The Phantom of the Opera
Chapter Fifteen
What is it that makes men so very different? Christine wondered.
She had known, in her time, different kinds of men. She had known good men. Erik, Thomas, Monsieur Reyer.
And she had known bad men. The De Martinez's, to be precise. She had never known anyone to be so… cold. Christine wondered what had happened to make them that way. Money? Erik had money, but he wasn't like that. The simple knowledge that you were born to a different family? Maybe…
She sat near the window sill. It was the next morning. The rain continued to pound on the windows, the sky a depressing dull shade of grey. The warmth of the rain clouded the window. Christine trailed her finger through the mist, leaving a clear streak to the wet world beyond. Christine sighed and the streak disappeared.
There was a knock at the door and a girl came in, one of the servants. Christine glanced over and the servant curtsied. "The Viscount requests your presence for breakfast," she said quietly. Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
"Please tell the Viscount he will have to drag me downstairs and tie me to the table, before I dine with him," she said calmly.
The girl looked horrified. "You want me to tell him that?"
"Yes please," Christine replied curtly, turning her eyes back to the window.
When the girl relayed the message to the Viscount, his first reaction was to laugh. But it wouldn't do to show weakness. Instead he got to his feet. "Is that really what she said?"
"Yes, Viscount."
"Well… please prepare a tray. I will take it to her. No need to tie her to the table, is there now?"
Christine ground her teeth when the door opened again. "I said I'm not going to-" she began, turning to look at the door. But she bit her tongue sharply when she saw the Viscount standing in the doorway. He smirked.
"I received your message."
"Did you understand it?" she asked sweetly. His smirk grew in size.
"Yes. But I've never been one to comply with the wants of others."
"A virtue you shared with your brother."
It was a dangerous thing to say but Vincent held his tongue. He merely watched as she got to her feet, straightening her clothing. Her thick, dark hair fell around her face, the light catching glints in it. Her porcelain face was calm, but the fury that lay beneath the surface allowed a powerful sense of character across her features. The women Vincent had previously known had all been simple, pretty girls, good for only one thing. But Christine… she was stunning. The combination of her beauty, her mind and her voice could stop a man's heart beating with a single glance.
"I've brought you some breakfast."
"I'm not hungry."
"I hardly believe that, Christine. You haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon," Vincent said, placing the tray on the table. Christine looked at it and then lifted her eyes to his.
"How do I know that it is safe to eat?" she asked.
"Why would I poison you, Christine? What could I possibly gain from that?" Vincent pointed out.
Christine looked back down at the food. Fruit, some bread, cheese, a cup of hot tea. She reached for an apple and returned to her seat on the windowsill. She slowly bit into the apple and chewed without looking at him again. Vincent also took an apple and leant against the bedpost, watching her as he ate it. She kept her eyes on the fruit as she ate. When the apple was finished she went to the table and placed the core on the plate.
"Nothing else?" the Viscount asked. She shook her head. "Bread, cheese-"
"Pomegranate seeds?"
He couldn't help laughing. Christine lifted the teacup to her lips and sipped it. Vincent smiled, still watching her. "You're a fascinating woman, Christine. I've never met anyone quite like you."
"You mean someone who doesn't instantly throw themselves at your feet when they meet you?" Christine asked. Vincent smiled again.
"That as well. Usually women are won over easily by a little money."
"Only the type of women you know. Usually men are won over by a glance and smile," Christine replied. Vincent lifted his eyebrows,
"Also true. The main weakness of men is a pretty face."
"It was your brother's," Christine commented quietly, almost to herself, her eyes fixed on her tea.
Vincent considered her. "My brother was a fine man. All men make bad choices."
"And you made yours last night." Christine said.
"I don't think that's true. It seems most advantageous from where I stand. And I haven't had any complaints before," Vincent told her.
Christine laughed mirthlessly. "My god, you are one of the most arrogant men I've ever met!"
"Am I now?"
"Well, you're not quite as bad as your brother, in that respect. But there are some family qualities that one can recognize," Christine said harshly.
Vincent stepped forward and Christine turned away. His hand shot out and turned her around, grasping her by the shoulders. "I am a reasonable man, Christine. But I have my limits. I strongly recommend that you watch your tongue. And that you don't turn your back to me again. Do you understand?" he said, lowering his face to look directly into hers.
Christine looked back, calmly. "Understood. I won't turn my back again."
"Good," he said, straightening, his hands still on her shoulders.
Christine said quickly, "But may I also offer you some advice?"
"If you wish," he said, half curious, half amused.
Christine smiled and said, "I won't turn my back. And you should keep your hand at the level of your eyes."
Vincent offered to show Christine the house, and to his surprise, she accepted. She walked with him in silence as he pointed out the more interesting, and historically significant pieces of work in the house. As they reached the staircase, Christine froze.
At the top of the stairs, looking down imposingly onto the grand entrance hall, was an enormous portrait of William de Martinez.
Vincent stopped and looked from the picture to the woman beside him. Her face was slightly pale, her brow twisted into a frown as her eyes flicked over the handsome face.
"A good likeness, don't you think?" he commented. Christine blinked and turned away from the picture.
"I don't remember. It has been some years."
He did not need to know of the nightmares she had suffered. That face sneering, coming at her, standing over the broken, bleeding body of Erik. Christine had worked hard over the years to become strong. A moment of weakness and Vincent could destroy her.
His hand touched her shoulder again and she jumped, startled at being broken out of her thoughts. He looked at her in surprise and she shook her head. Vincent looked up at the portrait again before leading her to another room. It was a library. On a writing desk sat Christine's trinket box. Vincent opened it and took out the objects inside.
"Some unusual pieces. I enjoyed looking through them. Especially this piece," he held up the white fragment of porcelain mask.
Christine looked at it and said quietly, "It's only a memory."
"You enjoyed your life at the Opera Populaire?"
"Of course."
"Would you like to go back?"
That surprised her. She looked at him. "Go back?"
"I see no reason why you shouldn't see it one last time."
"What do you mean?" she said, puzzled.
Vincent opened a drawer and took out a diamond ring. He took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. She stared at it. "I… what…"
"You told me that I could have everything, Christine. And that's what I intend to take," Vincent said calmly. She looked from the ring to him.
"But… I thought that you just wanted…"
"It was at first. But I've decided that both would be far more satisfactory. We will be married in exactly two week's time. I've already begun arrangements. Now, would you like to see the Opera House one last time?"
Christine couldn't speak. She couldn't move, or even think. He was going to marry her. She would be bound to him forever. He was going to marry her.
"Are you feeling unwell?" he asked sharply. She blinked and looked up at him.
"No…"
"As soon as we are married, we'll leave for London."
"For how long?"
"I haven't yet decided. It's a pleasant enough country, England, so it could be some time. Anyway, go and get your outdoor things on and we'll go to the Opera Populaire."
She turned and walked from the room, dazed. When she reached her room she sank into a chair, shaking. This wasn't what was supposed to happen! She couldn't marry him.
"Erik…" she whispered, burying her face in her hands.
A servant arrived with a cloak and helped her to put it on. She thanked the girl quietly and once the servant had left, Christine crossed to the dress she had worn the previous day. Tucked into the pocket was the engagement ring from Erik. Christine laced it onto a chain and tied it around her neck, hiding it beneath the collar of her dress.
When the Viscount de Martinez entered the Opera House, many of the performers were surprised. They knew, of course, who he was. But he rarely visited the Opera.
What they were more surprised about was the fact that when he entered the theatre, his arm was around Christine Daae. On her left ring finger was a large diamond.
André and Firmin rushed out to greet the pair, but stopped in their tracks at the sight of Christine. Vincent smiled at them.
"Gentleman, may I introduce my new fiancée, Christine Daae? I believe you are acquainted."
"Yes. We are," Firmin said, staring at Christine. She kept her eyes on the floor and didn't speak.
Vincent said cheerfully, "Miss Daae and I are to be married in two weeks and she wished to see the Opera Populaire before we left for England."
"England?"
"Yes, I have land there. We may stay there for some time," Vincent explained, taking Christine's hand in his own. It lay in his hand, limp. She refused to play along, preferring to remain silent.
Firmin and André led the couple into the theatre. Rehearsal was almost finished. Carlotta and Piangi weren't there, but many of the ballet girls were, as well as Monsieur Reyer and the Giry's. Meg gasped at the sight of her friend.
"Christine!" her eyes settled on the Viscount and she frowned. Madame Giry stared from one to the other.
Vincent inquired, "What opera is being performed?"
"Hannibal, Viscount. It will be a fine show," Firmin said. Monsieur Reyer shook the Viscount's hand and then turned to Christine.
"Miss Daae… we weren't expecting you."
"Christine and I are to be married in two weeks," Vincent said smugly. Meg's jaw dropped and she turned to her friend.
"But what about…" Christine looked briefly at her friend and then turned her face away.
Madame Giry asked politely, "When did you become engaged?"
"This morning. It was all rather sudden, wasn't it, my dear?" Vincent said, looking down at Christine.
He squeezed her hand warningly and she lifted her head and said quietly, "Yes. It was."
"Come, Viscount, allow me to show you the score," Monsieur Reyer said, hoping to allow Christine some time to talk to Madame Giry. But Vincent pulled her after him. Christine glanced quickly over her shoulder at Madame Giry who was watching her carefully. Christine opened her mouth and a helpless look came over her face. She closed her mouth again and turned back to Monsieur Reyer.
Madame Giry looked at Meg, who shrugged, confused at her friend's behaviour. Madame Giry approached the Viscount, "Monsieur Viscount, would I able to speak to Miss Daae for a moment in private?"
"Surely anything you want to say to my fiancée can be said in front of me, Madame Giry," Vincent said in a pleasant tone. Christine fixed her eyes on the floor, her hand still grasped in his. Madame Giry considered her for a moment. Christine couldn't meet her gaze.
"Actually, Viscount, I wanted to inquire about how long you have known each other."
"Not too long."
"And if Christine's daughter will be joining you?"
Christine jumped and the Viscount threw her a warning glance. "My fiancée has no daughter, Madame Giry. Do you, Christine?" Christine met Madame Giry's eyes. The ballet mistress saw tears welling up in her eyes but Christine blinked them back.
"I… I…"
"Say it, Christine," Vincent said calmly, but dangerously. Christine took a deep breath and lifted her eyes up to the rafters, as if praying for the strength.
"I have… I have no daughter."
Madame Giry could have struck the Viscount at that moment. The smug look that covered his face was almost unbearable.
Meg stepped forward, "Christine, why are you-?"
"I think we've been here long enough," Vincent said harshly, turning and pulling Christine after him. Christine stared back at them and that same, helpless, despairing look crossed her face before the door closed behind her.
In the carriage, returning to the estate, Christine kept her eyes fixed on her hands, apologizing over and over to Dominique for denying her.
Vincent watched her, a superior smile on his face. She was breaking. He knew that she would. That had been the problem with William. He thought that everything could be solved with violence and bribes. Sometimes you needed to go a little deeper than that, to truly cut into the soul. Bruises and cuts would heal. Wounds to the heart would not.
Christine looked out of the window. The rain had eased for a while, but the skies were still overhung with dark grey clouds. Vincent said, "I have never been a great fan of opera. I have attended, on several occasions, but it has never held great interest for me."
Christine couldn't reply. She gazed off into space, not paying attention to anything, unable to think or speak. Vincent reached across and covered her hand with his. She didn't move, still staring at nothing. Eventually she said, in a tight, constricted voice, "Why are you doing this to me?"
Vincent sat back, considering her, rubbing his chin as he considered. Her dark eyes met his pale blue ones. He lifted an eyebrow and said, "You know why."
"No. I don't. It might be because of your brother, or the fact that you like to conquer people. Or perhaps you just enjoy seeing me in misery," Christine said.
"I suppose it's all of those. But mostly because I want to do what William never could. He was outwitted by a chorus girl and a phantom. I rather think that I could do better."
"You've torn my life apart for the sake of sibling rivalry?" Christine said, in disbelief.
Vincent looked entertained. "I suppose so."
"My god…" she fell back in her chair, pressing one hand to her head, as though she had a headache.
Vincent looked unconcerned. "And thus far I think I'm doing a little better than him, wouldn't you say?"
She lifted her face to look at him and he saw fire burning in her eyes. "You're despicable. Between you and your brother I've never met two men who are more deserving of death."
"I assure you, I intend to live a long, happy life with my beloved wife," Vincent smirked.
Christine ground her teeth and spat, "I would rather take my own life than be yours."
"Don't be so dramatic. It really doesn't suit you, my dear." Vincent said dismissively. "And besides, I don't intend to let you out of my sight long enough for you kill yourself. The rest of the day, I shall stay by your side. And tonight, after dinner, a servant shall stay with you whilst you prepare for bed. After that… well, you're an intelligent girl. I'm sure you can figure it out."
Christine felt her skin crawl at the thought of him touching her and clenched her fist. The diamond scraped against the soft skin of her hand but she ignored it. Instead she said in a forcedly calm voice, "You will have to drag me, kicking and screaming, to the bed before I let you touch me."
"Really? I look forward to it," Vincent smiled. Christine turned her face away in disgust.
Vincent could have laughed out loud, but forced himself not to. He was very much enjoying himself. Christine was turning out to be a fascinating young woman, not like anyone he had ever met before. Yes, he was going to enjoy her very much.
As promised, Vincent spent the rest of the day with Christine. Most of this time was spent in the library. Her new tactic was to simply not speak, glaring at him instead, slumping in her chair, arms crossed across her chest. Vincent found this rather entertaining, trying to bait her into saying something. And he succeeded only by using his very last tactic. He went to a drawer and drew out the metal hand Erik had designed. Christine sat up, gripping the arms of the chair tightly.
"It's most unusual. Did he make it himself?"
"Give it to me!" Christine demanded.
Vincent laughed. "I knew I could make you talk!"
She reached for the hand but Vincent moved away, examining it. "It's very clever. I knew he was talented musically, but I wasn't aware of his other talents."
"Let me have it," Christine said, getting to her feet. Don't make me beg, she thought desperately.
Vincent considered her for a moment and then said, "What would you do with it? After all… it doesn't belong to anyone important. Does it?"
"Don't…" Christine whispered. Vincent snorted.
"It belongs to no one. So it doesn't matter what happens to it."
"Don't… god, don't…"
"Who does it belong to, Christine?" Vincent said calmly.
Christine closed her eyes and whispered, "No one. It doesn't belong to anyone."
"Good," he placed the hand back in the drawer and locked it. Christine stared at the drawer and Vincent stepped towards her.
"It wasn't that hard now, was it?" His hand brushed her shoulder and she flinched away, meeting his eyes, glaring furiously.
"Don't touch me."
"Not your choice, I'm afraid. And, might I add, even if by some miracle, you did escape, you'd find it quite impossible to find your way back home. I have men posted around the outskirts of the city, and several watching your home. In fact, I'll be finding out any minute the whereabouts of Erik and Dominique. And if you found a way to join them I'd know at once and they would both be killed."
Christine felt anger rising in her and let out a furious cry, kicking at a chair. Vincent smiled in amusement. "I do things properly, Christine. I don't let myself become to emotional or let my anger take over. A problem William could never overcome."
"I realized that when he beat me," Christine spat. Vincent looked surprised.
"He hit you? I didn't know that."
"When I said no, he hit me until I could barely walk," Christine said harshly.
Vincent shrugged, unconcerned. "Oh well. I suppose he wasn't used to being refused."
Christine looked at him and then sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing her forehead, despair starting to fill her. Vincent sat beside her and said calmly, "I won't strike you, Christine. I will treat you as a good husband would treat his wife. All you have to do is stay faithful to your side of our bargain. You give me everything and I will be perfectly pleasant."
Christine didn't reply. Her face was buried in her hands, fatigue overwhelming her. Vincent placed a hand on her head, stroking the soft curls. "It won't be so bad. You'll like England. All you have to do is forget everything that happened before. It's not too much to ask. You just need to forget," he said quietly, pressing his mouth to her hair, kissing her head.
Christine didn't flinch away. She kept her head bowed. Vincent smiled at her inner turmoil. They were interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," Vincent said, standing. A manservant entered, dressed in travelling clothes. "Ah, James. You have news?"
"The Phantom and the child have returned to their home. They plan to stay there," James said. Christine looked up quickly. Vincent nodded.
"Good work. Keep men posted nearby. We don't want them slipping away without our knowledge. Thank you, James. You may leave."
"Thank you, Viscount." He bowed and left.
Christine stared at the closed door and murmured a silent prayer, thanking God for the safety of Erik and Dominique. Vincent watched her and said quietly, "There. Now everything is as it should be. They will be safe as long as you aren't with them." She didn't reply, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Vincent reached out and turned her face towards him.
But before he could kiss her she jerked back, eyes open, and whispered, "Music."
"What?"
"My music… will I still be able to play it?" she asked. Vincent considered.
"I don't see any reason why you shouldn't. But only when I am with you."
That was some small comfort, she supposed. Music was the one thing of Erik's he couldn't take from her. The weight of the ring around her neck was comforting, but surely he would find it eventually. Christine rose to her feet and went to look out of the window. It was raining again and it was dark outside, despite only being late afternoon.
She wanted to be out there. She wanted to stand in the rain, let it wash over her, rinsing away the filth and disgust. She wanted to scream to the skies until her voice was hoarse. She never wanted to see sunlight again. She wanted it to rain all the time, for the rest of her life.
"Do you hate me, Christine?" he whispered in her ear. A roll of thunder sounded. Christine swallowed hard. There had been thunder that first night she and Erik had…
"Yes." Lightning flashed and a few moments later thunder sounded again.
Vincent murmured in her ear, "Hate can turn to love, you know."
"I will never love you," she whispered fiercely. Vincent seemed amused as his hand ran up and down her arm.
"We shall see. It's really not so hard to love someone, I'm sure. We can make each other happy."
"There is only one man who could make me happy, and you are not him," Christine said quietly, her eyes fixed on the view from the window.
Vincent sighed, his breath ruffling her curls slightly. "You will not speak of him again, Christine. He does not belong in your life anymore. I am the only man in your life from now onwards. Do you understand?" He waited for her to reply. She didn't and he said again, "Do you understand?"
"…Yes. I understand."
"Good. Now, it's almost time for dinner."
After dinner, Christine was escorted to her bedroom by a servant. It was a woman, of about forty years who looked at her pityingly. Christine ignored her look and said, "Please leave me."
"I cannot, Madame. I have been ordered to stay with you," the woman said.
Christine sighed and looked at her for a moment. "What is your name?"
"Nathalie, Madame."
"Nathalie… if you can't leave, could you just… turn around? Just for a moment." Hesitantly the woman turned. Christine slipped the ring off her necklace and tucked it inside a handkerchief, stuffing it under the bed. "It's fine. You can turn again."
Nathalie seemed rather bewildered by her odd behaviour but didn't comment, helping her to undress. Christine slipped on a nightgown and went to the bathroom. Apparently Nathalie felt she was safe to be alone in the bathroom, for she didn't follow. Christine looked at herself in the mirror before washing her face. When she emerged, Nathalie was still there. Christine sat at the dressing table, staring at her reflection. How she had changed, she thought, as Nathalie brushed out her long hair. She seemed to have grown older in the last day.
The door opened and Vincent entered. Christine looked at his reflection in the mirror. He beckoned for Nathalie and they stepped into the corridor, the door closing behind the. Christine reached for one of the hairbrushes and forced it with all of her strength. With a satisfying crack the handle snapped off, leaving a jagged, splintered edge. Christine hurried to the bed and slipped it under the pillow, throwing the head under the bed before rushing back to her seat, picking up another hairbrush and starting to brush it through her thick hair. A moment later the door opened again and the Viscount came in.
Christine kept her eyes lowered as she brushed her hair. But Vincent took the brush from her and started to comb it through her hair. Christine let her hands fall to her lap, thinking furiously.
The last possible moment. That was when she must strike, when he was vulnerable. She couldn't possibly kill him, not with a splintered brush handle, but she could give herself time to escape. She didn't know where she would go or what she would do, but she had to get away from here first.
Vincent placed the brush on the dressing table. Christine got to her feet and jumped as there was a bang. The window had flown open. Vincent turned but she walked past him to pull it shut. As she did so, she caught sight of something strange.
By the gate was a figure. Female, she was sure of that, cloaked against the unfriendly weather. Christine closed the window and drew the curtains shut, to block out the lightning. She was trembling, she realized. A mixture of fear and adrenaline. Vincent noticed and caught her hand. "There's no need to be afraid, Christine," he told her. Christine didn't reply, not meeting his eyes.
He dropped her hand and went to turn down the lamps. Christine watched his every move, wary of him. Vincent turned back to her. A flash of lightning illuminated the dimly lit room. Memories of that other night filled Christine's head. Lying in Erik's arms, the feel of his skin against her own, pressing her mouth to his face, feeling his hands running over her…
"You are beautiful, Christine," Vincent said, walking back to her. Christine didn't speak. She didn't trust herself enough to open her mouth. Vincent unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it to the floor, revealing a well muscled chest, strong and handsome. Christine averted her eyes and he chuckled.
"Shy? I wouldn't have expected that of you." She bit down on her tongue to stop herself making a comment. Vincent drew her close to him, the heat of his chest reaching her through the thin fabric of the nightgown. This particular piece of clothing had clearly been designed to draw attention rather than to cover up and she felt ashamed to be wearing it, although she had worn scantier clothing as a dancer at the Opera Populaire.
For the first time, Vincent kissed her. Christine frowned but didn't turn her head away. She had to be meek, had to let him touch her although she almost shuddered as his hands ran over her.
"I must say, Christine, you're acting very oddly. I expected more of a struggle. What was it you said earlier? Something about kicking and screaming… I'm a little disappointed," he commented.
Christine lifted her eyes to look him in the face and asked quietly, "Would you prefer me to fight you?"
"I almost would. You're being rather dull," he said, lifting his eyebrows. Christine snorted and stepped back from him, folding her arms across her chest.
"And you expect me to fully comply with your wishes?"
Vincent laughed. "That's more like it! I like you, Christine. You have so much spirit. It doesn't do for you to act solemnly." Christine glared at him and he drew her to him once again, kissing her with much more passion than before. And now she returned the kiss, almost pouring all of her seething hatred into the act. Vincent pulled her towards the bed, lying over her as his mouth moved down her neck. Christine couldn't stop her face twisting in disgust, but fortunately he didn't see. She lifted her arms up, reaching beneath her pillow for the wooden weapon. As she did so, her body arched against his and he moaned into her. Christine felt all of her hatred came rushing back as she wrapped her arms around his back, being careful not to let him feel the weapon.
Vincent murmured her name and he whispered, "Say my name, Christine."
Christine parted her lips, her breathing ragged and harsh.
"Erik…"
And she stabbed down. Vincent cried out, rolling off of her. Christine stabbed again. Vincent threw her off, clutching the two wounds in agony. Christine looked around and saw an empty jug on the bedside table. She picked it up and smashed it over his head. Vincent blinked for a moment and fell forward onto the bed. Christine hastily checked for a pulse. He was still alive. She rolled him over and quickly tied blankets around his hands and feet before gagging him with a pillow case. It could be hours before anyone found him but she couldn't risk it. She pulled a cloak on over the nightgown and recovered her ring from under the bed. She threw the gaudy engagement ring from Vincent onto the bedside table before fishing a key from Vincent's trouser pocket, opening the door and hurrying out.
The servants were nowhere to be seen, for which she was thankful. She hurried to the library, went to the desk, and unlocked the drawer. She took out Erik's hand and the box before going back into the entrance hall. Christine pulled the front door open and started to run down the driveway to the front gate. The rain lashed at her head and she wrapped the cloak around her tightly, shivering.
Someone caught her arm and she cried out. Madame Giry pulled her along the street. "Madame!"
"Hurry, we must get away before someone sees us!" the ballet mistress told her.
Less than an hour later, Christine sat in Erik's old home, beneath the Opera House. Madame Giry handed her a cup of tea. "What happened, Christine?" she asked, sitting beside the girl. Christine took a deep breath and told her about the deal she had struck with the Viscount, and what had happened that night.
"He'll look for me. He'll go after Erik and Dominique. My god, what have I done?" Christine cried, burying her face in her hands. Madame Giry held her tightly.
"Don't be afraid, Christine. It will be alright."
"How? How can it possibly be alright?" Christine wailed.
"Because Erik and Dominique are coming here."
Christine lifted her face and stared at her. "What?"
"They are on their way."
"No! No, they can't! The Viscount has men posted everywhere!" Christine cried. Marie smiled.
"All of the Viscount's men have been mysteriously taken ill."
"…What did you do?" Christine asked suspiciously. Marie looked surprised.
"Why do you think that I had anything to do with it?"
Marie had never been one to gloat. So she didn't particularly feel the need to inform Christine how she had sent most of her ballet girls out, each bearing a gift of wine for the men, a gift, they told the men, from their generous master.
Christine started to pace the room. "What are we to do, when they get here?"
"Run. I own a house in the south of France, Erik knows where. You can go there, the three of you, until this blows over."
"And if it doesn't blow over?" Christine asked. Marie sighed.
"Then you must keep running. It's not a good life."
"You know, Marie, I don't think I'd mind running. Just as long as I can have them near me…" Christine pondered. Marie smiled and stood.
"There are dry clothes through there. Go and change. It will be a few hours before they arrive," she said, gesturing towards the bedroom.
It was past midnight when Christine ceased her pacing, hearing movement. Marie had gone up to the Opera House, to find a carriage for them. Christine turned, searching for the source of the noise, and when the echoes reached her she recognized Dominique's happy babbling, just as a curtain was thrust aside and Erik appeared, the cheerful child in his arms. Dominique laughed airily. "Mama!"
Christine gave a cry and fell towards them, hugging them both as tightly as she could. Dominique didn't seem the least bothered. After all, it had only been a day since she'd seen her mother, although for Christine it seemed much longer. After a moment Erik put Dominique down and looked at Christine. His hand touched her cheek and she buried her face in his shoulder.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. She nodded and he asked, "How did you get away?"
"I stabbed him with a broken hairbrush and then hit him over the head with a jug."
He stared down at her and then smiled. Christine smiled too, realizing for the first time quite how ridiculous that was. Erik kissed her gently and whispered, "We'll be alright. We'll be safe."
"I know. As long as we're together," she replied.
Dominique tugged at her skirt and smiled. "Guess what!"
"What?" Christine said, lifting her daughter. Dominique laughed.
"Papa made moose!"
"Moose?" Christine inquired, looking at her daughter. She glanced at Erik, who looked worried and was signalling for Dominique to shush.
"What's a moose, Erik?" Christine asked suspiciously. Dominique giggled and pointed to a piece of rope curled on a surface nearby.
"Moose!"
Erik winced as Christine turned on him and shrieked, "You showed her how to make a noose!"
"Only a little one."
"Erik! She is two years old!" Christine screamed. Dominique looked rather affronted at the noise and tugged Christine's hair.
"Mama bad."
"If it helps, hers fell apart as soon as she tied it."
"No, that doesn't help Erik, because you shouldn't be showing her how to make weapons of death!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Christine, you don't necessarily kill someone with a noose. You can just keep them unconscious for a few hours, or use it to drag things or…" his voice faded away at the glowering look on her face.
Dominique was highly entertained by this. Christine rolled her eyes and said, "You have a few things to learn about parenting, Erik. Lesson one – no deadly weapons."
Erik, looking rather abashed but determined to defend his parenting skills, said, "We did quite well. I managed to entertain her and feed her." Christine smiled and put Dominique down again.
She kissed Erik and said, "Marie will be back in a moment. She's got somewhere for us to go, a house in Southern France."
"I know."
"We can live there for as long as we want. We can start a new life, I can sell my old home and the land… we'll be fine."
There was a hint of regret in her tone and Erik said quietly, "You love that house, don't you?"
"Yes. It's where Dominique was born… Rosa and Thomas are both there…"
"Maybe we'll go back one day."
"Maybe," Christine said, sadly.
Marie appeared in the doorway and said quickly, "There's a carriage waiting. Erik, you will have to drive. I don't want to risk getting a driver, in case he talks."
"Very well, Marie," Erik said. They hurried up to the back of the Opera House, to an alley where a carriage was waiting. Christine quickly put Dominique inside, wrapping a blanket around her and turned to bid farewell to Marie. The ballet mistress kissed her quickly.
"Hurry. You must go."
"Thank you, so much," Christine whispered as Erik climbed onto the driver's seat, taking the reins.
Marie smiled and nodded. "You are welcome. I shall write soon."
"Say goodbye to Meg for me."
"I will. Now go!"
Christine climbed inside and closed the door. Dominique watched her from the bundled blanket, only her eyes and a tuft of dark hair showing.
"Mama?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Sing please."
Christine smiled and pulled the child onto her lap as the carriage set off at a fast pace.
In sleep he sang to me…
Dominique started to suck her thumb comfortably, listening to the sound of her mother's voice as the carriage sped over the cobbled streets, rain lashing down on the windows.
In dreams he came…
Christine wrapped her arms around Dominique as the storm raged on. Street lamps passed quickly, the houses rushing past, the crack of the reins sounding sharply.
That voice which calls to me…
Marie stood in the doorway to the Opera Populaire, as the carriage disappeared into the night. Meg came to her side and asked, "Will they be safe?"
"I hope so... I hope so," Marie replied, stroking her daughter's soft hair.
And speaks my name…
The sound of the horse's hooves on the streets sounded rhythmically. Dominique was soon asleep and Christine looked out of the window, up at the black sky.
And do I dream again…
Erik swerved the horses around a corner, heading for the edges of the city. It was hours before dawn, and by that time they would be far from Paris.
For now I find…
Christine glanced up at the figure in the driver's seat, the hood of the cloak drawn up over his head. As if he sensed her, his head turned slightly. A glimpse of a white mask, the flash of a green eye and then the face disappeared as he turned back to the road. Christine fell back in her seat, allowing sleep to wash over her.
The Phantom of the Opera is there…
No matter what else they did, wherever they went, whatever happened to them, they would stay together. And they would run to the ends of the earth if they had to. As long as they stayed together.
Inside my mind…
A/N: As usual, thank you for the lovely reviews! Especially to Le Fantom De La Opera, simply because your reviews are so entertaining! I'm so glad I did decide to post this because you guys are just great. And especially the wonderful La Foamy for her marvellous beta-ing skills!
I'm thinking this is the last chapter, just because it seemed to end in a good place. But I think I'll do an epilogue, and then call it a day. Because I don't want it to be one of those stories that just keeps dragging on and on until everyone's sick of it. So one more post and that's all folks! Thank you for your lovely support. Love you guys SO much!