CHAPTER 3

Christine had told no one how little sleep she had, but she could not hide the increasingly obvious shadows beneath her eyes. How she hid her thoughts from Raoul. He knew no more of what was in her mind during those moments when she fell silent with deliberation than he knew what a person was doing that moment in China. When he asked, Christine would merely laugh and say how her mind wandered. She knew she could never tell him where her thoughts traveled, for they invariably traveled to her Angel. She thought most of his face when she had come back to give him the ring; and every time that picture entered her mind, she felt her heart break again.

She rebuked herself daily for her treatment of Raoul; she knew she was not fair to him, but she simply could not wed him until she had sorted out her feelings. When she thought of marrying him, the happiness she had once felt at the idea would turn to an unearthly sadness. She felt she needed some time away from him, and so she told him she wanted to visit Madame Giry, who was living outside of Paris now. She went to her former ballet director, hoping to see Meg, but Madame Giry's daughter was away with a friend. It seemed that one of the other ballet dancers had married Monsieur Gilles Andre, and had invited Meg to accompany them on a trip they were making to Le Harve. Christine was very disappointed at this, for she'd hoped that her old friend could help her arrange her thoughts.

She stayed with Mme. Giry for two weeks, and during that time she began to have a terrible longing to go back to the Opera, to the underground levels…

"--Down once more to the dungeons of my black despair--"

She had to go back there. She could not stop herself. Only, when --?

Late that night she wrapped herself in a warm coat and went to the stable, saddling a horse herself, for she could not tell the stablemen where she was going; they would be sure to mention it to the Vicomte, who housed his horses there, regardless of any instruction that they remain silent. She could ride a horse with ease, and it did not take long to reach her destination. She demounted and looked at what was once the Opera Populaire, now a ruined, burnt skeleton of it's former self.

With a start, she realized that it embodied how she herself felt.

Quickly she entered through the back, making her way to the dressing rooms, to what had been her own. She saw the mirror, left open by the mob. She hesitated, but with a deep breath she went through, starting down the hallway.

She made her way without trouble, for Raoul had told her of the trap door, and she stayed close to the wall on the staircase. Once she came to the water, she took the route that The Phantom had taken her, on that fateful night of the showing of Don Juan Triumphant.

"--Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into Darkness deep as Hell!"

She was now at his lair, and she walked up the steps from the water, looking around. She felt the tears well in her eyes, and she was surprised at the depth of emotion she felt when she saw how the place had been torn apart by the horrible mob. She was racked with sobs, seeing this place. His organ, his Music. She saw the mirrors that she had heard him shatter, for the sound echoed still in her ear. She looked at his miniature of the Opera, knocked on the floor. She turned and looked toward the bedroom, and forced herself to walk to it. She looked inside, and in her mind she could see him kneeling there, next the music box.

"Christine, I lo-o-o-ve you!"

She turned and fled from this place, unable to bear the feeling it brought back to her.

The next morning he came down from his loft, and saw the white half-mask lying on the floor. He reached for it, hesitated, then picked it up and applied it to his face for the first time in so many months. Then he went to a window and peered at his reflection (for there were no mirrors in his house).

"Well, and now he is back." A smile flickered on his face momentarily, before he turned away.