As I made my way back to the theater, I gradually started to feel more like myself.
There were other possible explanations for what had transpired, I reasoned.
There had been the speculations that I was the Phantom's mistress – those rumors spread by Meg Giry. So my attacker could have been someone else. Perhaps a family member of one of Erik's victims.
And while on the subject, I reminded myself of what a creepy little fiend that Meg was. That obsession of hers with death and horror had to come from somewhere. And her mother seemed to be the most likely influence for such tendencies. I should not credit anything that Madame Giry had said to me.
Everything would be fine. Somehow I would find Erik and we would go home. Then we would pack up our belongings and prepare to set sail for America. We would leave behind all of the murders and scandal in Paris. We would start over again once I had received my divorce. We would be reborn.
"Miss DuBois! Oh, I am so relieved to find you well!"
Brett Watling spotted me as I made my way into the lobby. This night he had made more of an effort to dress appropriately as he was wearing an expensive dark suit, complete with a red silk patterned waistcoat. He not only represented wealth but the decadence of "new money". The kind of riches made from the spoils of war...the kind of luxury that smelled of cigars and brandy.
"Of course, I am well, Mr. Watling!" I responded with a weak attempt at a smile. "Why shouldn't I be?"
His eyes narrowed as he perused me.
"You did not stay throughout the entire opera, did you?"
"No, I had a headache and needed to rest a bit." For once, I was relieved not to be lying.
"So you don't know...?"
All of the sudden, I had a queasy feeling in my stomach.
"Know what?"
He gave a pained sigh and took my arm, leading me to a secluded hallway away from the lobby.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Miss DuBois, but word has it that the Vicomte de Chagny and Mr. Christian Deveraux have been kidnapped."
"What!"
Well, that explained why I could not find them earlier before the opera.
"All of the police have been out searching for them."
And that explained the lack of police protection backstage.
"Oh, no!" I cried. "Christine must be beside herself with worry!"
Mr. Watling groaned in anxiety.
"What? What else?" I cried, unable to bear his silence.
"That is the worst part. After the opera, the police wanted to question her. But now they believe that she too is missing."
Suddenly, I clutched at my throat with my hand as all of the air seemed to have been sucked out of my lungs. The hallway spun about me, making me horribly dizzy.
Everything was making sense now...too much sense...
"You'd better sit down, Miss DuBois," he escorted me to a nearby bench. "I am sure this is most distressing for you seeing as how she is the star of the opera..."
The words of Madame Giry haunted me. The Phantom of the Opera would stop at nothing to possess Christine.
First, I had searched for him, pleading for his help with Beauty and the Beast...an opera with the perfect role for Christine. He arranged for Carlotta to become ill. Then he threatened the managers into putting on the opera. And once I confided in him about the plot to trap him, he bested Raoul and Christian first by kidnapping them. With such an event, all of the police would be on the lookout for them. Leaving him free at the Paris Opera House to get to Christine through the trick mirror in her dressing room.
"No...It's not possible..." I said to myself.
"I'm afraid it is, Miss DuBois. All during intermission, this fool woman beside me talked nothing else but 'Phantom of the Opera' this and 'Phantom of the Opera' that...how he had been seen in Box Five and that he was going after Christine de Chagny. Hell, I'm a stranger in this town and I already know enough about this whole business to write a book about it!"
I heard Mr. Watling's words, but I could not really be in the present enough to listen to him.
And while Erik was plotting his abduction of her, there I was. An attractive young woman throwing myself into his arms whenever I could. Kissing him, revealing my naked body before him, agreeing to a "pretend" marriage, believing his promises, willing to allow him to slake his lust for me in any way that he wished as often as he wanted. And now he was so skilled as a lover, so adept at driving a woman mad with pleasure, that Christine would not be able to resist him.
Dead men tell no tales...
I was now of no more use to him. I had given him his opera. I had given him my body. I had given him Christine. What was left for me but to die?
I could not hold back the overwhelming hysteria.
"I don't believe it...I won't..." I started to sob.
"Perhaps I should fetch you a doctor or a glass of water or...?"
Mr. Watling's voice seemed to be coming from a distance.
"Yes, would you do that for me, please?"
As Brett Watling left to try to find me a doctor, I used the same tactic with him that I had with Madame Giry, running outside of the theater as quickly as my heavy velvet skirts would allow me. And I was no longer even capable of feeling guilt for my deception.
I had to go home to my husband. Nothing mattered except getting back to Erik again. Nothing.
As I hailed the first coach that I could find, I remembered that I had no money on my person. Erik had dropped me off from the carriage by the opera house. With our plans of marriage, I had only assumed that we would be going back to our home after the opera.
I only had one thing of value...
When I handed my ruby and emerald necklace to the coachman, I thought he would have a heart attack. I hated to part with Erik's present to me, but my husband was more important than colored stones.
"After you have taken me to my destination, there is more from where that came from..."
I directed him along the dark pathways to where our hideaway had been located. During the intervals when my assistance was not needed, I sat silently in darkness, trying to come up with any other possible theories for what could have happened to Christine.
Perhaps she had gone off to search for Raoul on her own. Yet that did not seem like her.
As we arrived close to our destination, I had the driver wait for me some distance from the hideaway. I was so used to protecting Erik that it was almost second nature to me now. The coachman would not be able to see me once I had hidden myself among the forestland which surrounded the house.
I ran towards the back entrance .
"Erik!" I called out as soon as I was indoors. "Erik, are you here?"
There was no sound.
I wandered through the music room, the dining room, the library, our bedroom...
There was no sign of him.
God, what if he had been killed? Even if he were not responsible for the actions of this night, he was the one they would all be looking for! He would be the one hunted!
I knew that I could not stay here, worrying about him all night. I would go mad. He must still be in Paris, looking for me, wondering where I was...
Hurrying to my old bedroom, I searched through the armoire drawers, finding the check that I had received from the Opera Populaire. This would cover my fare on the way back. That coachman would be a millionaire before this night was out, I thought wryly.
I started to leave when the sound of horse hooves stopped me in my tracks.
Mephistopholes! For once, I loved that devil of a horse!
My spirits rose as I rushed to the music room, anxiously waiting to see my husband's face...to know that he was alive and well.
But that is when I heard her voice. The dulcet tones of Christine de Chagny.
My heart sunk like a stone.
Erik must have thought that I was safely disposed of. How else would he dare bring her here?
I hid in a nearby corridor.
"But what are we going to do? What must people think?" Christine's voice cried out in distress.
"Do not distress yourself, my dear. I shall take care of this whole affair. You shall be safe with me."
Although I could not see them from my position, the tenderness in his voice as he spoke to her enraged me.
"I was so fortunate that you were there tonight," Christine said. "That we found each other while there was still time!"
Still time to reunite with her Opera Ghost before he married me?
"Erik...I am sorry. So sorry for everything. Can you ever forgive me?"
"Oh, Christine..." he sighed. "How could I not?"
When had he ever had such a forgiving nature? Certainly not with me! Only with her...his little songbird...
I thought to interrupt their love scene.
Yet I did not dare. Giry was right. If I were to do so, Erik would probably kill me right there on the spot.
"Erik...I...I love you..." Her voice was as soft as rain.
"Christine?...Oh, Christine, you shall always be my Angel of Music..."
There was silence.
Were they entwined in an embrace, kissing with all of the unrestrained passion that they had held back for each other for so long?
Was that the meaning of this unbearable silence?
I would not scream...I would not scream...I repeated to myself as I bit down on my sore hand, feeling the hot tears spill down my cheeks.
I could not stay there any longer. What I had already overheard would be burned into my brain forever to torture me.
I raced out of the house as quickly as I could.
Once I had reached the cool moist grass a few yards from the house, I collapsed down upon the ground, burying my face into the earth, sobbing with misery. But I did not have enough tears to match my pain. I did not have enough of a body to contain all of my hurt.
After some time, I somehow found the resolve to rise to my feet and make my way back to the coach. The driver was quite alarmed at my demeanor.
"Are you well, lady?" he asked.
"T-t-take me back to P-p-paris," I cried out, sobbing and stuttering as I handed him the check from the Opera Populaire. "At once..."
I returned to the Paris Opera House, not knowing where else to go.
As I sat in the coach, I could do nothing but cry all of the way back to Paris. The coachman had felt such sympathy for me that he gave me back my necklace and check, refusing any payment and brooking no arguments.
At least chivalry was not entirely dead, I thought bleakly, as I thanked him for his kindness.
But to my dismay, I realized that the building was closed. All of the gas-lit lamps had been extinguished. Of course, it would no longer be open.
But there were many policemen all about the place. Along the front steps of the Paris Opera House, a horde of people huddled around a man sitting upon the ground covered in blankets. Raoul de Chagny.
Sitting by his side was Brett Watling, uncaring that his fine clothes were being ruined by the grime of the city.
When Mr. Watling spotted me, he arose and rushed towards me angrily. But once he saw the state I was in, my face drowned in tears, he calmed himself and pulled me close in an embrace. The strength of his arms was so comforting to me. He seemed solid like an oak...just like my father had been. For several minutes, I just rested my cheek against his silken lapel and cried like a child.
"I am so sorry, Miss DuBois. I shall miss Christian too. He was a good man."
What was he talking about?
"But this Phantom cretin will pay! None of us will rest until that menace is found and rots in hell for all of his crimes! For what he did to poor Christian..."
Oh, God, I moaned silently to myself. Was there no end to Erik's depravity?
"Where they did they find him?" I asked dully.
"Both Christian and Raoul had been tied up and thrown in an underground lake below the Opera House to drown. But mercifully, Raoul managed to free himself of his bindings before it was too late. Christian was not so lucky."
I shuddered with horror. Although I had often felt Christian Deveraux to be a bit of an arrogant nuisance, he had been a young man with his whole life ahead of him. He did not deserve such a death.
"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle DuBois!"
The Vicomte de Chagny rose from the ground and started towards us.
"I must speak to you!"
"Raoul, can't this wait until tomorrow?" Brett Watling asked. "Miss DuBois is very upset about Deveraux's death. I mean to take her safely home."
"No, this cannot wait, sir!" the Vicomte commanded. "The life of my wife is at stake!"
"I am quite willing to speak with him, Mr. Watling," I said, trying desperately to calm myself.
I turned towards Raoul.
"Shall we talk in private, Vicomte?"
We walked together towards a nearby thoroughfare where we were quite removed from Brett Watling, the policemen and all of the curiosity seekers avidly awaiting further news.
Raoul de Chagny looked as if he were suffering from all of the torments of Hell. His clear blue eyes were bloodshot. His golden locks hung in strands, wet and stinking from the filthy water of the underground. His fancy clothes were in shreds.
"Mademoiselle DuBois, I will not mince words with you," he started, his words as hard as steel. "There have been rumors that you have been acquainted with the Phantom. How you know him is none of my concern. But if you have any idea...any inkling...of where my wife could be...you must tell me..."
Again, my instinct was to lie and protect...even now.
I shook my head and refused to speak.
Even if Raoul could find Christine, it would be no use. She had chosen her path. She loved Erik. How ironic that my revelations to her caused her to go running smack back into his arms! What a fool I was! What a fool I had always been!
"Please!" Raoul begged me, falling to his knees and clutching my hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "She is my life! She is everything to me! I will give you anything you want...money, jewels...whatever you want...just let me have my wife back...please..."
I could not help but be moved by his pleas.
With all of my confusion and doubts of this evening, one thing was crystal clear. Raoul de Chagny truly loved his wife with everything in him.
Perhaps something right could be made out of this night of wrongs...
Perhaps someone could have a happy ending...
Perhaps...
"I can tell you where she is, but you must follow my instructions carefully...and I shall require some payment as compensation...for if I tell you this, I will be forced to leave Paris...as I shall never be safe again..."
