Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! For those who read the first chapter's comments before I revised them, I changed it to where the story will definitely end E/C. Hope that's ok...
This story may seem a little slow at first, and I know it's kind of hard to tell what Christine is thinking right now. In the next chapter I'll go into it in more detail. Part of the premise behind this story, though, is that Christine is actually given some alone time to think instead of being dragged around from one situation to the next.
Even within the brougham, Christine could still feel the cold nip relentlessly at her hands and face. In some ways the frigid air was a relief, as it made the growing pain in her ankle less noticeable. At the same time, though, she knew that the winter weather was slowly wreaking havoc upon her body, and that if she did not get inside soon, she would be facing much worse than an injured ankle. Drifting in and out of sleep, she couldn't help but smile wryly to herself. Well, if nothing else, she certainly had done a fine job of brushing her other troubles from her mind.
As the driver slowly continued on, he stopped every so often to throw a glance back at the young woman. What on earth was she doing out in these treacherous conditions by herself? She certainly was not dressed for the part of a street waif, and she looked as if she had come from somewhere safe. He pondered it for a brief moment, before deciding it really was none of his business. His sole mission was to get her to the doctor, and soon, for she was beginning to turn the color of the landscape. "Are you still well, Mademoiselle?" he asked her through chattering teeth. "We should be there in ten minutes or so."
She managed a small smile and raised her head. The driver's voice seemed to echo distantly from far off, and she dimly realized that she was beginning to drift away from reality. "I am fine, Monsieur," she murmured, wrapping her arms tightly around her body for warmth. By the dazed look in her eye, though, he could tell that she was not going to be well for much longer. Despite the slick conditions, he quickened the pace of the horses and was relieved to soon see hospital in the distance.
As he came toward the building, he gently tugged the reins and let the horses come to a slow halt so as to jostle the poor girl as little as possible. Quickly jumping out of the carriage, he went to the back to assist her, hoping she had managed to stay awake during those last few moments. She gazed up at him through glassy brown eyes as he offered his shoulder to her for support. Accepting the gesture, she shifted her weight against him and climbed out, feeling the wet snow dull the ache in her foot. The driver slowly helped her walk into the building, receiving the new found warmth with gratitude and looking for a place to set her down. As he placed her into one of the leather armchairs in the entry way, she gazed up at him with a distant smile.
"Thank you, my Angel," she said softly before dropping into the chair like a rag doll. As the driver quickly went to fetch someone, he could not help but sadly smile to himself for a moment. Perhaps he had acted as a sort of guardian angel for the girl that night. After getting help, he left the clinic without any notion whatsoever of requesting payment for his services.
Christine awoke from her dark yet warm dreams to find herself in a large gray room, lying atop crisp linen sheets. The soft glow of gas lamps drifted around her, casting shadows along the bare walls and ceiling. The pain in her ankle still lingered, and she shifted her leg in an attempt to make it fade. Turning onto her side, she savored the touch of the cool pillow against her cheek. The bed beside hers was empty, as were many of the others in the room.
As she lay there quietly, she realized with some dismay that she didn't even remember entering the building. She didn't even pay the carriage driver! What had she been thinking going out on a night like this? For a second, Christine allowed herself to wonder what was occurring back at the opera house, hoping that no harm had come to anyone that she cared for. She also prayed that Raoul had found the letter that she'd written him, for if not he would likely attribute her disappearance to something else. That realization made her shiver.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a man walking toward her. He looked to be about forty or so, wearing a white coat over grey slacks. Running a hand quickly through his cropped brown hair, he walked over to her and nodded in greeting.
"Well, I see you have finally woken up, Mademoiselle. I was a bit worried about you there for a moment. How are you feeling?"
She brushed a strand of hair from her face and gazed up at him tiredly. "I am fine, I think," she said softly. "But my ankle still hurts quite a bit. Do you know what is wrong with it?"
He nodded grimly. "Yes, I took a close look at it while you slept. At first I had hoped it was only a sprain, but it appears you have broken it, Mademoiselle. It is not a severe break, but a break nonetheless. Thank God that driver brought you here when he did." She sighed in distress at the news, but the doctor's next inquiry made her cringe even more. "Now, Mademoiselle. Do you suppose you could tell me your name and someone I could contact about your condition? A relative? A friend, perhaps?" She hesitated. For a moment, she was about to give him the name of her fiancé but stopped. Whatever mistakes she had made that night were already done. This was her one chance to remain anonymous and alone, without anyone telling her how to think or forcing her into making decisions on their whims.
"My name is...Annette Valerius. Everyone that I know is gone at the moment. I have no contacts, I am afraid." Her voice shook slightly at the lie, and she averted her gaze from his green eyes. She had made up the first name and taken the last from an old woman who had once cared for her and her father.
"I see." He cocked his head. "Well, then, I suppose you shall be forced to remain alone here for a while. My name is Doctor Edmond Murrell. I shall return later tonight to begin the wrapping of your ankle." He began his way back to the door, before pausing and turning around. "Sooner or later, Mademoiselle Valerius, you will need to remember the name of some person we can contact. I shall allow you to take your time, though." She gave him a slightly relieved smile at his patience and dropped her head back against the pillow, absorbing herself with her thoughts.
Had his mind not been completely consumed with visions of Christine Daae, perhaps Erik would have been more aware of the events rapidly unfolding within his opera house. All he could think of, though, was how he would finally merge her soul with his that night. He would sing the impassioned duet with her, professing his love for her once the song was complete...and she would finally desire him for the man that he was. She would finally look past the monster.
These hopeless beliefs were the only defenses that he had against the relentless anguish of the last few months. The occurrence under Apollo's Lyre, discovering the engagement ring at the masquerade, the boy whisking her away at the graveyard-each event had slowly eaten away at him, devouring what little soul and humanity he had to begin with. Tonight everything would change, though. Tonight was the point of no return.
It was only when Erik began to make his way up to the higher grounds, dressed in the dark cloak and ready to take over the role of Don Juan, that he realized something was amiss. From the shadows, he saw that none of the actors or singers had approached the stage. Workers were scurrying past each other, shouting indiscernible words, and the audience had begun to take on a dull roar as it waited impatiently for the opera to begin. Were they daring to disobey him? Were they daring to not perform his masterpiece? With desperate eyes he scanned the crowds for Christine but saw no sign of her. Concealing himself behind the curtains, he listened to the talk of two passing stage hands.
"Are you sure about this? It will be a disaster!"
"Yep, they say the Daae girl has gone missing tonight. Maybe she took off with that fiancé of hers. Really can't say I blame her after all that has happened." The man shook his head.
"Yes, well it would have been nice if someone had mentioned it to us. We went to a hell of a lot of trouble setting this here opera up. Not to mention it looks like Napoleon's entire army is positioned in the audience, waiting for the so-called Phantom to appear. Someone's going to get their head chewed off tonight."
As the two men continued their conversation off the stage, Erik felt a frantic rage shake his core. Desperately he searched through the crowds again, hoping that what he had heard had been a twisted rumor...hoping to see her somewhere perfectly outfitted in her Aminta costume, awaiting the caress of Don Juan. There was no sign of Christine, though. Erik turned around and took off recklessly for the catacombs, shoving startled people out of his way as he passed. Once back in the darkness, he darted furiously down the passage that led to the dressing room mirror. Perhaps she was simply late coming out...or perhaps he could grab her before she escaped him.
Tearing through the mirror, Erik stepped into the darkness of the little dressing room and looked around at the wretched emptiness. All of her stage clothes remained in place, hung up neatly and untouched. Flowers from her old performances still sat in vases around the room, drooping and slowly beginning to lose their petals. By the look of a melted candle, the room had been vacant for some time.
She had escaped with the boy-had denied him all hope of ever having her...leaving him in his misery and with an opera that could never be completed. So desperate was she to get away, that she had fooled the entire opera house into thinking that she would perform until the very end. "Christine," he whispered, moving his fingertips over the soft fabric of the dresses as if trying to touch her in some last way. A deep anguish began to replace some of the anger. "You did not even sing for me one last time."
He was about to turn around and enter the mirror, when he suddenly spotted a thin white object next to his shoe. Quickly picking it up from the ground, he saw it was an envelope that must have fallen from the small table. With a glare of hate, he observed that it was addressed in fluid cursive to the Vicomte. Erik ripped into the envelope and tore open the letter, settling his eyes on the short message before him.
Dear Raoul,
Upon receiving this letter, you will have likely noticed my absence. Though I am sorry to bring you so much trouble after all you have done, I can no longer blindly follow your lead tonight. Do you realize what you ask of me? You wish me to go upon that stage and risk my freedom...possibly even my life so that you can capture a man you know nothing of?
But I am not a coward. It is not fear that makes me leave tonight. I cannot go through with this betrayal. As much pain as this man has caused, he has also given me a priceless gift, and I will not watch as he is captured or killed by my doing. Just for tonight, I am leaving so that this madness can pass without harm coming to anyone around me. Perhaps I will be able to see things with a clearer mind once I am alone. I pray that you will forgive me, and I promise that I will return to you soon.
Christine
After rereading it, Erik numbly folded up the letter and placed it carefully into his pocket, a strange sensation coursing through his veins. She had not left with the boy that night. She had left by herself...and partially to save him. Though he had known that the entire opera was a set up for his capture, he had not been aware that she had such a specific role in it. Briefly he wondered what would have happened once she realized that he was on the stage with her-now knowing that it was within her intentions to betray him.
But she had not sealed his fate that night, choosing to flee instead. For a moment, he felt an unfamiliar warmth overtake him, but it was quickly followed by a surge of dangerous energy. Wherever Christine had run to, he would make sure that he got to her first...before the Vicomte could touch her. It would be his last chance to claim her, and then he would see where her loyalties lay.
