Chapter Twelve - An Unfamiliar Peace

Christine cried out in her sleep, her body coiled against the worn mattress, sweat sparkling across her forehead.

On his knees at her side, the Phantom tried to close his mind to her sobs. If she called for Raoul, he did not want to hear it. If she called for him, he wanted to force himself to hate her...to keep hating the scheming girl who torn away his mask, laid bare his weakness and pain before the world.

But she did not call for her husband or for her lost Angel. Her cries were wordless sobs that tore into his heart more than he thought possible.

Laying one hand on her tear-stained cheek, he gently uncurled her fingers from the bloody handkerchief and laced his long fingers with hers.

"Hush, Christine, I am your Angel...I am here," he whispered.


Ever so slowly, the edges of nightmares faded from Christine's mind. As dawn paled the sky above the Opera House, her body relaxed and she felt an unfamiliar peace take hold of her.

Damning his own weakness, the Phantom cradled her in his arms, let her head rest easily against his shoulder.

Awake, she might betray him a thousand times. She could not lie to him in sleep. Then, at least, he could believe that she was still his innocent.


Christine awoke, shifting carefully on the creaking bed.

There had been a night filled with fear, a fear that have given way to a dream. Her Angel took her in his arms and held her close, laid his face against hers.

She wanted so desperately to believe that such a thing could still be. Then she remembered the previous night...the bitterness of his anger, the hate that had driven those moments of passion between them.

A small covered tray stood on the table by the door. Lifting the lid, she found two rolls and a cup of coffee. It was still hot, trails of steams dancing up from it.

Reyer must have brought it just before she'd opened her eyes.

She smiled a little at that welcome site. She had not eaten since the previous morning and she could never remember being more ravenous.

As she dipped the last piece of the bread into the coffee, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she answered, setting the cup down on the tray.

It was, as she expected, Reyer.

"Thank you for bringing me breakfast," she said, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles from her black dress.

"Breakfast? But I didn't. I was just coming to ask you if you wanted me to bring you anything from the commissary."

As Christine stared at the amber crumbs that remained on the white tray, she realized that her handkerchief was gone...the bit of bloodstained white linen and lace that she'd clung to throughout the night was gone.

"Then he knows I am here," Christine whispered, her voice breaking with hope.