CHAPTER 5
Christine's indecision made her miserable. She knew, for Raoul had told her, that Madame Giry had a role in what had happened. She had known the Phantom. But Raoul had told her very little, and Christine didn't want to ask. Not him. She had to ask Madame Giry.
"His name -- his is Erik, my dear," said Madame Giry.
"Do you know anything else? How he came to -- be on display in the circus?" asked Christine.
"I --" Madame Giry sighed and shook her head slightly, looking down; "I believe his mother…sold him to the gypsies. But I know nothing else. No particulars."
"Oh," replied Christine; her eyes had a faraway look. She was lost in thought, which Madame Giry perceived.
"Now, perhaps I should not have told you this," Madame Giry began --
"No, no! Thank you for telling me. " Christine rose from the table they had been sitting at. "Now I can be at peace. Again, thank you." She walked from the room to Meg's room (which they were sharing) and fetched her coat, before going outside for a walk that she hoped would help sort her thoughts.
He watched Raoul riding back toward his residence. Every evening the Vicomte took his horses for a turn about the city, which would make it ridiculously easy. All he would do was wait, wait until Raoul came to that point where there were no lamps, and the shadow of the building made it almost completely dark. It would take but a moment, but a moment…
He crouched, his lasso in hand. He was ready, and his victim approached. What relief it would bring, to end the life of the man who'd stolen all his chance for happiness. It was suitable, it was appropriate. His hate consumed him. This was the moment; finally here.
"It's in your soul, that the true distortion lies --"
The lasso dropped from his gloved hand. He felt a cold sweat start, and he was shaking. He tried to force himself to stop, but he could not.
"Christine!" he whispered. He leapt up and ran off into the night.
"My dear, why should I not have told her?"
"Mother, it's just that I'm worried for Christine. She's acting strangely." Meg's mother patted her darling daughter's face fondly.
"Don't worry. I am sure that there is nothing wrong. It was natural for her to want to know."
"Perhaps." Meg still frowned.
"Of course it is. And you need not have any fears; I am sure Erik is long gone from here. Christine is safe."
Meg looked up sharply.
The air did little to help her, for her thoughts were in chaos. There was an emptiness inside her; such that she could not fill. She found herself thinking of her father. How he would have comforted her! Again she tried, as she had many times before, to persuade herself that, if she merely went back to Raoul and married him, these feelings would fade and she might be content. But, although logic told her this, her heart, her soul, screamed in protest. She rebuked herself once more for her mistreatment of him, but this did nothing to sway her to go back to him. She could not marry him with this feeling of incompletion, this vacancy in her soul.
Christine remembered feeling this way before; at the cemetery (it seemed ages ago) she had felt overcome with mournful remembrance.
"Wandering Child, so lost, so helpless --"
She knew the longing had been no spell; no magic trick, or illusion. It had been her soul transiently admitting her need, her love for her Angel.
"--Angel oh speak! What endless longings echo in this whisper."
He was her teacher, her guardian…
"-- Angel of Music I denied you; turning from true beauty! Angel of Music, my protector --"
She turned around and began back, a new determination in her.