Chapter Twelve – Darkness
Paris Opera – July 2005
Christine sits alone in her dressing room, Madame Garnier beside her with a cool cloth. "How are you feeling, mon chéri?"
"Not well at all, Madame." Christine coughs violently and begins to cry.
"Christine, you stay here and rest."
"No! It's our first dress rehearsal, Madame!" She sits up, angry at her grandmother for being sick last week and passing it on to her.
"I'm sorry, Christine, but you can't go out like this." Christine stands up and stomps her tiny feet in anger. "I would let you go, but you've got a high fever."
"But Madame! The show's in two weeks! I can't miss a rehearsal!" She worries that she'll have to tell Madame why she really doesn't want to go. It's been brewing inside her, the urge to tell the dance instructor that the Phantom will probably come for them, but she just…can't.
"I'll go tell Monsieur Destler that you won't be joining them today." Before she can argue again, Madame is gone. Shit. Now, she feels completely helpless. What if he does something…terrible? I'll be the one to blame!
"Christine?" Elle's voice penetrates the door of Christine's dressing room and meets her ears. "Christine, may I come in?" She stands and opens the door to her grandmother, sinking into her arms, telling her everything, all of her worries. "Don't be afraid of him, Christine. This isn't the nineteenth century any more. There is much more of a chance he'd be caught."
"I'm so scared!"
"I know, Christine, I know. Now get some rest. I'm going to go talk to Monsieur Destler about your illness." She nods as Elle leaves.
Sleep consumes her, and she wakes up to frantic sounds from the theatre. Against what she's been told, Christine rises and runs to the noise. Carla is screaming angrily on stage. "Get off now, who does he think he is, this bastard! Who is he to tell me what to do?"
"What's going on?" Christine asks Missy, who shifts away from her a bit, so as not to catch cold.
"One of his notes fell from the rafters and it told Carla to get off of the stage before it's too late." Christine takes a sharp breath. "She went into a fit." Christine notices Elle standing at the side of the stage, talking in hushed tones with André as the temperamental assistant manager walks the stage, screaming.
Suddenly, there is a loud bang and many people scream. Christine grabs Missy instinctively and inquires, "What the hell was that?"
"Someone get a doctor!" André shouts, and Christine turns to face him, meeting a most gruesome sight.
"No!" Elle lies sprawled on the ground, blood spurting from a wound in her chest. Christine runs to her, pushing the manager and Monsieur Webber aside. "No!"
Richard appears at her side as Missy shouts, pointing to the rafters above the stage, "It's him! The Phantom of the Opera!" Abruptly, Richard rises and jumps on the stage, running for the stairs.
"Richard, no!" Christine shouts, running to him. "You're not safe going to find him! Come with me!" She grabs his hand and drags him away.
"But Christine, your grandmother!"
"There's no time! She'll be fine, I'm sure." But she isn't sure, not even remotely. She drags Richard away and up through the opera house and resurfaces into the theatre on the balcony near the ceiling. The lovers catch their breath, but Richard is quick to speak again.
"Christine, why have you brought me here?"
"He hates you! He told me so, Rich! He despises you! We can't be seen together by him!" Richard takes her shaking hands in his own and holds them firmly.
"My darling Christine, don't fear him. You're hallucinating. It's all going to be okay, Christine, I promise you." He backs away from her a little and fishes something out of his pocked. "Here," he says, handing her a necklace with a little gold ring on it, "it was my mother's. Keep it with you."
"Oh, Rich," she replies, sinking into him and kissing him deeply. His hands weave around her and clamp down around her back, pulling her closer. Christine continues to kiss him, but she has the strangest feeling that she is being watched. A shiver runs down her spine as she and Richard come up for air. She chances a glance at the door they came through and gasps.
Erik Destler is standing in the doorway, a look of pure anger on his face. "I was wondering when you'd notice me." He smiles slyly. "They want you downstairs, Christine." Knowing what the reason could possibly be, Christine grabs Richard by the hand and drags him with her down the many flights of stairs, Erik trailing behind them at his own pace.
"Christine!" André shouts to her, and she can see that there are paramedics surrounding him. She rushes to him, leaving Richard and Erik behind. Christine's eyes are met by Elle lying practically lifeless on the ground and tears come to her eyes. "She's still with us, Christine, though not for much longer."
She sinks to the floor beside her grandmother. "Who did this?" Christine asks, her voice shaking and raspy. "Who in the hell of it could possibly do this?"
"We don't know, Miss Landry," says Webber, placing a hand on her shoulder.
"I'll find out, Christine." Richard's voice draws nearer and she sees him standing beside Webber and André. "I'll find him." With that, he is gone.
"Monsieur Colville!" André calls. "Antonia, follow him. See he doesn't do anything irrational." Madame Garnier nods and runs after him.
"Christine?"
"Grand-mère!" Christine sinks down to Elle's level and she sees that the older woman's breathing is labored. "Grand-mère, speak to me!"
Elle touches Christine's cheek. "With your hair like that, you look just like your mother, Christine. But you have your father's eyes."
"Oh, grand-mère, what have they done to you?" Christine leans down and kisses Elle's forehead.
"Not them, Christine. Him. The Phantom of the Opera is…" she coughs violently and there is nothing more they can do. She falls motionless on the floor and Christine feels a large presence beside her. She looks, her last moments of rational behavior wasting away, and sees Erik, tears tracing their way down his cheeks. All care gone, Christine screams.
"Why? Why? How could you do this to me?" she yells into the space above her. Tears hurtle down from her eyes, planting themselves firmly on her clothes and the surrounding floor. The hushed tones that the production team and paramedics are talking in turn into blurs as she cries helplessly.
"Christine…" Erik's hands come to her to soothe her.
"No!" she shouts, pushing Erik away. "No!" Christine collapses in a weepy mass on the floor, crying for God knows how long. She feels familiar hands around her, lifting her up, and she complies. Soon, she is lying on a soft bed in a room that seems very recognizable, and there is a large figure sitting beside her. She reaches out her hand and it is held tightly in this figure's.
Her eyes flutter open. "Erik?"
"Yes?" His voice is more welcome to her than ever as he caresses her hand with his fingers.
"Oh, Erik," Christine moans, falling into his awaiting arms. He holds her there for a long time, what seems an eternity, gently rocking her in his grasp. "Erik, why?" she asks him, though she doesn't expect an answer.
"I don't know, Christine. I just don't know." He turns his head a little and touches his lips to her forehead. "I'm here with you, Christine. I won't let him hurt you." That surprises her. It is the most tender thing she has ever heard out of the man, save for song lyrics, and it makes her feel smaller and weaker in his arms, even if she is more assured.
Christine snuggles closer to him, and he doesn't argue, continuing to hold her tightly. He murmurs softly in her ear, "Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears! I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you…" She moves into his embrace even more, savoring the closeness they are sharing. "Christine, you're safe. I promise you."
Erik takes Christine's chin in his hand and tilts her face upward. "Thank you," she says softly, a meek reply to his powerful words. "You didn't have to say those things, Erik, not if you can't promise them."
"But I can, Christine. You watch. I'll take care of you, I swear it." He holds her hand tightly, making sure she's aware of his certainty. Erik lets go and puts his hand out to cup her cheek, his thumb massaging her lips. She leans into him, glad that they're alone, glad for the first time in a while that Richard isn't there. "I love you, Christine."
The words come out of her mouth before she has time to stop them. "I love you too." Christine buries her head in the crook of his neck, fitting herself to him perfectly, like they were made to fit together. Soon, he stands up. With not a word, he moves to stand right before her, her knees knocking into his lower legs.
Without warning, he pulls her to her feet to stand against him, and Christine doubts whether there is any space at all between them. Erik pulls her close and captures her quivering lips with his own. She stalls for a moment, not knowing what to do, exactly, when she feels him pull away.
Her large eyes gaze up into his face, longing for him to kiss her again. He obeys the unspoken command, kissing her gently at first, and then with more intensity. After a few moments, he thrusts his tongue into her mouth, touching hers and racking her body with delight.
Their hands still connected, he pushes her backward onto the mattress, his full weight on top of her, though gently so as not to hurt her. Christine moans into his mouth as he lifts her up again pulling her over to lay her head against the fluffy down pillows. Fleeting thoughts of Richard and Webber and André cross her mind, but she soon returns to reality, feeling Erik's hands snaking their way under her shirt from the back. Christine uses her own hands to grab some fabric of his shirt and pull him down on top of her, his arousal now obvious against her thigh. Grand-mère, forgive me if I do you wrong.
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