Two days and two nights had gone by. Two days and two nights in which Christine had not regained consciousness. She was alive, though. He had known that as soon as he had swept her cold lifeless body off the floor and in his arms. It was when he took hold of her slender wrists when he noticed the weak, nearly nonexistent, beating of her pulse. That was enough to give him hope and to brighten him up. She was not dead. He couldn't have borne that she had died under such circumstances. No, that kind of ending was not one reserved to someone like her. Muses did not die that way…
He had spent that night next to her bed, watching over her and fearing that her situation worsened. He hadn't had the time or the strength to give Angie a proper explanation, in spite of the fact that she had kept a respectful silence during the journey home, while he had carried Christine's body wrapped in his cloak. The cold temperature of the waters of the underground lake had probable made her come into a state of shock. He had never expected to see her again and yet, for some unknown reason, she had reappeared into his life just when he had managed to reconcile with the idea of living without her. There she was. Like a signal, it seemed as if she had been calling up to him, her rescuer, for a long time. He hated her for taking him for granted but, deep down in some part of his heart, he was eternally grateful for that too. That was the same part of his heart which tried not to disguise his love as false hatred and resentment, the part of him that still loved her and had made him cry over her lifeless body on the shore.
He sighed, changing position in the chair he was occupying. His hand shot to his neck, which cracked with the movement. He had fallen sleep for a brief space of time in that uncomfortable chair but his body was already paying for his mistake. He had the urge to hold one of her hands, which were lying at her sides, but regretted his impulse just when a gap of a few centimetres separated her skin from his caress. He was afraid of touching her, as if that would only make things worse for her. She looked extremely pale, though better than the previous days. The fact that Christine had not woken up in all that time made him wander how she had sunk so fast in that kind of comatose state.
And he did not know whether she would ever come round or not…
He bowed his head and covered his face with both hands, drowning a sob. Now, in front of her, his weakness became evident. Fear of loosing her invaded him with every moment. He had tried in every way keeping as cold and impassive as possible but, how could he keep up that façade when he had to witness that she was bordering the fragile line between life and death?
His hands were still covering his masked face but tears of despair rained innocently on the sheets of her bed.
When she listened to the quiet weeping, Angie came to stand behind the door to their guest's room. She opened it just enough for her to see him. She could not recognize the man that had knelt and cried over that woman's body in that place, the man that was showing his weakness once more unashamedly. Broken. Desperate. Crying like never before… It was obvious that she was someone special to him, that she had formed part of his life. Why did she suddenly feel the wave of jealousy taking over her heart? Why did she feel as if she was beginning to loose him? No. She was a part of his past. The fact that he had kept her portrait in a forgotten room told her the truth, did it not? All of a sudden she felt insecure. Besides, he had not requested her presence in two whole days and that only confirmed her doubts.
But she could not stand seeing him like that. The sound of his sobs was breaking her heart in two, and she did not bear it. If there was something she wanted was not seeing him suffering. Silently and trying to be unnoticed, she came to stand before him. As soon as she was beside him, she rested her hand on his shoulder, supportively. He turned to look at her for a moment but it was enough to get drown in so much sadness.
She said nothing. Angie cupped his left cheek, trying to wash away all his tears. Then she did the same over the masked side of his face. She wished to take away all his sorrow, tell him that everything would be all right, even if he was crying for another woman…
His hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her intentions. 'No…not in front of her', his voice sounded completely broken.
She looked directly into his eyes. Her expression was calm and understanding. 'Okay…', her tone was soft and reassuring. 'Erik, you've been up for two days. You need rest…Perhaps it would be better if you went to bed...'.
He let go of her hand and turned his haunted gaze to Christine. Somehow he had gradually recovered his composure. 'Thank you for your concern, Angeline, but I can live long without sleeping'.
She nodded. 'Are you sure? I can stay here, watch over her and call you if… she awakes'.
He hesitated. 'Christine, her name's Christine de Chagny'. The reminder of her married name left a bitter tinge to his last words.
Christine! Of course, that was the name she had heard him whisper when he was kneeling next to her body. Then she remembered that tense moment when she had found him sitting in front of the mirror, which was shattered in a fit of rage and self-hatred. She had not been there to ease his pain and heal his wounds. It had been herself, not that woman for whom he harboured such pity. In some ways she was already feeling a kind of rage towards that angel-faced intruder.
'So…'. Those words of resignation came out of her throat. 'Then you'd prefer if I left?'.
He looked at her approvingly. 'Please…'.
She was already walking to the door, her pride twisting and turning within her. 'All right. I'll be back in a while, maybe you'd like a cup of tea then. For the time being, you know where to find me if you need anything else'.
He stood up and, after offering her a polite gesture, he walked up to the window. He wouldn't leave that room until she woke up.
The room was completely dark. She was scared, very scared and shivering. The man that had taken her there had treated her better than one would believe from a kidnapper, to her surprise. But the two men and the two women who had received her in that place were in the opposite side of the spectrum. The two strangers had immediately looked her in that bedroom, where she had spent two days.
For what she had been able to catch from the few conversations that had taken place there, one of the men was called Édmond. Unfortunately, she hadn't heard anything else. She really wasn't unattended. The biggest complain she had so far was the lack of sunlight and the brusque attitude of those people. That man, however, was the only that showed any concern for her health and was in charge of bringing her food and water. Clearly those were not feasts but he gave her enough to survive through the days. Perhaps that strange kindness favoured everyone's convenience. They possibly wanted to keep her alive for the moment… but, what would become of her afterwards?
She heard the door opening and her body tensed. The same people who had locked her in there were again in front of her.
'Well, dear, I believe it's time for us to have serious chat with you…'. Maurice's cold voice echoed in the empty room.
For more than an hour, he had been pacing restlessly from the chair he had been occupying to the window. He did not cease to watch over her, though, hoping to observe any reaction on her part. But watching her would obviously not make her wake up, even if he insisted on it.
Tiredly, he lent on the wall, releasing a small groan of frustration. Angie chose that moment to come into the room with a cup of tea in hand.
'This would do you good…', she came near, brushing his arm as she left the cup on the table.
He took the cup immediately and gave a grateful look to the woman that never once had left his side.
It was then when a small hand began moving, searching for a familiar touch. A set of large hazel eyes lazily opened up. She looked at the ceiling, confused. She did not recognize the place. Slowly, she tossed between the sheets and managed to sit up. When she looked to her right she believed that she had arrived in Heaven at last. Yes, she had achieved her goal. She had died and gained her reward. It was Erik. He was sipping some tea with closed-eye exhaustion. Beside him there was a young girl. Who was she? She seemed quite close to him…
That was precisely what brought her to reality.
She tried to call him…
But no sound ever left her throat.