His gaze stood on his shoes. He refused to show onlookers the untamed fear in his eyes.
Without warning, a small frame collided into his chest. Raoul almost stumbled backwards, not because of the weight, but because he was caught off guard. However, he grabbed onto the person he had run into, his hands curling over silk-covered shoulders. Muttering an apology, glanced down at the much smaller woman. Dark hair met him at first before she tilted her face upwards. The flushed face with dark eyes that glanced up at him apologetically paled when realization struck her.
"Comte de Chagny," she stuttered, her eyes wide with shock.
Raoul stared back, just as surprised. "Mademoiselle Giry."
Author's Note: Short chapter, yes. And sadly, another bridge. This slightly pushed the plot forward, as well as was meant to delve deeper into Raoul's character. It didn't come out quite as interesting as I had hoped… However, I do plan to get another chapter out this weekend. I want to thank you guys for all of the nice reviews, as well as the reviews with criticism. Honestly, they help me so much when I write. But again, thank you guys! Keep the reviews coming. I love you all for it.
