Ch. 7 - A Door Closes
Christine hummed as she worked among the tulips in the flower beds along the side of the house. She had found that she rather enjoyed working in the garden. Without her music to soothe her and occupy her mind, she found her new hobby to be a welcome distraction and a peaceful way to pass the time. She straightened and removed her gloves, surveying her work with satisfaction. As she stood to remove her apron, she noticed Raoul speaking quietly with Elsa. She smiled and waved, brushing her hands across the front of her dress to smooth the wrinkles from it. When she looked up again, Elsa had turned back into the house, and Raoul was striding toward her, a strange look upon his face.
Like a proud child, Christine grasped his hand and drew him over to show him her work. "Well, what do you think? I planted the tulips myself, and the lilies are just beginning to bloom. I may add some roses later, just behind the hyacinths and then..." his silence stopped her, "Raoul, what is it?" Her smile wavered as she sought his eyes uncertainly.
Raoul lowered his gaze to the newspaper he held in his hand. No matter the events of the past, no matter his bitter hatred of the man it spoke of, he dreaded sharing its contents with Christine. She finally seemed to be recovering some of her strength and spirit. And he had no doubt that she would take the news very hard. He was no fool. After the events of Don Juan Triumphant and later below the Opera Populaire, he had had no choice but to recognize that for whatever reason, Christine shared a bond with this creature – a bond that was stronger and more powerful than the fondness she had for him. Although it had been painful to realize, Raoul had been willing to wait, feeling confident that in time Christine would come to see the futility of her love for this deformed murderer, and return his own patient devotion at last.
Now, however, standing before Christine's trusting eyes bearing news of the monster's death, his confidence wavered. He wondered if there would ever be room for him in her heart. Would she be able to mourn for a time and finally move on, or would she be forever haunted by this shadow that consumed her?
"Raoul?" Christine grew more and more fearful at his prolonged silence. He quietly handed her the newspaper. "I'm truly sorry," he said softly, "I know you cared for him." Christine's eyes flew to his in questioning horror as understanding dawned. She didn't have to read the accompanying article, only the title. "Phantom of the Opera Found Dead". Instantly, she fainted.