A/N: Chapter two is up! Enjoy, and, as always, R&R!
Chapter Two
The Vicomte and Vicomtess were prepared for their trip within the hour. The carriage was packed and, despite the rain beating down even harder, they were still heading to Paris. Christine, grinning like a child, allowed herself to be lead to the carriage, a protective umbrella over her head, and climbed inside, followed by Raoul. The door latched shut, and they were off, the horses splashing through the ever-growing rain puddles.
Seeing Christine's joy at his decision lessened Raoul's anxiety very little. He couldn't help but continue to feel concern, though. What if Erik was still alive and he did show up? What if he kidnapped Christine again? What if he killed her? The what ifs and maybes stormed his mind, taking over like giant armies of conspiracy. Just the thought of that man made Raoul hot with anger. Watching his beloved Christine being deceived and forced to choose between them had disgusted him. She deserved so much better than that.
But did she really want something better than that? Raoul had tried, vainly for the past three years to push this suspicion out of his mind, but he knew it would never be truly gone. Did Christine, his Christine, love that--that monster? He sometimes wondered. There were times when he would find her gazing out the window, tears in the corners of her eyes, or at the piano, just running her fingers over the keys. And, occasionally, when he tried to kiss her, or even hug her, she would pull away and stare blankly at him, as if she were no longer capable of such an emotion. He doubted she realized that such things were noticeable. In fact, he doubted she was aware of her own behavior half of the time, and that worried him.
More than anything else, the kiss she had shared with Erik haunted him. It seemed so much more real, and passionate than any kiss she had ever given him, almost as if she was giving him her heart with the kiss. Putting all other things aside, the kiss alone made him wonder where her heart truly was. With him, the man she had married, or with the Phantom of the Opera. Was it possible? He dared to take a sideways glance at his wife.
Christine was peering out the window, with suppressed excitement, her chocolate curls bouncing with the ruts and bumps the carriage rolled across. The picture of innocence. She seemed so pure, so completely unaware of his doubts that, for a split second, Raoul himself forgot them. He shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts. He was being paranoid. She had married him, hadn't she? These thoughts swirling in his mind, Raoul allowed the creaking and swaying of the carriage to lull him into an uneasy sleep…
"Did you really think," Sneered Christine, "For one second, that I loved you?" She laughed loudly, cruelly. "How could I?"
The room came into focus slowly. It was Erik's home, or lair, in Raoul's mind. He was tied to the portcullis, a Punjab lasso around his neck and Christine's words were directed, not at the 'ghost', but at him. She was holding the other end of the lasso firmly in her hands, her knuckles turning white from squeezing it so tight. Erik was watching from above, on the island, hatred fixed on his marred face.
"Christine." panted Raoul, "What have I done to make you hate me so?" Her smirk changed into a snarl, absolute loathing spilling from her mouth with every word.
"You took the music away!" her voice grew shill as she fought to maintain control. "It's gone and I can't hear it. And it's all your fault!" She jerked on the rope and he choked, trying to keep breathing, trying to stay alive. Carlotta appeared at Christine's elbow and started to sing, so loudly that Raoul and, even Erik winced, despite their distance from the diva. The mirrors cracked and the pebbles fell from the ceiling. Although she was standing right next to her, Christine didn't bat an eye.
"I can't hear it!" she screamed. "It's your fault, Raoul! I hate you!" She tugged on the rope again and Raoul jerked his chin up, desperate to keep living. Suddenly, Carlotta was joined by Piangi, Meg Giry and the rest of the opera. Waves formed in the lake, product of their voices. Bigger clumps of rock fell from the cave walls and ceiling, splashing into the waters.
"I can't hear the music!" she shrieked. "No matter what, I still can't hear it!" The crowd grew louder, almost as if to try and help her hear, but it was no use.
"The music is dead, I can't hear It." chanted Christine. "The music is dead and you are to blame!"
Abruptly, the multitude stopped its ghastly song and a single voice floated up from the silence.
Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation,
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination.
It was Erik, slowly coming down from his island to the water's edge. His voice was impeccable and even Raoul had to admit, he sounded like an angel.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses,
Helpless to resist the notes I write.
Christine's eyes grew wide, and she turned to him, watching intently. "I can hear you." she whispered, awed. He stretched out his hand to her and she looked at it for a long moment.
"No! Christine, don't go with him!" Raoul managed to get out with the rope constricting his breathing. She yanked on it again to silence him.
For I compose the Music of the Night.
Christine took his hand, singing along and the mass began to sing with them. She maintained her grip on the rope with her right hand and stepped towards her Angel. The rope tightened and Raoul's vision started to fade.
Slowly, gently, Night unfurls its splendor.
Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender.
Erik led Christine up onto the dry floor. The lasso was now so tight; Raoul could not breathe at all. It was only a matter of time before he ran out of oxygen. The walls trembled and rocks fell into the churning waters.
Hearing is believing, Music is deceiving;
Hard as lightning, soft as candlelight,
By this point, the rope was pulled so taut that you could tightrope walk on it. Raoul was a dead man and he knew it, but, before he gasped out his last breath, Christine turned and looked at him scathingly.
Dare you trust the Music of the Night?
"Raoul! Wake up, we're here!" Christine shook her husband and he jerked awake with a start. The dream was still vivid in his mind, but he tried to put out of his mind, smiling tiredly at the excited girl. Nonetheless, he was rather shaky as he climbed out of the carriage, Christine behind him, looking concerned. The busboy dipped into a low bow.
"Welcome," he said. "To the Hotel Populaire."
A/N: How was it? Be honest; that dream sequence was total improv right there. Hope you enjoyed it. Please R&R and the next chapter will be up quicker!