IV. The Point of no Return
They were all waiting for them, Gaston and Serge, Xavier, Marie and Leclair. Hulot's death had not been enough to deter them. Especially Gaston seemed grieved still, yet all the same it appeared to Christine that his determination was even stronger than that of the rest. "He died in the Lord Phantom's service," he said with tears in his eyes, yet in a surprisingly firm voice. "And so will I, if this is to be my fate." Astonished at so much calm in the face of death, Christine wondered whether this was not just an after-effect of having to watch one of his friends die, but she herself could not tell, and there was no time for consulting a doctor, not even the one the Opera House employed for all the injuries and similar permanently occurring.
There was time for nothing at all, come to think of it. Yet it was not because this needed to be completed as fast as possible, she was sure, but because the Phantom wanted it to, and because Raoul seconded this strongly. They were both eager to be done with everything as soon as they could, and Christine thought she understood, though none of them named reasons.
Raoul seemed to act a little strangely, she observed, as they once more descended into the deepest cellars. Again she was bringing up the rear together with her fiancé, and she watched him from the side while they went. His jaw seemed clenched as he stared straight ahead, always at the Phantom, his knuckles white from clutching the torch he was carrying. From time to time, his eyes flickered over to her nervously, as if fearing she might dissolve into a wisp of smoke any moment, but whenever their eyes met, he hastily looked away, lowered his gaze to the floor or fixed the Phantom again, at the head of the column. What was wrong with him? It was not just that he was worried about her, she suspected, because he had been worried about her before. There was something more now. And he was afraid, she noticed with unease, as she saw perspiration form along his hairline despite the cold down in the cellars. As they reached the last corridor to the lair finally, drops of sweat were already running down over his forehead, and he was using his sleeve to wipe them away. For the fourth time she whispered to him to tell her what was wrong with him, but like all the times before, he just looked at her with sadness in his eyes and shook his head. God, what was wrong with him? And why wouldn't he tell her? Did he not trust her enough?
Did he not love her enough? Something in her chest constricted painfully at the thought.
At the place where usually the boat was moored, the Phantom came to a halt, and so did the others. As once before, when she had first come down here, Christine thought to see a thin veil of mist rise from the surface of the cold water, even though she told herself that it was not there. She knew why she had thought to see mist then, at that time when he was exerting his power over her.
It was months ago now, and it seemed to have happened in a happier age, so far away.
Like the day before, they all crowded around the Phantom, only that this time Hulot was missing. Who of their number would be missing this time, she wondered, shuddering, when they would return from those dungeons? When this all would be over, whose tomb would the vaults of the Opera House be? They had brought Hulot's body back up, yes, and yet it seemed to Christine that somehow he was still here, part of his spirit lingering in those deepest, darkest recesses of the cellars.
The Phantom spoke softly, and yet his voice rang out clearly over the water. Or was Christine just imagining it? "We've reached the end of our way now," he said, "and the final battle is at hand. Now is still the time to turn back, and nobody will force you if you do not wish to go any further. Those who choose to return rather than to go on should do this now, as it is your last chance."
For a moment there was silence, then Serge said quietly, one hand on Gaston's shoulder, "We have come this far. We will not turn back."
There was a murmur of assent from the others.
"There is nothing shameful about turning back," the Phantom continued. "This battle is mine, and neither of you has the means to fight Créon."
"But we can fight the gypsies," Leclair said.
"And we can act as decoys," Xavier provided eagerly. Obviously Raoul's performance the day before had impressed him mightily, Christine thought with a little smile at her long-time colleague. He did not understand any of this, she was sure, but he wanted to be part of it.
"I won't be turned back," Meg said firmly. "And if you think you can scare me, you've picked the wrong one."
"And I still haven't gotten to fighting those promised women," Marie put in with a nervous little laugh.
"This battle has become mine as much as yours," Raoul spoke up, and Christine was surprised and a little shocked at the strangely pressed sound his voice had suddenly acquired.
"I will go with you until the end, my Lord Phantom," Gaston promised. "Wherever you may lead me, I will follow."
Again silence fell, and Christine realized that she was the only one who had not spoken yet. "I will go with you," she said simply.
Beside her, Raoul made a little choking noise, but when she turned to look at him, his features remained immobile, his eyes firmly on the Phantom, and she assumed that she might have only imagined it.
The Phantom inclined his head slightly in acceptance. "So be it. You have passed the point of no return, then." And he turned to lead the way once more, through the shallow water and into the passage leading along the flooded corridor.
Hearing this gave Christine a little jolt, despite herself. She remembered only to clearly standing on stage with him – good Lord, could it truly just have been five days since? –, paralyzed at his suddenly appearance and with no idea what to do, no idea but to go on. And then he had taken her down here, not as reverently as the first time, but roughly dragging her with him, overcome by rage and pain… It was not a pleasant memory at all.
And still the melody of this particular duet intrigued her, woke feelings in her she had hardly known she possessed…
No, she should not think such a thing. Not here and now, not anywhere.
As they covered the last distance to the Phantom's dwelling, Christine slipped her hand into Raoul's, squeezing it tightly. He would remember just as well now, and for him, there would be nothing intriguing. Only the memory of fear and pain.
And for the Phantom? Christine wondered. At the back of her head, there was determination, a calm, deadly determination, ruling over wrath and hatred. And there was love, the thought of a vain, bitter love, a love not returned…
It was a memory that hurt them all.
