Chapter 2 – Details and Dilemmas
The angry cries of the mob thundered and echoed along the vast cavernous walls, burrowing incessantly into Christine's mind. She could see the lair ahead of her, but it was not as close as she had hoped it would be. Her efforts at using the long pole to guide the craft along the water were ineffectual at best. "Ridiculous!" she cursed the boat and the interminable crawl at which it progressed. She threw it aside in frustration, and then took a moment to steady herself. Hiking her skirt, she held her breath and plunged into the lake without a second thought. To her surprise, the water was not nearly as deep as she had perceived it to be; her feet brushing against the silty bottom only proved as much. It was however, chilly. She gritted her teeth as she waded through the water, determination driving her toward finding her Angel.
She soon found herself at the landing that marked his home. She glanced across the lake from whence she came, beyond the portcullis, and spotted the amber-white lights of several torches being cast against the stony walls. There's little time. She turned toward the Phantom's lair and suddenly found herself face to face with Meg Giry.
The ballerina stared blankly at her for a moment, her features framed by the light of many candles. She could not comprehend that her friend had just pulled herself out of the dark waters before her. "Christine!" she grabbed her tightly in a surprised hug, despite instantly becoming soaked to the skin also. "We were so worried! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where is le Vicomte? Where is—" Her flurry of questions ceased immediately as she thought about the Phantom. Her gaze drifted down to what she had forgotten lay within her grasp. An object of both myth and legend to the Opera Populaire and its corps de ballet, she stared in fascination at a white half mask. "I found this beside a curious music box…nothing more." she said quietly, as she held it up.
"I have to find him, Meg!" she pleaded, holding onto the girl's shoulders. "There's no time for me to explain why…just know that I need to find him right away!"
Meg was flustered. "Perhaps…" she paused, wondering what the consequences would be should she share her suspicions.
Her hesitation only made Christine more anxious. She squeezed Meg's arms, her eyes welling with tears from the sight of the Phantom's mask and all it represented. "Please…if you know anything…"
Meg raised her arm, pointing toward the remnants of a mirror in the far corner. "…through there?" she was finally able to finish.
The mirror was unlike the others. It stood apart from the rest, a darkness looming beyond its battered frame--where it potentially led seemed to be a mystery all its own.
"Of course, that has to be it!" She rushed toward it, thinking back on the sounds of shattering glass she had heard while Raoul brought them across the lake.
Meg chased after her. "I don't understand what's going on, but if you're going in there after him, do be careful! You're like a sister to me, Christine. If anything were to happen to you, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for letting you go through with this."
They stood before the entrance, or exit; however one wished to perceive it.
"I'll be alright, Meg. You trust me, don't you?" she bent forward to retrieve one of the heavy drapes that lay upon the floor beside them.
"I'm more concerned of what he will do if you find him," she said nervously.
"Let me worry about that. For now, just do me this one favor. Once I'm inside, cover this mirror as best you can." She handed Meg the drape, and then placed a hand against her upper arm. "I'm counting on you now."
"I promise to do this, mon ami."
"And I promise to contact you when this is all over."
Taking a long, deep breath to steady her nerves, she stared into the darkness before her. A momentary fear gripped her as she realized for the last time the life she was throwing away with these chaotic and rash actions. Her thoughts then drifted back as she remembered the kiss she had given her Angel and the promise she had made in that simple act.
It was enough. It was all.
She dismissed her reluctance and stepped swiftly into the passageway.
Meg immediately covered the mirror, tucking the drape around the edges to look as much as possible as if it were never disturbed. With her foot, she brushed away the shards of glass she was standing on, merging them to either side with the smaller fragments in front of the other broken mirrors. As she finished, she heard the sloshing of the mob making their way through the shallow waters and onto the banks of the lair. They cried out in one voice now.
"MURDERER! MONSTER! DEMON! He must be stopped!"
Their chanting was unnerving to poor little Meg's ears. Despite her love for Christine, she was unsure if she had the strength to stand up to hundreds of angry people. Trying to find her courage, she wiped at her face and turned to face the approaching men. "He's not here! I've looked myself!" she tried to yell over the unruly crowd as they came into view.
Torches were held high, reflecting on the many outraged faces that came for revenge and justice. "We've come to hang him with his own noose! We want this creature's head! He will pay!"
Several men moved past Meg, forcefully pushing her aside. She fell hard against the organ, her vision quickly blurring as her head connected solidly against it.
They began knocking over everything in their path and smashing whatever they could with their booted heels. Others joined in on the destruction, holding their torches to the scattered finery and determined to destroy all of the Phantom's possessions.
Meg felt a hand cradle her head gingerly. "Are you alright?" A soothing voice asked with concern.
She could barely make out his face. "Vicomte?" she rubbed at her eyes in disbelief.
"Oui, it is I. Are you—" Before he could finish his train of thought, he began to feel something seeping between the fingers of his hand he held beneath her head. "Mon dieu, you're bleeding!" he exclaimed in alarm.
Trying not to fuss, she propped herself up, slightly disoriented as the world seemed to swim in circles around her. "It's…it's not too bad, monsieur," she attempted to bring herself up, only to collapse weakly to the ground.
Raoul moved to cushion her fall, carefully bringing her to the floor again.
"S'il vous plaît, we must do something. They will not stop hunting for the Opera ghost and if they find him with Christine, there's no telling what they are capable of doing to her as well. I can't bear the thought of any harm coming to her!" Fearful tears began to escape her bright blue eyes.
He cursed silently. "I feared this would happen. That's why I came back…though hesitantly." Looking in the immediate area around them, his eyes fastened upon something lying on the floor undisturbed. "Do not cry, mademoiselle. I have an idea. Just pray it works."
Standing up, he walked a few feet away from her and reached down to take the hated mask from the floor.
With his back to her, Meg watched Raoul curiously. He soon turned to face the crowd and pulled his pistol from his side. Firing two shots into the air, he managed to catch everyone's attention instantly.
They turned their unruly eyes upon him, the disturbance slowing their movements to a hushed silence.
He met their stares evenly, holding his pistol at arms length and commanding their attention. "You can all go home now. I've dealt with the monster that dwelt here."
A few heads nodded in approval at his words, while others held their doubts.
"Rest assured, mes amis, he died sniveling at my feet!" he stated with unwavering conviction.
"We want PROOF he is dead! We won't leave without proof!" the mob roared in many voices.
"HERE is your proof!" he tossed the Phantom's mask across the room, watching as its alabaster visage traveled through the air.
A flash of white was all the crowd could make out before it fell and slid across the porous ground, finally settling before their feet. There it lay, ghostly and mocking--partially covered in a crimson hue.
"I shot him in the head and kicked his foul carcass into the lake!" he spat out in feigned disgust and pointed out over the black waters beyond the lair.
The mob looked at him a moment and again spoke amongst each another with questioning looks and muttering voices.
"And what of Mademoiselle Daae?" A voice called out suspiciously from the very back, challenging the viscount's claim. His dark skin and unusual accent marked him instantly as a foreigner.
Something about the man's tone made Raoul curious as to what his involvement was in this night's events. He did not have the bearing of the rest of this rabble, but carried himself erect and proud.
The men around the stranger agreed with his outburst, wondering what exactly had become of their precious prima donna. They had overlooked that detail, in their haste to bring the Phantom and his lair to ruin.
"I sent her above ground to safety, before putting the creature out of its misery!" Raoul's face was grim in the ruddy light of the torches and fires, the stern look in his eyes leaving little to doubt his sincerity.
The foreigner held his stare for a long while, searching. Finally, he bowed his head once in acceptance, conceding any further questions. He swiftly spun and made his exit without another word.
It was not long before others began to follow. They slowly dispersed in silence, save for a few disappointed groans and muffled whispers. The many combustible objects in the lair were now burning merrily, and more than a few small and precious items had managed to find their way into a pocket or two. If the beast was dead, then there was no need to argue any further. The young man that stood before them was a well-respected nobleman and a lieutenant of the French Navy. It was his plan that had been set in motion in the first place; to be rid of the treacherous Phantom of the Opera once and for all. There was no reason for them to distrust his words.
As the last group of men disappeared past the iron grating, Raoul made his way back to Meg's side. He sat her up and inspected the wound to her head, drawing a sharp wince of pain from the woman. "I'm afraid this will require stitching. I shall escort you to the hospital and see that you are taken care of right away"
Without warning, she wrapped her small arms around him in overwhelming gratitude. "Oh, monsieur! Thank you for saving them! But how did you make it so real? The blood—"
"It was yours, mademoiselle…from your wound when I cradled your head. I made use of what little I could, and fortunately the fiend's mask lay conveniently nearby. Had I not been able to retrieve my pistol before making my way back to this godforsaken place, it would have been next to impossible to convince those men of that bastard's demise." He took a moment to look around him, smaller fires slowly burning themselves out. It's as harsh and as ugly as he is. "I ask that you not mistake my intentions. I did this for you and Christine. I will never have compassion for that savage! I owe him nothing!" he stated aloud in disdain. Still, I can't help but wonder how they escaped…
"No matter the reasons, I thank you, monsieur! Things could have been much worse without you here." She looked up at him and smiled. "I'm glad you came back and handled those crazed men. You were amazing!" she gushed emphatically and held onto him tighter.
He was taken aback at her sudden outpouring of affection and he could not fathom how much strength such a small girl could have. "Can…you stand?" he asked, beginning to feel uncomfortable within her hold.
As she tried to get her footing, she wobbled slightly, before falling back into Raoul's awaiting arms.
"It seems I will have to carry you, if you will permit me. The loss of blood has clearly made you unfit to travel unassisted."
She nodded once, allowing him to steady his arms about her, just before he swept her up and off the ground with ease.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the heavy drape that concealed Christine's exit, burning brightly now and fluttering in the flames--almost exposing the secret behind it. Smoothly, she shifted her weight so that Raoul was forced to adjust, turning him away from noticing it himself. She trusted the viscount to a certain degree, but she had made a promise to keep her friend's whereabouts private. And she would do so, no matter the circumstances.
"Try to relax. I'll have you in the care of a doctor in no time at all," he said with a slight reassuring smile at her, his eyes already looking off into the distance.
Within the strength of his arms, she clung to him. Comforted by his warmth, she closed her eyes and brought her silken blond head to rest against his chest. Maman will never believe this! What an amazing turn of events... she grinned in amusement. Her smile quickly faded as her eyes flashed open in further thought. And yet, once she finds out I was down here, I'll be submitted to doing kitchen work for the next several weeks! Never mind the extended hours she will undoubtedly add to my ballet instruction, in spite of it all! she sighed in unavoidable frustration.
Feeling her sudden tension within his grasp, Raoul resolved to quicken his pace, believing she was in more pain than he had realized.