VII. Learn to find your Way in Darkness

Christine could feel him clearly, and she was glad for his newfound confidence. The feeling came back to her along the connection totally unasked for, thrilling her, filling her with a strange kind of something close to euphoria she certainly had no reason to feel. She felt like skipping up and down, like rolling on the floor giggling, like doing many a completely stupid thing, just for the fun of it.

Like tying Raoul and the Phantom to her bed, each to one bedpost at the head end, and tickling them mercilessly.

Heavens, the mere idea of it! There was something delightfully improper about it, as well as something hilariously silly. It almost made her laugh out loud with mirth.

But Lord above, she thought, more soberly, she could not just act like that! She could not just fall over herself giggling only because the Phantom was in a particularly good mood! One of these days she would probably need a word with him concerning that connection. Not that she wanted it broken, but… less strong, maybe. It would be better if such things did not occur. What if it was not pleased he felt, but something else? What if he was furious, would she throw a tantrum then? And – she felt the blood rise to her cheeks – what if he was filled with a certain longing, a longing one had to suppress?

It might have been a good idea for tactical reasons, but still… she should not have let him kiss her. Once again their connection seemed to have grown stronger by them kissing.

But then again, how could she have known it would? It had only been a brief little kiss, nothing more. Nothing wrong with it.

Well, actually there was, since she was not supposed to kiss anyone apart from her fiancé.

But she could make a little exception, couldn't she? In a situation like this?

Craning her neck, she regarded her fiancé, still standing beside her, straight and tall, and his eyes still fixed on the place where the Phantom had last stood before he had turned away and disappeared. It had been hard for Raoul, she knew, letting him go. He had not wanted to, and he had been stubborn to a certain extent; he had refused to turn back and leave it all to the Phantom. Of course, Raoul was not the one to let anyone alone in danger, not even his enemy.

His enemy, for Heaven's sake! Those two could get on well enough together, if they just tried hard enough! Still they were bickering over anything that could or could not be bickered over, and still they were glaring at each other continually, but there was something else, too, some kind of grudging respect for each other. Raoul would not betray a companion in arms, and the Phantom… Despite their connection, Christine had to admit to herself that she had no idea how his mind really worked, but she suspected that what he felt towards Raoul was some kind of possessive feeling – if anybody was allowed to hurt Raoul, then it was him alone. Christine smiled at that. Oh, Erik… You want to have everything, don't you? However dark and menacing he could be, at the moment she just wanted to tousle his hair for a bit. And maybe wrestle with him; she had never tried that yet.

Oh, that silly feeling of euphoria!

Sitting a few steps above her still, Meg was entertaining the others with the story of Carlotta and the broccoli. "And she claimed they were overcooked, you see," she was saying, "so she threw a tantrum, and then she tipped the stuff into her dog's bowl."

There were snickers from Xavier, Marie and Leclair, and the pair of stagehands seemed to be listening, too; at least Gaston wore something like a small grin – she was glad he was, after Hulot's death had obviously pained him so much. With Serge, it was hard to say; the man's calm, quiet bearing, almost to be considered dignity, did not allow for any conclusions about his feelings.

And what about Raoul? Was he listening? Judging from his expression, he was far away, deep in thought, and still he was gazing intently at the same spot, and he did not blink.

Could it be that it had hurt him what she had said to Erik? Could it be that he was jealous again? Certainly she had not meant to! She reached for his hand, and as he felt her touching him, he took her fingers in his, but still he did not turn his head away from the side entrance. He only caressed her hand, almost thoughtlessly.

"And just as she had turned her back again on the dog, guess what happened?" Meg was grinning already, seemingly enjoying the others' undivided attention. "Splat! The bowl comes flying right after her!"

There was laughter now, especially from Xavier, and Christine was glad to finally have a proper reason for giggling. Even Serge was grinning now, but still Raoul's features remained as frozen as they were. What was wrong with him? Ever since they had come here, or no, ever since they had taken the coach to the Opera House this morning, he had been like that, so gloomy, so… dark. He could not be ill, could he? On their coach ride, all he had done, apart from uttering a few words when addressed, was gazing out into the snow-covered streets, at the snow-laden roofs, up towards the serene grey sky. And once Christine had thought that there was a strange glitter in his eyes, like the glitter of tears, but she had not been sure, and when she had leaned forward to take his hands in hers, it had been gone, if it had ever been there.

"And? Was she covered in soggy broccoli?" Xavier inquired eagerly, his features twisting into a grimace of wicked glee.

"Did she scream?" asked Leclair.

"Did she yell at the dog?" Marie wanted to know.

"At the dog?" Xavier put in. "How? That beast – and the new one, too – is the only thing she really likes in the world! I wonder when she's going to erect an altar for the stupid things."

"No," Meg said, "she just stared at it, and it stared back at her. And then somebody started screaming about the Opera Ghost."

"Ah," Leclair grinned, "I see it coming."

"And then Carlotta started screaming about the Ghost, too," Meg continued cheerfully. "About how they had made up all those stories only to annoy her."

Marie raised her eyebrows. "Sounds like a lethal thing to say to me."

"Obviously not, or else Carlotta wouldn't be around still," Xavier muttered, trying to remove a dirt particle from under his fingernail employing another fingernail, and with his tongue caught between his teeth, so that what he was saying sounded muffled. "Sadly," he added.

Now that was exaggerated, Christine thought, wanting Carlotta dead. She disliked the conceited diva as well, and she had every reason to, after some things Carlotta had said to her, culminating in calling her a little toad on stage so that the spectators at least in the front five rows could hear it, but still Christine did not wish for her to die. To have another attack of croaks, perhaps, if she kept behaving like this, but not to die.

Equally, she had never wished for Ubaldo Piangi to die. The fat tenor had been Carlotta's partner, and he had supported her in practically everything, but never had he been unfriendly to Christine. During the rehearsals for Don Juan, she had been forced to spend quite enough time with him, and she really would have preferred to have somebody else to sing a duet with, and somebody where she did not have to arch her back to the point of snapping when leaning against him only not to get in the way of his far too well-filled belly. And acting out a love scene with Piangi had just been… odd. But that he had gotten the lead in Don Juan had been his death sentence, apparently; the Phantom had killed him, taken Passarino's cloak from him and appeared on stage in his stead. Still Christine's feelings were ambiguous about this moment. It had been marvellous, singing this duet together with someone who not only sang it better by far than Piangi, but also someone whom she could vividly imagine being seduced by – God, the touch of his hands, and feeling his hard, strong body against hers… And at the same time, she had been mortally afraid, no, terrified. Why had he tormented her so? But she knew the answer to this question, and it was also the answer to why Piangi had had to die: Because the Phantom wildly, passionately loved her. And because the fear to lose her had driven him mad.

But at that moment, when the Phantom had appeared on stage in Piangi's stead and in his costume – no, not Piangi's costume, that would have been far too wide for him, and he would have looked like a scarecrow in it; he had somehow managed to have one of his own made, and one a woman could hardly regard on him without blushing, too – it must have been Raoul who had been afraid to lose her. Poor Raoul, forced to watch helplessly how she had leaned back into the Phantom's embrace, seemingly forgetting the world around her…

She gently squeezed her fiancé's hand, and in response Raoul let his thumb wander over her fingers caressingly. Christine thought she could hear him sigh, but probably she was mistaken.

Where was the Phantom now? He must have almost arrived at where Créon was awaiting him by now. Gingerly she reached out for him, searching for his presence. Yes, she could feel him, but she could not quite say where he was, only that he was on the same cellar level still, and that he was going away from her. Curious, she applied a gentle poke to his awareness…

And immediately she felt the inward warmth of his full mental attention, like being wrapped in a warm, cosy blanket. I love you, he murmured to her tenderly.

I know, she thought, smiling. But the next moment, she could have pulled her own hair. What a stupid answer! You could not just say you knew it when somebody confessed his love to you, for Heaven's sake, no matter whether you knew it or not! Would he be angry? Perhaps he would. Christine bit her tongue. Oh, what an idiotic thing to say, indeed! She imagined the look he might give her now if he were here, the sharp, cold glare… Reaching out, she imagined brushing a loose strand of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear, then running her hand on through his hair, to the back of his neck. His gaze would soften now, she knew, and maybe he would even close his eyes, like he had done just before she had taken his mask away for the first time. Remembering it, she still had a bad conscience about it. At least she could have asked. Poor Erik.

Only then she realized that her other hand had also wandered up into his hair in the image in her head, and now her fingers were gently brushing along both sides of his neck, one hand on each, tickling him slightly before she reached his shoulders, and then they continued down over his chest all of their own accord. He was rather more muscular than Raoul, it seemed, though she would need to place the two of them next to each other to be truly able to compare them. Perhaps if they both were in those nice lacy white shirts, those shirts which could be worn hanging open so delightfully –

Good Lord, what was she thinking there? Rapidly she withdrew her hands, or else she had no idea where they would wander next. Lord above! Here she was, holding her fiancé's hand, and at the same time seriously comparing his anatomy to that of another! She was not supposed to know about any other's anatomy, for Heaven's sake!

Well, she was not exactly supposed to know about Raoul's, either. Blushing, she recalled a few anatomical details no unmarried girl should know about. One of these days, she would really have to go to Confession about this.

And she would have to tell Raoul quite firmly and clearly to cease all his attempts towards any further improper actions. Wasn't he a gentleman, after all? But however fine his manners, once they got into bed, he had an uncanny tendency of letting his hands wander where they really were not supposed to be, and the allusions he sometimes murmured to her… Her cheeks were pulsing hotly by now.

"What's the matter with you?" Raoul whispered, squatting down before her and stroking her cheek. "You're practically breaking my fingers, love."

Had she squeezed his hand that hard? She had not noticed at all. "Sorry," she murmured, avoiding his worried gaze. Such a fool she was making of herself today…

"No damage done." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, almost lost his balance and snickered a little about it, and she was glad that he was not looking as grim anymore as he had just a moment ago.

In the meantime, Meg had reached the end of her narrative. "And then she stalked out, all the time screeching about broccoli and this so-called Opera Ghost, and she had no idea that it really was Erik who threw the bowl at her."

There was laughter again, of course, and even Christine had to smile. Interpreting this as a sign that she was well, Raoul smiled in response and tickled her under the chin.

"I never knew he had a sense of humour," Marie stated.

"Neither did I," Leclair agreed, "but I guessed it was him who threw that bowl. I mean, the dog throwing it? Oh, come on!"

"Carlotta's just stupid, that's all," Xavier said contemptuously, and then went on to explain at great length why the Phantom had taste, in his opinion – how couldn't he, disliking Carlotta strongly just as well?

Gaston and Serge now turned their backs on the group and took a walk along the shoreline, but only after stubbing out their cigarettes and leaving them neatly in a corner, assuring each other that they would ask "the Lord Phantom" where he kept the dustbin as soon as possible, and Leclair and Marie followed their example. Christine was glad they were not smoking any longer, because the smell was definitely upsetting her stomach.

Her father had never smoked, as far as she remembered.

Raoul cleared his throat softly. "Would you mind coming with me for a moment?" he asked, almost nervously.

Rising to her feet, Christine followed him out into the main room. Still she could feel the Phantom clearly, and still he was confident, but there was something else now, a tautness that had not been there before.

He was facing Créon now.

As she realized this, Christine suddenly knew what it meant to feel her mouth go dry. Of course, she had known where he was heading, she had known it all along. But all the same, being aware that he stood opposite the worst of all his enemies right now, and all alone…

But still he was confident. He was so brave, her Erik, so brave and so strong.

Once again, Raoul cleared his throat. "You know," he began, "about you and… and him… don't think that I don't love you, but… well, anyway, this has nothing to do with it, but all the same, I mean, it's just… well… er…" Spluttering himself into silence, he bit his lip. "What I was meaning to say," he tried again, "was that… you know… well, you and him…"

"You didn't like it when I told him I loved him," Christine interrupted. Oh, Raoul! Always worrying when there was no reason to worry!

"Er," said Raoul. "No." Christine was not quite sure whether she was just imagining it, but it seemed to her that his cheeks had assumed a slightly pink colour.

She sighed softly. So he had gotten it wrong, after all. Poor dear. Reaching up, she tenderly stroked his cheek. "It's alright, my love," she murmured to him. How soft his skin felt under her touch! "You're still my sweet favourite darling."

"You love him," he said flatly. "Don't you." It was not a question anymore.

"Oh, Raoul! Of course I do, but not in the way you think! I just said it to make him feel better, you see, so he had something happy to think about when going to find Créon. He's not any kind of…" She sought for an appropriate word for a moment. "He's not my love interest, not like you are."

Raoul nodded, but still he was frowning, and Christine was not sure whether she had managed to dissipate his doubts. Probably not, she was afraid, but at least he did not look that sad anymore. Oh, poor thing! The mere idea of Raoul being sad broke her heart. "But you do love him, all the same," he stated.

"Yes, but not in the way I love you! He's more like a… like a… I don't know," she confessed. "A mixture of brother and father and… No, I really don't know." And guardian angel, maybe. She had to smile at that. "And I'm still going to marry you, my silly little cuddle-bear!" This last idea made her giggle softly as she imagined Raoul with a pair of furry ears, despite the growing feeling of tension at the back of her head.

In response, he pulled her into a tight hug. "My little lamb," he muttered into her hair, and she wrapped her arms around his waist in turn. She did not know what he felt like right now, whether her answer had satisfied him or not, but she was certain he enjoyed being near her as much as she was glad to be near him. Huddling against Raoul closely, and with the clear awareness of Erik in her head… What more could she possibly ask for?

That Erik came back soon and unharmed. Being held by Raoul somewhat soothed her worries, but still she could not quite be sure what was really going on in that underground hall, not so far away.

"I love you," Raoul whispered, his lips brushing against her temple briefly.

She twirled a long strand of his hair around her forefinger. "I know."

Oh, Lord in Heaven, she had done it again! To save herself from some embarrassment, she started giggling and playfully pinched his backside, after making sure that nobody was watching.

Luckily Raoul merely snickered along. "You do?"

"Yes, froggy." God, she was being too silly to be allowed! Still the consequences of Erik's earlier feeling of euphoria, she suspected.

Raoul gave an odd little snort. "What was that?"

Christine chose to poke him in ribs. She was only being cheerful, she assumed, to keep herself from weeping with growing worry. "You're my slippery green froggy. And I love you."

"Slippery green froggy," Raoul repeated, snickering softly to himself, and Christine was glad that he was not taking offence at all at her desperate silliness. "I'll tell you what you are, you dishevelled little anteater!"

Anteater? Christine did not know exactly what kind of animal that was supposed to be, though she had heard the term before, but it certainly sounded entertaining. She wished she could use it to cheer poor Erik up a little, but he certainly would not appreciate being disturbed in his concentration only to be called an anteater.

Maybe she'd try it on him another time.

For some time she and Raoul stood in silence, just holding each other. They would have a word about this all later on, she was certain – he would definitely bring the subject up again once they were back at home – but for now she was happy just to have him close.

Back home. Wasn't the Opera House her real home? Of course, the dwelling of Raoul's family was going to be her place of constant residence sooner or later, and she was already living there for now, though she was not sure what his parents would have to say to this, but currently the Opera House still was her home. She had not quite moved out yet. It would be improper, anyway.

And at the back of her head, the feeling of tension increased, mingled with growing anger. Don't give in, Erik, she pleaded, don't let him provoke you…

Then, very suddenly, it happened: At once she felt like there was a cold hand closing around her throat, blocking all fresh air, and in the pit of her stomach, a lump of ice was building. Before her eyes, dots of colour swirled, making her dizzy. Had Raoul not held her, she might have been in danger of falling over. The light around her was growing dimmer. God, it was so…cold… cold…

"Christine?" Raoul's voice very barely entered her clouded consciousness. "My God, Christine, what's wrong? What happened?"

Only very slowly, she realized where she was. God, what had really happened? She had no idea. Except –

"It's Erik." Still she felt that she could not get enough air, but at least she was able to speak. "He's in trouble. He needs our help." Oh God, what was Créon doing? What had happened to Erik?

And then at once there was a little patch of warmth among all the ice in her stomach, and she could hear his voice in her head, and she practically felt his breath against her cheek as he murmured soothing words to her. Don't be afraid. I love you. Just don't be afraid.

Oh, Erik! She wanted to hug him and tickle him and call him an anteater all at once! But he should not concentrate on her, not when he was facing Créon! I'm fine, Erik, she hastened to assure him. And indeed she was feeling much better already; only her fear was making her feel cold now. I'm really fine.

Again there was anger coming from him, but stronger than before; once again hatred flared up in his mind, and it was mirrored in hers. God, she wanted to rip Créon to a thousand shreds with her bare hands!

Oh, what a thing to think, for goodness's sake!

"You there!" Raoul called to the others. "Get moving! We're going!" Immediately those who were still seated leapt up from the stairs, and Gaston and Serge came hurrying towards them – or rather striding, in Serge's case. "Xavier, get the bow and arrows from the bedroom. Does anybody know anything about how to handle them?" Still with an arm around Christine's shoulders, Raoul loosened the revolver in his belt. "Right then, you keep it with you, and pretend you know. Is everybody ready? Well then, here we go!"

Astounded, Christine realized that they were indeed all ready, lining up before the side entrance, ready to march. And all it had needed to get them this far were a few words from Raoul. A true officer. At once she felt very proud of her fiancé.

Taking her hand in his, Raoul guided her towards them. "Now you lead," he said softly. "You'll find the way."

Surprised, she looked up at him. "Me?"

"Of course. You can feel him, can't you? Gaston, come here with that torch."

Christine realized that everybody was looking at her now, and at once she felt rather nervous, but only for a short moment, because then her awareness of the Phantom very suddenly changed. All at once, it was… dimmed. Still he was there, but his presence was less clear now.

God, were they already too late?

Pulling Raoul with her, she started towards the narrow arch into the darkness before she even realized her feet were moving. Gaston fell in behind them first, holding up his torch, and then the others followed. She could hear the sound of their footsteps, the only sound there was left suddenly as they were all swallowed up by the shadows.

She did not like the dark. She had never liked it. And as she started into it now, she could not quite chase away the feeling that there were invisible eyes everywhere, watching her. But Raoul was with her, Raoul was holding her hand, and she was not afraid. She would not be afraid of the dark anymore.

Because it was Erik's darkness, not Créon's.

She would find her way through the lingering shadows. She would find her way to Erik. And there was nothing she needed to fear, not as long as this realm was still Erik's.

And then it seemed to her that the darkness was growing less heavy, that there were thin lines of living light floating all around her… As she closed her eyes for a moment, she understood. Why had she not realized this earlier? She could not see the threads of darkness, maybe, nor could she feel them, but she could see the threads of fire. Erik's threads of fire.

And though they truly could not light the dark corridors, they still lit up the darkness in her mind.