Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. If you thought Christine and Angel's escape from Paris would go smoothly...you were wrong.
Rooftop Rendezvous Rejouez
Cheers and applause rang throughout the Opera Populaire as Christine took her last bow, the enthusiastic crowd pelting the stage with flowers. Straightening, she looked out into the sea of smiling faces and allowed herself a long shiver of excitement. This was where she belonged, on the stage, baring her heart and soul through her song.
As the curtains finally closed, she handed the bouquet of flowers the managers had given her to the first person she saw. She could feel their confused gaze on her as she gathered her skirts up and ran toward her dressing room. After all, she had a train to catch.
Cecilié met her at her dressing room door and followed her inside. "You were magnificent, Christine. I've never heard you sing so well."
Christine beamed at her. "Did he see? Did my Angel hear? Box 5 was empty tonight—"
Cecilié turned Christine away from her so she could unfasten her dress. "I'm sure he was there, Christine, seeing as the Vicomte was not." For a moment, Christine wondered why Raoul had not been to the performance. He had been to all the others, even after she had broken their engagement. She was relieved at not having to deal with him, but it did strike her as somewhat out of character for him. Perhaps he had finally given up in his misguided attempts to 'protect' her after yesterday's incident. The back of Christine's dress unfastened, Cecilié loosened her corset laces as well, then pushed her in the direction of the changing screen as a knock came at the door.
"Your traveling clothes are already laid out, my dear. I'll send whoever it is away." Christine heard the roar of voices from the crowded hallway as the door was opened then sudden silence as it was shut again.
She changed quickly into a blouse and loose traveling skirt without a bustle. Coming out from behind the screen, she sat down at the vanity and took her hair down. It was only when she was reaching for her brush that she noticed the single red rose atop the dressing table.
A warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. She picked up the rose, inhaling its soft, sweet scent, running her fingers over the black satin ribbon. "Angel..." she whispered. He hadn't forgotten their little tradition. She set the flower down then spied a note that had been lying beneath it. Opening the folded piece of paper, she read, "Meet me on the roof after the performance."
A smile crossed her lips. Her husband was far and away the more romantic of the two of them. She had thoughts only of how quickly she could leave for the train station, while he wanted one last moonlight moment with her and the beauty that was Paris at night. Quickly she scrubbed off her heavy stage makeup and ran the brush through her hair. Picking up her jacket from the chair, she put it on, not bothering with buttoning it in her haste. Swinging her cloak over her shoulders, she plucked the rose from the vanity top and stepped out into the hallway.
She wound her way through the crush of people, nodding politely at their compliments on her performance. Finally, she made it to the stairs and began to climb. Slightly out of breath and several minutes later, she stood before the door leading to the rooftop. Memories came surging back, the night she had betrayed her Angel a knife wound to her heart that was quickly replaced by the remembrance of his complete and utter joy when she had told him she would marry him.
Tonight Christine would wrap her arms around him and take a last long look at the city and the opera house that had been their home for so many years. She would tell him she loved him and kiss him under the Paris stars one more time. Well, perhaps she would kiss him more than once. A giddy excitement fizzed inside her, reminding her of the bubbles of champagne. She couldn't keep the grin from her face as she flung open the door and rushed into the night.
The roof was deserted.
Christine came to a stop behind the statue of Apollo, a furrow creasing her brow. Perhaps her Angel had been delayed. Or perhaps it was a game, though she didn't think they had enough time for games. "Angel?" she called softly, the wind whistling around the eaves and making her shiver. There was no reply.
She crossed the roof to his favorite hiding place, the statue of Pegasus furthest from the door to the opera house. There was no sign of him in the shadows. Walking back toward Apollo, she approached the edge of the roof, peering down past the wide ledge two stories below to the people and carriages leaving the front of the opera house. Where was her Angel?
The bells of the Madeleine began to ring, chiming the half-hour. Eleven-thirty! Their train left in a little over an hour! Whirling around, Christine headed for the exit from the roof as a figure moved within the shadows. She gasped then laughed shakily. "There you are."
The man came toward her. But instead of her Angel, Raoul de Chagny stepped into the light. "Surprised, Christine?"
She took a step back in shock, her mind whirling, trying to fit the pieces into some kind of whole that made sense.
Raoul moved toward her slowly, his expression darker than she had ever seen it. Her gaze took in his closed fists, the sword that hung at his side. "You lied to me, Christine," he hissed between clenched teeth. "You told me he was dead."
She looked down at the rose in her hand and things suddenly became very clear. She felt their freedom, so nearly in their grasp, slipping away. Tears filled her eyes as she realized she held her Angel's life, their life together, in her hands. It was up to her to save them both.
"You—you left me the rose and the note?" Christine stammered, drawing on her fear to make her reactions believable. "Why would you do such a thing? Why would you make me believe my Angel was still alive?"
Raoul came to a halt in front of her. "If he were truly dead, Christine, if, as I have so often been told in the past weeks, 'he died in your arms' then you wouldn't be here. You would have known it was a trick."
One she had blindly fallen for. She closed her eyes, feeling tears seep through her lashes. Raoul took hold of her by the shoulders and shook her. "Enough of your games, Christine! Where is he?"
She opened her eyes but didn't raise them, instead staring at the rose in her hands. "He's dead, Raoul. When I saw the rose I thought—I thought I had been wrong. I thought he'd gone away, to get well, and now he'd come for me. Or maybe, maybe he truly was an angel and now—and now..." She finally looked up at Raoul, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "How could you do this to me, Raoul? How could you be so cruel? I loved him!"
The first hint of uncertainty flared in his eyes and he let go of her, taking a step back. As quickly as it appeared, his hesitation vanished at her declaration of love. "He is a monster, Christine! A hideous, deformed freak whose parents didn't even want him! He's a foul, evil fiend, a murderer! And you think you love him! You are a child, Christine, a foolish, witless child! He will destroy you as surely as he has destroyed all that's good!"
Rage surged like a stormy sea through Christine. Never had she felt such anger, such fury. She lashed out at Raoul, her left hand striking him hard across the face. As she reared back to hit him again, he grabbed her wrist. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. He pulled her hand up between them, staring at it, an expression of what seemed to Christine to be horror on his face. For a moment she wondered what was so astonishing about her hand, and then she knew.
"Whose ring is this, Christine?" Raoul whispered, his face slowly turning a bright crimson. When she didn't answer, he shook her. "Whose ring is it!" he screamed.
The answer came not from Christine, but from the shadows behind her. "Mine."