A/N: Oh sorry about the hiatus! So stuck on this chapter.

Now, Rebecca is a funny one…

The last chapter should have gone slightly differently but I altered it. Also, the confusion stems from the fact that I chose to leave out a Rebecca chapter I had written earlier in the story. I felt that chapter took away from the current chapters so I left it out.

This chapters purpose is to make your mind spin… not so much that it is entirely unreadable but it is an awkward chapter… I wanted to show Christine's mind set. Confusion sums it up.

Please stick with me.

Thank you, as always for the reviews! They make my day.

'I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.' – Gilda Radner

Chapter 37- Confusion

The smell was horrific, absolutely horrific. It wafted through the dank corridors underneath the old workhouse and found Christine's nose. She had no idea what the stench was, she had never smelt anything like it before but it was strong. And the further down the corridor they walked the worse it got.

The walls were dripping damp, it was cold and she could, even with the limited light of the burning torch, make out her breath in front of her. Her fingers were starting to numb but still she continued, her eyes squinted so much that it hurt. So far she and two of the people Erik had rescued had encountered two guards and they had shown little mercy to them. She had turned away when they had made their onslaught, not wanting to see the mess or hear their screams. Closed her eyes and covered her ears and walked past, pretending, as she had been so adept at recently, that she was totally oblivious.

She couldn't really blame them, she had seen the conditions they were in and the way they were left in the dark. All of the men, women and children they had released had been caked in dirt and were as thin as rakes. They barely had any flesh on them, their ribs protruded sickeningly from torsos. Christine had some how managed to hold back her gags as they eyed her and surveyed her suspiciously. She could hardly believe Erik had left her with them but, she reasoned, if she wasn't safe then he would never have left her there. He had already gone to so much trouble.

The more she thought about it, though, the more it seemed odd that he had gone to so much trouble. He had tended to her wounds like a doctor and cleaned her like a maid. He had found her clothes and found her food. He had also tracked down her husband so that he could be rescued.

Her memories of Erik were distorting her mind and she remembered how he used to be. He was such a cruel man sometimes, with a heart of stone, so angry and so full of angst. His temper hadn't changed too much, she noted, it never took much to make him flip his mood but when he did he rarely aimed it directly at her.

When they were at the opera he would speak to her in such a way that it filled her heart with confidence and, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, joy. The Erik of now was certainly more adaptable but perhaps that was his age, she thought as she nearly tripped over a rock.

She glanced around her and noticed that they were in yet another corridor, a labyrinth Erik would be proud of. Oh, Erik, she thought. She longed to know how he found out where Raoul was being held, he seemed to know so much. Too much, she thought and followed the two men down a separate hallway.

As she walked her mind buzzed with thoughts and memories of Erik, of their history and of their present. So many things had happened in the last week that she wasn't sure if she would wake up soon to find that it was a nightmare. Or perhaps it was a dream, a dream to see Erik again to be with him and speak to him like they were friends. A dream to look into his eyes and watch them soften at the sight of her, making her weak at his sincerity. His eyes often gave him away to her, they always had in the past and they did now.

She wondered where he was now, what he was doing. She wondered if he was watching her as he often did, as he had in the market place with Meg. She knew, though, that he had gone to find this Monsieur Contigue and as her mind flew back to their history she wondered where she had heard the name before. Something in her gut had told her that Erik was chasing a ghost, though what sort of ghost it was she did not know and was not sure that she cared to.

'Madame!' she heard from along the corridor, she hadn't realised how far behind she had fallen.

Where was Erik? Was he okay?

'Madame, here!' they shouted again and she sped up to catch them. They had found something.

Erik… her mind drifted again, stay focused Christine. But where had she heard it?

'Quickly! Bring the torch!' they yelled and she hurried further along, light ahead of her.

Monsieur Contigue… Rebecca Contigue she thought as she reached the voices.

'Is it him?' one asked and she peered through the bars but she was barely looking. Her mind was elsewhere.

Remember.

'Chris… Christine?' came a gasp from behind the bars, it was coming from the corner. She strained her eyes to see. Focus!

Raoul, she thought, as she poked the torch through the bars in an attempt to light the room.

Contigue… where?

Rebecca…

Suddenly, Pierre, she thought.

Odd.

'Raoul,' she said but her mind was not there, not really. Her mind was with Erik, with Contigue… was it Pierre Contigue? Who..?

She heard a rasped reply, it sounded like help me.

What? Her mind, why couldn't she concentrate? Save your husband, Christine, she thought, shaking herself but she couldn't. Not right now.

Her thoughts, her confusion.

Pierre.

Where had she heard his name?

Her mind drifted, she was young. A dancer… she'd heard his name before, she knew she had. All Erik' had said was Monsieur Contigue but she knew it was Pierre.

How did she know? Had Rebecca mentioned it?

No, she was sure she hadn't. Or was she?

'Christine,' came the rasped voice, it sounded like Raoul's… she thought it was Raoul.

Why was her head spinning?

Dancing, flicking her heels, spinning on her toes…

She had…

Jumping, pirouetting, flying across the stage, a butterfly free from her cocoon.

His name…

Her mind flashed again, so young, so long ago… she was watching two people talk.

A man.

A woman.

Madame Giry!