Me: Erik Look!
E: (stunned) What? What happened? (jumps up and draws sword) Is the mob of phangirls here again! Back phangirls! Back I say (points sword in defensive posture)
Me: (palm to face) No, Erik. I was just about to say that we got some reviews.
E: (sarcastically) We? Since when is you and I a we.
Me: (frustrated) Must we dwell on pronouns (laces arm with his).
E: Well, at least you're not a phangirl…or obsessed with that Gerard Butler guy everyone keeps talking about.
Me: (knowingly) Um…yeah…that's right. I'm am so NOT obsessed with Gerry…:cough:
E: (suspicious) Wait. What was that cough? In my experience people only cough when they have something to hide!
Me: What? That's ridiculous, I'm…er…uh…getting over a slight chill…yeah, that's it… Look! A new chapter! (diverts attention to updated chapter)
E: (refusing to be sidetracked) We will most definitely discuss this…after I find out what happens next…(remembers previous chapter's ending A/N) Wait! This is the Raoul Chapter! (shakes head furiously) Nooo!
Chapter 4: Of Nightmares
Raoul's unconscious mind was awhirl with agonizing imaginings. His psyche taunted and scorned him, plaguing him with memories, visions of a past he would have buried long ago. Sadly, this was not an option, not now, not anymore. The ghosts of memory had been resurrected; they had found new life in his beautiful child, his beloved Erin.
He knitted his brow in concentration, forcing his eyes to focus where they could not. He searched the darkness of his nightmare for answers, options, anything to ease the maddening anguish of losing his only daughter. But his sightless blue eyes could only deceive and perturb his aching soul, preying on his doubts, intensifying his fears.
I have failed you, Little Lottie, Raoul mouthed. His voice was hoarse and wispy. Even through dreams the familiar emotions assaulted him.
Before him stood Christine dressed impeccably in a white satin nightdress, her honey-tinted tresses cascading softly over one shoulder. She was an Angel of light, his Little Lottie. It seemed to Raoul that she had never looked more beautiful, or more anxious.
Raoul felt his heart skip a beat.
He ran to his wife, wrapping an arm protectively over her quivering form. She was so frail, he thought silently, as if she could shatter into a thousand pieces. She could not speak for a few moments, and he allowed her the precious minutes she needed to regain her composure. Each sob was a dagger through his own heart, but he welcomed the pain if it would bring her some measure of peace.
"He was here." She choked out miserably, before falling into a state of self-preserving numbness. Raoul could see she had been crying for quite a while, perhaps it was time she let her mind drift into blissful, soulless apathy.
He knew the fears had lain deep within the recesses of his mind, but he had been so presumptuous to push them aside, so eager to believe the Phantom would not return. He kicked himself mentally for allowing Christine's childlike trust to blur his instincts. She was too innocent; she had believed the Phantom's promise of freedom.
I should have known better! I did know better! Raoul scolded himself again.
Christine's pale hand tugged him back to reality, her ashen face a chord pulling at his heart.
For a moment he considered all possible courses of action, he could scour the grounds, but he knew the futility of hunting a ghost. The man could come and go as he pleased, when he pleased. A cold rage swept through Raoul's heart as he thought of that monster's hand wrapped around Christine's porcelain neck, that singular kiss. A kiss which had both saved and destroyed Raoul's ebbing sanity.
"Did he hurt you?" He spat out finally, his breathing erratic like his tone.
A chill ran down his spine.
He felt his jaw tense as he continued in a haggard tone.
"Where's Erin?" His question seemed more like a gasp for air, a plea for mercy from a man on the edge of reason.
Raoul did not stay to hear Christine's reply. He sprinted to the second floor, past the servant's wing and through the library into the nursery.
The familiar scent of lilac was a welcome sensation; he ignored Christine's footsteps coming swiftly to his side. His eyes well fixed to the tiny bundle of peach colored sheets lying peacefully in the large cradle in the center of the room. The intricately woven canopy partially obstructed his daughter from view, but he could see two pink toes peering out from under the expensive silken blankets.
Picking Erin up with all the delicate strength he could muster, he forced himself to face Christine once more; worry still marred her china-doll face.
Raoul wanted to scream.
He who dwells in shadows shall tremble before the light!
He wanted nothing more than to keep his daughter and his wife away from that vile ruffian. That apostate Angel of darkness! The guardian of Hell!
Christine gripped his trembling hand, still mindful of disturbing the cooing angel in his arms. Raoul couldn't help but wonder how many hours, days, weeks, that beast had spent watching, silently stalking his family, waiting for the right opportunity of instill fear into their happy home. He suddenly took great pity on the delicate mockingbirds which frequented the estate. Once, as a young boy, he had found one of the songbirds lying dead on the ground, struck dead by a callous raven, yet another unfeeling menace of shade.
"Tell me what happened." His words were laced with barely controlled rage.
Raoul was a man on the brink of madness; he had suffered a lifetime's worth of dread in a single year's passing. He burned with a silent, horrifying sort of loathing. His hatred for the Phantom now blazed a thousand times stronger, for it had fused with the fear and indignity of having his home invaded.
His anger had become an entity all unto itself.
The monster had waited for him to leave. He knew Raoul would have had to go attend to affairs of state overseas. He knew Château de Chagny would not remain guarded forever. The police had remained only to ensure a safe and uneventful birth. Even then he had managed to obtain Terry Sheridan's services by relying on the power of the Chagny name alone. Then the constable, too, had left, and Christine had remained vulnerable and alone in the gilded cage that was the Chagny estate.
All at once the feelings of guilt and shame feel on his shoulders. He berated himself internally but tried to keep a calm façade for Christine's sake. She needed to know that he would guard her, care for her, hide her if need be! After some moments of waging silent, furious war with himself and his ghostly rival, Raoul felt ready to address his love once more.
"Did he—"he cleared his throat, indignant at the crack which had insisted interrupting his question.
"Did he harm you, Christine." He rarely called her by her Christian name, causing her to flinch visibly. Her creamy skin turned a pale rose color as he touched her cheek with a gloved hand, still cradling young Erin in his left hand.
They both seemed so small and helpless, and it took all of Raoul's self-control to refrain from taking them both in his arms and never letting go.
"No." Her eyes had begun to overflow with mournful tears. Raoul was abashed at the reassurance these tears brought to his own mind. She did not love him, she feared him, he told himself triumphantly. The corner of his mouth curved into a half-smile.
"The servants think I am mad. They did not see or hear anyone."
Raoul gazed into those brilliant brown eyes, so child-like and yet burdened with such an adult threat.
He traced her tears with his thumb, stroking her honey curls with his long fingers.
"The servants are fools." He smiled painfully, his face bent on ruining his one attempt at levity.
He replaced Erin inside her cradle, careful to support her tiny head and shoulders. Draping the delicate fabric of the canopy over the cradle, he turned once more to his wife, thankful to see her face had also softened somewhat since his hasty welcome.
"I saw him, Raoul. He was right in this room." She seemed to rethink what she was about to say, no doubt hesitant to worry him any more than necessary.
Her voice began to fail her as she continued with the horrific tale. The Phatom had warned her, threatened her it seemed, that he would never stop until he had taken what was owed him. Christine shook with silent tears as she finished retelling what she had experienced the night before his arrival.
Raoul stepped closer to her, wrapping both arms around her waist, and placing his cheek on her shoulder. He was trying to comfort her, but it was he who benefited from the tender gesture. It was heaven to hold her, to feel her warmth and know that she was with him.
I am so sorry.
"I am so sorry. I am—" He pleaded through fevered nightmares. His eyes darted to and fro under tightly closed lids.
Raoul awoke from his night terror drenched in cold sweat, the pain in his arm a welcome respite from the wounds his dreams had opened. Wounds that would no doubt need to be bleed and sewn afresh, wounds that needed to be purged of the sickening infection keeping them from healing properly.
Only fresh blood could heal his wounds now, Raoul thought bitterly, trying desperately to reconcile his unconscious mind with the unfamiliar surroundings in which he now found himself.
He opened his eyes, or rather, allowed himself to take in the remaining details of his surroundings. He was in a simple, though comfortable bed, white sheets drawn all the way to his mid-drift. He realized moments later that he could not move his left arm, nor could he sit up straight without someone's aid.
Lifting his eyes to the small window near the vanity opposite his bed, he saw his Little Lotte sleeping deeply, if not soundly. He could see a tired expression on her face, marked by faint, thin lines across her forehead. Raoul knew these were lines of sorrow, not age. She sat on an uncomfortable looking stool; it had neither back support nor a cushion. She had crossed both arms atop the vanity, using them as a makeshift pillow for her head and shoulders. She groaned softly as the first rays of sunlight found their way past the white cotton curtains and into the tiny bedroom.
Raoul saw her smile as she looked into his eyes, but it was merely a half-hearted smile. It was the expression of a woman with a cross to bear.
She is too young, much too young to bear such a load. He pushed the thought away; he wanted to allow himself one happy thought, one thankful moment before facing cruel reality. She was with him; she had undoubtedly spent the entire night by his side.
Wait.
Night?
How long had he been asleep?
The question passed his lips without him being fully aware of it.
"Just over two days, Raoul" she voiced wearily. He had to stop himself from cringing at how haggard and frayed her voice had become.
She made her way to his bedside, and took his right hand with her own. He tried to move the injured arm to his side, but it was securely fastened to his chest. He took note of the thick gauze wrapped all around his arm and chest, serving as an impromptu sling and cast all at once.
As a Chagny, he had grown accustomed to only the best medical attention (and indeed everything else) that money procure, so he couldn't help but chuckle the sheer irony of his present situation. A Chagny, recovering from (as far as he could tell) a broken arm and several injured (if not equally broken) ribs inside of a hovel in the middle of God knows where.
A confused look spread across Christine's face as Raoul began to chuckle softly, finishing the laugh with a slight groan. She opened her mouth as if to ask him what he thought so amusing, but stopped at the knocking on the bedroom door.
She sighed, irritated at the sudden interruption, and called the interloper inside with a swift "Enter."
Once again, Raoul noticed the quake in her voice, its gentle beauty eclipsed by what he could only guess was sorrow and concern. He did not want to think about the cause of tha sorrow. Not yet anyway.
He had to make a conscious effort to stave off all thoughts of Erin. His mind knew of her disappearance, but it was not yet ready to cope with the implications of the kidnapping.
Me: So, whatcha think, Sweetie.
E: (annoyed) Please refrain from any sort of ridiculous nicknames.
Me: Aw, not even doodlebugs?
E: Especially not "doodle-" arg! I cannot bring myself to repeat it!
Me: (Immitates Carlotta) YOU LAV ME!
E: (rolling eyes) Yes, yes, whatever you say. You seem to have me hostage here in your bedroom anyway, so I might as well concede to your pathetic little whims of fancy. (dread dawns on his face) Um...why am I here anyway?
Me: You've been here for four chapters and you don't know why?
E: Oh I know why I came, to hide from phangirls. But why, exactly, I have chosen to stay all this time is a mystery beyong my imagination.
Me: (absently) Oh, don't worry. (beams) You just stay here and keep me company while I beg for reviews.
E: Fine. It's not like I have an opera house to haunt any longer. Who knew the Populaire would be so damned flammable!
Me: (cooing in his ear) Don't worry, I'll help you forget those mean old opera singers.
E: (tries to remain calm, inches away slowly) Er- uh...yes. Please keep both hands on the keyboard. Both hands, Please!
Me: (dissapointed scowl) Fine. Oh, before I go, I want to thank Nattie for her excellent review. I urge her (wink wink) to keep it up! Thanks number FOUR! And also thanks to Gerry'sLoveTart for the nice comments...short and sweet...Erik thanks you too.
E: Don't put words in my mouth.
Me: Hm,...If I were you, I would really try to avoid invoking the image of your mouth. It is hard enough as it is trying to keep my hands at the level of the keyboard.
E: (nervous smile) Point well taken.