A/N: Welcome back, my lovelies. Apologies for the slow update… I've been sick and I've had a lot of schoolwork to do. Honestly, those teachers need to understand that I have a very important fanfic to write. And sorry for the evil cliffhanger… but I have no excuse for that.

A.D. Chandler: Hey, there was a reason for him backhanding her.

SabrinaFair: Thanks for pointing those out. I hate typos.

PhantomsHeart: Maybe…. ;)

Bumble0Bee: Mouth to mouth with Erik… :sighs happily:

Nade-Naberrie: Thank you so much! I love getting all kinds of reviews, but its very nice how you specifically say what you liked about it. :)

Chapter 18

Raoul had brought Christine to his elder sister's spacious townhouse. It wouldn't be proper for her to stay with him, no matter how much he wished to be near her, to comfort and protect her as she recovered from the recent events.

"The poor dear," Marie sighed after he relayed the situation. "What a terrible ordeal for the both of you!"

Raoul set his untouched tea back in its saucer, sinking back against the brocade couch and staring at the painting of his family that hung above his sister's fireplace. He had never liked that one.

"But you know we'll take good care of her," Marie continued, taking his hand and smiling reassuringly. "Lots of rest, good food, and she'll be well soon enough."

Raoul returned the smile and kissed her cheek. "Thank you so much. And thank your husband, too. Do give him my kind regards when he returns from his country visits."

"Don't think a thing of it," Marie replied, slipping her arm around him comfortingly as the pair rose.

Raoul sighed. "I'm just so glad it's all over."

X X X

Christine stared up at the elegant molding and carvings on the ceiling, her soft breathing the only sound in the dim room.

A maid had hustled her into the guest room, drawing the curtains, changing her into a borrowed nightgown and tucking her into bed as if she were a small child.

Christine lay silently, the luxurious covers soft and cool around her, her face passive and her eyes blank. If she let her vision blur, staring at that white ceiling, she could almost see his face… yes, it was right there, right there when she closed her eyes… the smooth mask, intense blue-green eyes, mouth curved in a slight smirk… and his voice, his voice was in her mind, but not in her ears…

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the warm tears slipping down her cheeks and into her hair. Those tears were knives, tearing holes in her numb and mindless state… feeling seemed to flood back into her as the tears trickled silently from the corners of her eyes. She slowly rolled onto her side, so slowly it was as she had forgotten how to do it, pulling at one of the plump feather pillows and curling herself around it, arms trembling, face slack…

When the cry ripped from her throat the pillow muffled it. "No," she choked, sobs seeming to fill her mouth. She was suffocating – she coughed, and the sound was harsh, staccato… she squeezed her eyes tight, clutching the pillow like it was life itself, her sobbing sounding loud, so loud in the empty bedroom…

With each sob, a new memory whirled through her mind… the feel of his gloved hand on hers, the texture of his cravat against her cheek, the way his mouth moved as he sang… the way his eyes burned so intense, the way voice deepened in pitch when he was angry… rage or passion, anguish or longing, darkness or beauty, betrayal or love…

Her lips couldn't form his name – her mouth just worked uselessly, stumbling over garbled, disjointed, almost disbelieving sentences. "Angel… angel of music… angel of… everything… you can't leave me… you… you…" Words failed her and she choked again, coughing into the pillow, her tangled curls sticking to her cheeks and hot tears smearing her face.

Her words had slurred into a strangled shriek as the door was flung open and the maid rushed in.

X X X

When Christine awoke the next morning, her cheeks were damp – she felt weak, used up. Her eyes were gritty and her head pounded, but after a smiling Marie administered a cup of steaming tea – the cure-all, she said – the calming, familiar taste soothed her somewhat.

At first it like she was floating through a bizarre dream, detached from her surroundings, merely watching, not doing. But then, as grogginess left her and she awoke more fully, the world became crystal clear and all too real. The waving branches of the oak tree in the back garden, the sound of footsteps moving to and fro past her door, the sunlight streaming in through the windows and illuminating the flecks of dust in the air, the feel of the diamond ring still on her left hand…

She couldn't finish the rich bacon and eggs the maid brought in – the food seemed strange and tasteless in her mouth. She didn't want to eat, or drink or pay attention to the birds singing just outside the window. How good it would be to slip away under the blankets and weep until she felt empty and numb once more and could fade into sleep… into dreams…

She had dreamed of him last night. He had been singing to her, leaning over that great black swan bed and singing her to sleep. She should've sung him to sleep – yes, sung to him as he sank into that last never-ending silence…

Christine moaned and rubbed her eyes, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She sucked in a ragged breath slowly. If she cried again, she was sure she would be sick.

She slipped in and out of sleep the rest of the day, disjointed, disoriented dreams chasing her into the waking hours and back into disturbed slumber. The dreamt of music and candles and gilded statues, coach rides and dark passages and his warm bare body over hers… she woke suddenly and flung her arms out frantically, choking back a hopeless sob when all her desperate hands found were blankets.

X X X

The next morning, she was calmer. She ate her breakfast of scones and jam, and the maid convinced her to get out of bed, bathe and change into a borrowed gown.

"What an ill fit," Marie objected when Christine came downstairs in the too-large dress. "We must go shopping! I know an excellent seamstress, creates the most beautiful outfits…" Marie laughed at Christine's dull protests and called for her maid to fetch her a hat and for the coachman to ready an open barouche.

"We will have to do this all the time when you and my brother are married," Marie said with a smile, fastening the hat over her blonde hair and tying the ribbons under her chin. "It will be so nice to have a sister-in-law so close to my own age! I'm just twenty-one, you're only a few years younger than myself…"

Sister-in-law… married…

Marie saw Christine pale, and she frowned slightly. "Are you alright?" Christine pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes for a moment before nodding. "Yes… yes, of course!"

Marie eyed her for a second before taking her arm and leading her away from the wide staircase and into the sitting room. "You look so faint," she said, guiding Christine to the couch by the fireplace and sitting down in the large chair across from it. "You have such dark shadows under your eyes. I understand you've been through a series of awful events, but are you sure you're not seriously ill?"

Christine raised her tear-filled eyes to Marie's concerned brown ones. She felt childish, but she couldn't care. "Yes, I'm fine," she whispered, but her mind was elsewhere. Marie bit her lip, and reached to take Christine's hand.

"Its all over now, dear. There will be no more of that… that man."

Marie stared as Christine snatched her hand away, pressing her hands to her face as she burst into devastating, racking sobs. She moved from the armchair to the couch, embracing the crying girl, confused but attempting to comfort her the only way she could think of.

When Christine returned to her room, the window was slightly open, a light, warm breeze wafting through the room. She sank face first onto the bed, her chest a hollow, aching cavity, but her eyes full of fresh tears. She felt she could cry forever.

She crumpled the covers beneath her fingers and pulled herself up to the pillows, burying her face into them and inhaling the fresh, clean scent. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow to draw it closer to her, but her hand brushed a strange stiff little square. Confused, she grabbed it and pulled it out from underneath, wiping at her tears as she did so.

It was a small, folded piece of thick paper. With trembling hands, she unfolded it.

Christine,

I hope this has arrived to you safely. My servant followed you here the day before last and alerted me to your location. It was he who slipped through the window and left this note.

Mademoiselle, it is imperative that you find the Hotel Dupont, on the south side of the Seine River. Please be there as soon as possible.

M. Nadir