"Raoul, I can't stand it any longer! You can't keep hovering over me like this. I'm not glass; I'm not going to break."
"I know that you feel like I'm sheltering you Christine, but I don't know what else to do. Ever since that night…you haven't been yourself. You cry at night, you stay in your room all day…you flinch whenever I come near you.""
"I'm sorry if it hurts you."
"Please Christine, this isn't about me. I'm worried about you. Tell me what I need to do to help you."
"I don't know what to do. Just give me some time and try to be patient with me. And remember that no matter how I behave, I love you. I will never regret loving you."
Raoul woke from his dream, finding that the hand he had felt upon his shoulder was, in reality, a tingling itch. He reached up to scratch it, but found that he was unable to move his arms. He opened his eyes and looked down in horror, realizing that he was being restrained with a straight jacket. He looked around his bare room, finding only a single small window in the door. Raoul rushed forward and pressed his face against the glass.
"Someone help me! I don't belong here!" he screamed, his breath forming puffs of fog on the cold glass.
Raoul threw himself back against the wall when a hand slammed against the window. "Keep it down!"
Raoul slid to the floor, the full realization of where he was finally hitting him. They must have taken him to the Asylum de Bicêtre. Hidden in a secluded corner of Paris, it was an ominous building that echoed with the screams of the disturbed. He had heard stories of the treatment that the patients received there. He knew that some were put on display as part of a twisted freak show. Surely they couldn't do the same to him; he wasn't insane. Raoul couldn't fight back the fear that consumed his heart. But despite the grim circumstances in which he now found himself, his personal pain was overshadowed by his anguish for his wife and son. His heart wrenched, believing that he was responsible for their plight. In the back of his mind, he once again heard the tiny voice that plagued him in his moments of silent self-doubt. You have failed them both. You're nothing more than a useless coward. Perhaps they will both be better off without you.
Raoul was grateful for the sound of a key in the lock which distracted him from his self-imposed torment. The doctor that had helped bring him there entered the room, a tall, muscular man following behind him.
"Good morning, Monsieur de Chagny. Do you remember who I am?"
"You're the doctor…from the other night," he answered tensely.
"That's correct. I'm Dr. Bridot. Do understand why you are here?"
"Because of what I said… about my wife. You believe I'm insane."
"You've suffered a very serious traumatic event, Monsieur. I believe that this could be the cause of your delusions. You want your wife to be alive, so you created a scenario in which she was not dead, but being held captive somewhere. Your mind deceived you," he spoke matter-of-factly. "But hopefully, with some treatment, we'll be able to help you accept reality and abandon these illusory beliefs."
With a gesture from the doctor, the other man stepped forward and lifted Raoul to his feet. Raoul stole glances into the other rooms as he was forced down the hall. His stomach churned, bile rising up in his throat. These people looked like prisoners of war, bruised and emaciated, their eyes glazed over. Raoul was so absorbed in shocked disgust that he hadn't noticed when they arrived at a large iron door. He was pushed inside, stumbling to his knees. In the middle of the room in which he now sat was a large tub. It was filled with water that appeared slightly brown. Chunks of ice floated amongst the dirt, catching the candlelight and causing it to dance within the water.
"This is what we call 'cold-water immersion therapy'. We have found it successful in calming the mind and reducing manic behavior," Dr. Bridot said, adding more ice to the tub. "Andrew, please prepare Monsieur de Chagny for his treatment," he directed his assistant.
Raoul took a few nervous steps backward as Andrew approached him.
"Remember now, Monsieur, this is for your benefit," he spoke with a deep voice.
For a large man, Andrew was surprisingly agile. He caught Raoul off-guard, tackling him to the ground. With quick hands he removed Raoul's clothes, leaving him naked on the cold stone floor.
"I believe we are ready to begin," Dr. Bridot said signaling to Andrew, who grabbed hold of Raoul's arms and dragged him toward the tub.
"Please, Monsieur de Chagny, relax," the doctor said, trying to calm Raoul's struggles. "I understand your fear. Most of our patients resist their first few treatments. This should help you," he added, once again injecting Raoul with a sedative.
Even as the drug began to take effect, Raoul was fully conscious of what was being done to him; behind his frozen eyes, his mind was absorbing every detail. He felt the icy water cover him as he was lowered into the tub. A hand held him under as the last breath within his lungs escaped. Uselessly he willed his arms to move, finally slipping into black unconsciousness.
The days ran together, an indistinguishable mix of physical pain, emotional torment, and drug-induced stupors. Raoul began to feel himself slipping away as the treatments marched on ceaselessly. He would have retreated completely into his own mind, had his opportunity for escape not come early one morning. Andrew had entered Raoul's cell to prepare him for the day's treatment. He removed Raoul's straight jacket and led him into the hall. A commotion in another room grabbed Andrew's attention for a brief moment. Fortunately for Raoul, his treatments had done nothing to diminish his reflexes. In a split-second Raoul had sprinted to the end of the hall. With a strained effort he burst through the doors, the sunlight almost blinding him after all the time he had spent in the darkness of his prison.
Raoul breathlessly reached his home, collapsing inside. "Henriette," he called in a hoarse voice.
"Monsieur!" she exclaimed in surprise, rushing forward and helping Raoul to a chair. "Mon Dieu! You are never going to believe what has happened," she beamed.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Henriette stepped to the side, turning her head towards the doorway and grinning brightly. Raoul's eyes followed her gaze and he froze in shock.
"Christine?" his voice cracked.
His wife stood in the doorway holding Christophe, a soft smile upon her face. She walked up to Raoul and gently caressed his cheek, wiping away the crystal tears. His eyes didn't leave hers as he stood and pulled her close to him.
"How?" he asked, barely able to speak.
"You're my husband. Did you honestly think anything could keep me away from you? Now we can be a family again," she answered, running her fingers through Christophe's hair.
"He doesn't appear to making much improvement," Dr. Bridot said to Andrew as they watched Raoul through the small window in his cell. "His fantasies seem to have grown increasingly prevalent. I'm going in to speak with him."
Andrew locked the door behind Dr. Bridot as he squatted down beside Raoul. "Monsieur de Chagny? Monsieur?" he spoke.
Slowly, Raoul lifted his head and his eyes met the steely grey eyes of the doctor.
"Monsieur, are you prepared to discuss your wife?"
Raoul answered him in a lethargic voice, "My wife was murdered; she's gone."