Thanks so much everyone. Over 50 reviews and only up to chapter 4. I think this calls for a new chapter.

Missions and Missives

Jumping down from his sleigh, Raoul walked into the opera house's stables, leaving his steeds under his servant's care. Immediately noticing the two black carriage horses lazily chewing hay in their stalls, he sought out the stable manager. "When were these horses returned?" he demanded to know.

The grizzled horseman ran a hand through his hair, bits of hay floating to the ground. "Don't know, Monsieur. Found 'em in their stalls this morning, harnesses still on 'em, but none the worse for wear."

"And the carriage?"

"Sitting in the pass-through. I put it away." He pointed to where the carriage was backed into an open bay.

Walking over to it, Raoul examined it carefully. There was no hint of where it had been, no mud splattered on the underside, no brush or leaves caught in the spokes of the wheels. Climbing into the seats, Raoul found no glove or scarf left behind by a careless occupant. The only thing out of place was a dark stain on the leather of the seat that faced the rear of the carriage. Raoul licked his finger and rubbed at the spot. His finger came away red. "Blood…." So the Phantom had been in the carriage after his duel with Raoul at the cemetery.

But if the Phantom had been badly wounded, and seated here, who had driven the carriage back to the opera house? Where had it been between yesterday morning and the time it had been returned last night?

And more important still, where was Christine?

Damn Madame Giry! He had taken her at her word. Swearing under his breath, Raoul strode through the backstage area of the opera house, chorus members and stagehands scattering before him at the murderous expression on his face. At least he did not need to ask where to find the ballet mistress. "Madame Giry!" he roared as he entered the rehearsal hall.

The dance class came to a sudden halt, ballerinas squeaking and whispering behind their hands. Madame Giry thumped her cane on the floor. "Girls! Girls!" With a shake of her head, she gestured to one of the older dancers to take over the class then started in the direction of her office, not bothering to see if the Vicomte followed her.

"Madame Giry, where is Christine?"

She looked up in surprise as she moved behind her desk. "I do not know, Monsieur. As far as I know, she has not returned."

"Yet the carriage she left in yesterday is back in the stable. Imagine that, the horses found their way back all by themselves." Raoul was barely keeping his temper in check. He had had just about all he could take of this conspiracy of silence among the performers. And yet, he could see no other way to find Christine save through Madame Giry as he was the outsider here. She knew the opera house and its occupants; he did not.

"I know nothing of the horses, Vicomte. If Christine has returned, she has not seen fit to contact me." Madame Giry crossed the room and opened the door. "Meg!" When her daughter approached, the woman stepped outside her office to speak with her. "I will be but a moment."

Raoul waited impatiently, spending the time trying to read the correspondence on her desk upside down. There didn't appear to be any notes from the Opera Ghost. When he realized she hadn't returned after several minutes, he re-entered the rehearsal hall. The ballet mistress was across the room speaking with the pianist. "Madame Giry!"

She glanced at him, as if surprised he was still there. "Pardon me, Vicomte. There was a question about the music—"

"I don't give a damn about the music! I want to know what the Phantom has done with my fiancée!" At that, all chatter in the room stopped and Raoul could feel every eye fixing on him. He glared at the little ballerinas.

"Calm yourself, Monsieur. I have sent Meg to look for her. She knows all of Christine's hiding places. If she is here, Meg will find her." She escorted him to a chair along one of the walls. "Please, sit, have some tea, and see what fine dancers your patronage has given the Opera Populaire."

Taking the offered seat, Raoul folded his arms across his chest, not bothering to try and hide the scowl on his face. If Christine did not turn up soon, he would take the opera house apart brick by brick until he found her.

Something woke Christine. She lay still for a moment, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings. A low moan sounded right next to her ear. Startled, she sat bolt upright in the bed, nearly tumbling out of it in her haste to get away from whomever was sharing the blankets with her.

She was standing on the floor, shaking, thinking vaguely of hunting for a candle, when the soft cry came again. The man in the bed rolled toward her, giving her a glimpse of his tormented face. Her Angel! How could she have forgotten yesterday's hell?

Leaning over him, she laid her hand on his forehead. He was burning up with fever. "No, no, oh no," Christine whispered. Damn his stubbornness, and damn her weakness for going along with him. They should have remained at Dr. Jarred's. Panic fluttered in her chest for several seconds then Christine straightened up, taking a deep breath. "It's up to you," she told herself. "You can do this. If you do not, there is no one else to take care of him." The thought of losing her Angel now, after everything they had been through the day before, brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back. She had to be strong.

First things first. She crossed the room to the wall and turned up the gas jet, then lit several candles, placing them around the bed so she would have light to work by. Leaning over the Phantom once again, she touched his face, calling "Angel" softly. He flinched slightly at the feel of her fingertips against his cheek, but didn't awaken. She called him more loudly, tapping his face this time.

Gasping, his eyelids opened, and Christine saw the confusion she had felt upon awakening in his eyes. "You're safe, Angel," she told him, watching the tension go out of his body at her words. "Safe, but sick. I need to look at your wound."

He sat up slowly, wincing as he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He wobbled precariously, nearly falling back onto the mattress again, grabbing hold of Christine to steady himself. She suddenly found herself between his legs, his hands on her hips. There was a moment of stunned awkwardness then Christine laid her arms around his shoulders, embracing him. When she stepped back, he looked up at her, the expression on his face one of bittersweet longing. She shivered, feeling the same hunger whispering inside her.

She laid her hand against his cheek, and the heat that met her palm reminded her of what she should be doing. Unwinding the bandage around his waist, she groaned inwardly at the sight of the red, inflamed flesh around the stitches. She touched it gently, feeling him jerk and suck in a sharp breath. His skin burned hotter here, and she knew without having to consult Dr. Jarred's instructions that did not bode well.

Rewrapping the gauze, she straightened. "It's infected. I must send for Dr. Jarred."

The Phantom caught her arm as she turned away. "No."

"No? You heard what he told us last night. If the wound turns septic, you will die, Angel." She looked around the lair, his sanctuary. "Are you afraid of another person knowing where you live? I shall lead him here blind-folded, if that is the case."

Emotions raced across his face, and Christine was surprised at how easily she could read them. His solitary life had not taught him to keep his true feelings from showing on his countenance. Fear and shame and something she thought might be despair flitted through his eyes. She tried a different approach. "You must be in terrible pain. If I were hurt, sick, in danger of dying, you would send for help, wouldn't you? You wouldn't let me die, doing nothing to aid me?"

His eyes fairly blazed with anger at her words. "Of course not, Christine! I love you!"

"Then why would you ask me to let you suffer? Do you think I do not care for you?" She tried to keep her tone gentle, but he brought his hands up to hide his face and she knew her words had struck a nerve. "Angel, please." Grasping his hands, she pulled them down, kneeling so she could look into his eyes. They shone brightly with tears he fought to hold back. He is sick, she told herself, sick and drugged and frightened. "Even if you tell me 'no', Angel, I will still send for Dr. Jarred. You would do no less for me."

For a long moment, they stared at each other then he nodded. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him briefly, his fever burning her through the pajamas she wore. Once he was settled back in the bed, shivering under the covers, Christine took a candle and went into the other room in search of pen and paper.

She had just seated herself at the Phantom's worktable and begun to write when she heard someone hiss her name. Startled, she glanced around the room, but saw no one. "Christine…" the voice called again, and she knew it wasn't her Angel. The timbre was too high and why would he whisper? Rising, she crossed to the far side of the grotto, where the covered mirrors leaned against the wall. The voice was coming from behind one of the mirrors!

"Who's calling my name?" she asked, reaching for a candlestick in case she would have to defend herself and her Angel.

"Christine, it's me, Meg. Mother sent me, but I can't figure out how to open the door."

Christine set down the candlestick and pulled the drape off the mirror. Running her fingers around the sides of the frame as she had seen the Phantom do when he returned her to her dressing room, she found a place that felt slightly raised. Pressing on the bump caused the mirror to spring open toward her. Christine jumped back, and found herself staring at an equally surprised Meg.

Stepping through the mirror, her arms laden with a large bundle, Meg stopped and stared, her eyes wide in wonder. "Oh, Christine, when you told me about this place I tried to imagine it, but I never dreamed it would be this beautiful!"

Christine smiled and hugged her friend. "I'm so glad you're here, Meg. I need you to take a note back to go to Dr. Jarred. But what do you have there?"

"Clothes for you, and bedding, and food," she answered, going back through the mirror and returning with a basket.

"Blankets, just what I needed," Christine said, dumping the clothes out of the bundle onto the floor and carrying the quilts up the stairs into the bedroom. The Phantom lay curled on his side in the bed, tremors shaking him. Adding the extra blankets to the one already covering him, she helped him sit up and drink some water.

"Christine, what's going on?" he asked, his eyes cloudy and unfocused.

"Madame Giry's daughter, Meg, is here. She brought us some things, and will take the note to Dr. Jarred." She set the water glass down on the table. "Do you need a shot of morphine?"

Though the Phantom was obviously in great pain, he shook his head. "No, it makes it hard for me to think, makes me want to sleep, and I can't help you help me if I'm unconscious."

It hurt her to see him in such distress, but she couldn't fault his logic. "All right then. I'll finish the note to Dr. Jarred and I'll be right back."

Rising, Christine crossed the room to where Meg stood in the doorway. The other girl waited until they were back down the stairs before she asked, "He looked so sick. Is he dying, Christine?"

She ran her hands over her face and through her tangled hair. "I don't know, I don't know. That's why I need Dr. Jarred to come here as soon as he can." Picking up a pen, she dipped it in the ink well and finished the note to the physician.

"Christine, that's not possible. It's been snowing without stopping since yesterday morning. It's up to my knees outside. Paris is at a standstill. No one will go out to deliver the message to him, and if they could, he would not be able to get back here." At Christine's look of dismay, Meg added, "And Raoul's upstairs making a big fuss. If he does not hear from you soon, he will come looking for you, and down here is the first place he will come."

No. No, no, no. This was not happening. Her Angel was not going to die. She would not allow it. Christine buried her face in her hands for a moment, thinking desperately. Her head came up and she fixed Meg with a stare. "You said Raoul is here. If Paris is at a standstill, how did he get here? Surely he did not spend the night in the opera house. I would have noticed that when we returned last night."

Meg shook her head. "No, he came by sleigh this morning."

Grabbing another piece of paper, Christine began to write furiously. "Here is what you will do, Meg. You will take this note from me to Raoul. You will tell him that I am sick with grief and exhaustion and whatever else you can think of and that I wish to see Dr. Jarred right away." She sealed the letter, wrote "Raoul" on the outside of it, and handed it to Meg. Taking up a fresh sheet of parchment, she wrote a second note to Dr. Jarred and sealed it. "You will give this note to Raoul to bear to Dr. Jarred."

The look Meg gave Christine was quizzical. "Christine, I don't—" Realization of what Christine was doing dawned in her eyes. "Oh, Christine," she said, "you are a devious, devious girl."

"Desperate, more likely. Now, go, Meg, hurry. Oh! Please return after you've delivered the letters, and you remember that awful tea your mother used to make us drink every time we were sick? If you could bring the ingredients for it, I would be forever in your debt."

Stooping to give Christine a hug, Meg said, "I will fly up the stairs. You can put your faith in me."

"I do, Meg, I do." Christine clasped the other girl's hand tightly then let her go, watching until she disappeared through the mirror.

Raoul sat in the back of his sleigh, the wind chilling his face as his horses plowed through the drifts urged on by his driver. He unfolded the note from Christine Meg had given him, reading again the words written in a hasty, smudged hand.

My Angel is dead, Raoul. He died in my arms mere hours ago at a physician's, and already the grief consumes me. Please, Raoul, do not ask to see me. I need to be alone right now.

Her signature was smeared with what Raoul presumed to be tears. How she could grieve for that monster, that murderer, he did not know. And if what Meg had told him about the state she had found Christine in was true, then her foolish attempt to help her Angel had made her ill. At least she had sense enough to call for a doctor. After this was all over with, after Christine was well, he would take her away from the opera house, away from those people and their ghosts and their secrets. He would take care of her and make sure nothing like this ever happened to Christine again.

"Can't you go any faster?" he called to his driver.

"No, sir. We might be able to get there quicker if I pushed the team, but then the horses would never make it back without a good day's rest," the man answered.

"Very well. Do what you can." Tucking the letter from Christine away in his coat pocket with the missive to the doctor, he settled back in the seat to wait impatiently.