CHAPTER II

He had seen her. Of course it had not been his intention to meet her again, not after having all his illusions and his heart shattered into pieces all of a sudden. But there she was. He had used the last ounce of strength inside him to escape the only home he had known, his creation, the place…the place where he had lived so many painfully sweet moments and of which only bitter memories remained.

He had spotted her running and crying, overcome by despair, heading for nowhere. A part of him wanted to make his presence known, come out from that hiding place and cradle her in his embrace. He wished to ask her the cause of the heart-rending grief which had brought her to the place that surely plagued her nightmares. No. She did not deserve his care. Not at all. What was more, he was unaware of what had come over her that caused her to leave the innocent angel he had once known broken and in such a distressed state. It was not new, though. He could recall other times when he had witnessed that same beautifully tormented expression craved on her perfect features. Indeed. Lost again? Searching for a guiding light to lead her through the darkness? His lips formed an ironic smirk. This time she alone would have to find her way out. After all, her last gesture had shown him that he was no more than a pitiful creature of darkness who could only inspire compassion to anyone. She had kissed him, but he would never know if there had ever been true affection - love, in that touch of lips. Whether it was plain pity or if it had been only a stupid but effective strategy to gain Raoul's freedom. Just thinking about the boy's name made his blood boil with fury.

But there was still something nagging at the back of his mind, an annoying sense of ignorance and curiosity because, despite his brilliance, he was certain that there was something missing in that tragic picture and he couldn't quite place what it was. Why wasn't she with him? Did she not get married to her dear Viscount? What was the reason why she was so emotionally lost? Had she lost her childhood sweetheart in the last revolts? Sincerely, if that was it, he was uninterested. Even though a part of him was struggling to go to her like an obedient mutt, his pride and common sense prevented him. He would not humble himself before her. Life had taught her well and, now she was in need of a friendly hand, he would not make it easier for her.

Erik's gaze scanned the street once more from the dark spot where he had been hiding for some time. His eyes narrowed when they met the tiny runaway figure again. Cold, full of restrained yet obvious rage froze the blue pools of swirling resentment until they turned into a shade of silver, as icy and rouge as the winter tide.

With a last glance in her direction, he turned his back on her and made his way towards his small refuge. He closed the door after him and carefully left the cloak which helped him conceal his mask on a wooden chair. He simply sat down at his bureau and opened a drawer. Inside, there were pages and pages of the music he had been able to save from the flames. He took them out and subjected himself to the agony of examining them and revisiting the past. Impeccable arias composed for his muse, a score especially written to be sung by her melodious voice alone, the voice he had trained with exigency, gentleness and devotion. The passionate background concertos of their miserable story… He covered his masked face with his still gloved hands. Now there were only non-sensical and mocking ditties that reminded him of a time of passion, a time of creativity and hope. Suddenly, drowned by the memories he had been trying to obliterate from his mind, he exploded. Erik threw all those sentimental keepsakes which he had been holding on to until that moment off the desk with a single sweep of his hand. Slowly, the sheets of parchment fell all over the carpeted floor. Erik wanted them out of his head but how?

'Curse you…' he cried out, as his fist landed with a sharp thump on the remaining pages of the libretto. 'Curse you, Christine!'

Christine was looking timidly at the details in the interior of the small residence. It seemed agelong and quite simple. First, she was shown the main hall: it was spacious but there was only a wardrobe where, she guessed, guests and residents alike could keep their coats and cloaks. Next to it, a small settee completed the short list of furniture at the entrance. The rest of the house did not look much luxurious, really, but at least it was a place where she could stay for a while and focus on her life. And that was what she needed at the moment. Solitude and peace.

The kind ladies that had fortunately found her that morning continued giving her the tour of the house, showing her all the rooms, as they told her that, as her new home, she was allowed to roam at will wherever she liked. The neat lounge, the dining-room and, finally, she was granted the best room available. Marie kindly rested her bony hand on the girl's shoulder before opening the door to her new bedroom.

'I trust you will feel much confortable here than in our dark garden hut, Mademoiselle…'.

She smiled. 'It's Christine, Madame, Christine de…' she sighed inwardly and had the quick reflexes to correct herself, 'Christine Daaé.' It was not a good idea to keep using her husband's nobiliary title if she wanted not to be found and killed.

The other woman's lips curled into a brief smile when she listened to her reply. 'Good then, Mademoiselle Daaé, I believe Emma should have prepared your bath by now. Oh, obviously you haven't had the time to bring your belongings with you…'

'Do not worry,' said Christine with a bitter grimace, 'I will take care of that tomorrow. Now I would need some rest, if you don't mind…'

Marie did not insist and nodded sympathetically as she closed the door and left Christine alone at last. A deep sigh escaped her pink lips. She sat at the foot of the bed and look around her…the room, like the bed, was small but cosy. She found that her only comfort at the moment was that she had had the good fortune to find a place where she could take shelter. Light entered through a large window which looked out to the garden and in front of the bed there was a small closet and a mirror. The girl got up and walked towards it. She looked exhausted, dark bags under her puffy eyes, hair dishevelled and dirty… In spite of the fact that the appearance of her poor reflection would have worried anyone greatly, she couldn't help that her lips formed a dreamy smile when she remembered how much suffering, mystery and reward had made such a vain object have such meaning to her. She closed her eyes and could still perfectly hear his harmonic, entrancing and yet disturbing voice coming through the cool surface of the mirror like an echo from the past. Intoxicatingly sweet, coaxing… encouraging… annoyed, demanding an explanation for her behaviour and her betrayal of his trust. She had given it to him but that had only been the beginning.

'Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me…'

She had spoken those words as if she had been carrying the deepest of grieves. In truth, she was… she had always been seized by cowardice because it was the easiest way out. Once more, she had succumbed to her weakness.

Her eyes blurred with that memory… her angel of music…her angel of music...

'How could I hurt you so…'

Once more, she spoke her regret to the wind, hoping it would take her message to him, somehow.

She reached the bathroom. Actually, they had left everything prepared for her bath: clean towels, soap, bath salts, warm water…

With some difficulty she took off her dress and her underwear. She watched now her naked reflection in the steamed up mirror. She was not the same person… not the girl with the dreamy eyes and innocent smile that she used to be 10 months before. Drops of moisture were beginning to form in her eyes as well.

With a sigh of resignation she got into the bathtub. She rarely enjoyed having a bath, as she did not find it too relaxing, but strangely she now felt some kind of contempt under the warm, placid sensation of the contact between the essenced water and her naked skin. Christine sat up in the bathtub, poured some bath salts and lay down again, closing her eyes in the process. She needed to reflect on the events that had changed the life she had hardly got time to get used to: her escapade, Raoul's death…Erik. His name was the one constant in her mind since she had left him and decided to start a new life with Raoul. She had abandoned him. And he died, leaving her, too, alone with her remorse and doubt. He was dead. Dead. The mere thought made had her shiver even though the water around her was lukewarm.

She had hurt him so badly that, even if he were alive, he would probably reject her, not even wanting to meet her eyes. Yes, her act of cowardice had broken the heart of the maestro who had taught her everything she knew about her art and more than she could have ever achieved by herself. She had scorned the man that had devoted himself to her in body, mind and soul without a second thought and she had never appreciated anything he had done for her. God, she had not even been able to give him a proper farewell or at least say goodbye in a way that didn't crushed the remains of his soul… Fly away, fly away to Raoul's safe embrace was all that mattered to her.

Guilt invaded her soul and drowned cries welled up from her throat. She hid her face in her hands and, curling herself in a fetal position, she wept. Christine de Chagny, née Daaé, released tears that seemed to her as old as time, tears she had been holding back for an eternity.