Chapter 29

Shattering of the Spheres

"Christine…are you certain?"

She placed a placating hand on his ravaged cheek. She had learned quite quickly that a gentle touch did wonders for his unpredictable emotions. "Absolutely certain. I must do this, Erik. But I will return, I promise."

He smiled at her. "I know you will."

She could not help smiling at his utter conviction. How had she lived so long without this warm glow within her? She kissed him gently before leaving him in one of the many parlors on the first floor. Although Christine had been fascinated by rooms in which Erik had spent so much time and the instruments they contained, he had seemed eager to spend as much time away from there as possible.

As she stepped away and let the door close behind her, she felt a part of her longing to run back to his arms. But unlike the painful yearnings she had felt in the preceding months, this feeling warmed her soul and left her content.

"Christine." A voice beckoned to her from a door.

Her heart sank when she realized that it was not Cassandra who had spoken but her husband. Dr. Fell. The man to whom she had not spoken for over a month. The man to whom she had confessed so much. Yet for all their time together, he lingered as nothing more than a constant shadow within their mind. The man who had been grasping a blood-stained knife when she had last seen him in her mind's eye.

Christine was aware that she had stopped dead at the sound of his voice and gone pale. She knew it was too much to hope that Dr. Fell had not noticed her immediate reaction.

Something about him changed infinitesimally when it saw her fear. A slight relaxation in the posture perhaps, a softening in the eyes, and in that one moment Christine glimpsed the man that Cassandra had fallen in love with. She also noticed that it took considerable effort for him to appear as unguarded as he was.

She could appreciate more than anyone how difficult it was to remove one's mask.

Dr. Fell coughed. "I am very pleased to see you here, my dear. I trust that all of our inhabitants are making you feel at home?"

She showed only the slightest bit of surprise. He had known about Erik. Well of course he must have known! "Yes, monsieur. I…thank you for your hospitality."

"It is our pleasure. I wished to inform you that I took the liberty of having your wedding gown cleaned and pressed. It is ready whenever you desire its return."

"Thank you," she said again. She paused. "But that is not all that you wished to speak of to me, is it?"

"Indeed not," he said. "There is a matter of considerable importance that I wish to discuss with you. Am I correct in assuming that you are leaving to speak to Monsieur de Chagny?"

She had long ceased to show surprise over his uncanny ability to read minds. "Yes, monsieur."

"Do you trust me, Christine?"

She paused. Did she? He unnerved her. He unsettled her. There was so much about him that she knew she would never know. But he had listened to her when all she wanted to do was weep. And he had given her roses when she wallowed in her deepest dungeon of despair. And most importantly, Cassandra trusted him. Cassandra loved him.

"With my life," she replied. And she was rewarded with a rare glimpse of unmasked shock and surprise.

"Then come inside, Christine. We have much to discuss.

Clarice was walking through the main hallway dressed in a simple yet elegant mauve gown that allowed easy movement. Spring was well under way and she relished the absence of layers of petticoats.

All pleasant thoughts came to a standstill and she stopped dead as she saw Christine step out into the hallway. The younger woman's face was pale and fearful. Her lips were drawn into a thin, trembling line and she busied her hands with tying her bonnet to her head to disguise their similar shaking.

Clarice looked at the door from where she had emerged and froze when she recognized the entrance to her husband's study. No…no, he can't. Not now, not after everything, he can't have done anything that…

"Christine!"

The young woman started but smiled when she saw who it was. "Cassandra, I was just about to head out. But I'm glad I saw you before I did, I wanted to thank you for…for everything. You'll never know how much it's meant to me."

Clarice nodded automatically, accepting the gratitude, but her attention lay elsewhere. "Did my husband with to wish to speak to you about something?" Her voice feigned calm.

She saw some of the nervousness return to Christine's face. "Yes. He merely wished to offer his congratulations and…oh, it's no matter."

Clarice's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure, Christine?"

Christine nodded quickly, too quickly, then smiled at her once again before turning and walking quickly into the foyer to exit out the front door.

Clarice looked at where the younger woman had once stood as a fierce rush of emotion made her run, nearly stumbling, to her husband's study. She wrenched the door open. But she didn't even need to step inside to realize that Hannibal was no longer there.

He didn't even notice her when she first approached, so intent was he on watching the flow of the river below. The Seine had shaken off winter's icy grip at last and the water was frothing and splashing merrily against the banks.

It wasn't until she was within a meter of him that she saw his nostrils flare, as if catching a familiar scent upon the breeze, and he stiffened and turned towards her with the rigid motion of an opening door.

She nearly took a step back at the storm of emotions in his eyes. Fury, sadness, relief, but over all that, an undeniable affection that even now he did not bother to hide. She felt her resolve waver and reached out to wrap her hand around a bar in the bridge's metal railing to ground her.

In the end, he spoke first, asking, "Are you well? Are you…hurt in any way?"

Christine was well aware of how distressed she must look, but she shook her head slowly, never taking her eyes off him. "Nothing that you can see, Raoul."

He made no response but merely turned back to his vigil over the merciless river. She moved to stand beside him and was silent, for she knew that he had the right to speak next. He did not. With each passing second, Christine felt her heart grow heavier.

Finally he bowed his head and turned back towards her. "When you asked to meet me today, I hoped that maybe you had changed your mind but…" he shook his head. "I don't think you realize how you have always worn your heart on your sleeve. You never could hide from me, but I never allowed myself to accept it." He sighed deeply. "I knew all along that it would never work, that when I told you what had happened to him, that you would leave me. Damn him. Damn him wherever he is!" His body seemed to wilt as he leaned against the railing for support, as if his anger had found no real malice against a dead man and therefore had turned upon himself. "Christine, I am so sorry…"

She stopped him before he could say anymore. "Raoul…you are here so that I may ask your forgiveness, not the other way around. The only thing that you are possibly guilty of is loving me too much. I didn't deserve it." She saw his eyes widen; it was his turn to realize how much she had grown at last.

Then a pitiful chuckle escaped his lips. "How much easier it would be if love was something to be deserved."

She winced, but she knew that she would not back away until everything that needed to be said had been said. "You must never think any less of yourself, Raoul. God, don't you know that the only reason this hurts so much is because you are the most blameless man I have ever known?"

She saw his jaw shifting, heard the joints creaking from an obviously fierce effort to keep from lashing out. God knows he had every right to, but it seemed as if Christine had not been the only one to grow.

Where the knight in shining armor would once have rushed to defend his honor, now he merely dipped his head and said, "Do you remember…that night, when I thought that he was going to kill me. Do you remember what he said? He told me that I knew nothing of love. Granted he was a raving lunatic at the time, but loathe as I am to admit it, he was right. I tried to do everything for you, I put you in harm's way…everything so that you could see how much I loved you. But he did right by you, Christine." He laughed. "I would rather not have almost lost my life in the process but he showed me just how much he loved you when he let you go." He grimaced, and the expression was filled with pained humor. "And as a gentleman, I cannot let him outdo me, can I?"

However, his voice lacked bitterness and he kept his eyes averted from her for a moment before continuing. "Did Cassandra tell you everything you needed to know?" he asked quietly.

Christine's face fell as she considered her answer. He would understand some day. Some day very far into the future. After all, he was no stranger to keeping secrets for the sake of love, but how she wished to tell him!

Out loud, she said. "They…are leaving Paris." Raoul's eyes showed his surprise. "They are traveling into the French countryside to be married." She laughed. "All that I know is that they never had a chance for a European wedding and are making up for it while they can. Afterwards, they plan to return home to America. I will go with them," she finished.

He gripped the railing a bit tighter but otherwise gave no indication of his reaction. "I see. I realized that you were close to them but…" He passed a hand over his eyes. "You trust them then?"

She nodded. "They are like family to me. There is nothing left here that…that I have the right to impose upon."

Raoul mentally shook his head in disbelief. She was all that he needed for family. He would start a new life with her far away from the ghosts of their past. He would give her a home in a strange land and lots of children and love her until his dying day. He allowed himself to imagine this for a long time.

"If you forget everything else," he said. "Remember that you are always welcome in my house."

The earnestness of his voice was nearly her undoing. As it was, her hand shook as she reached into her bag and took out the circlet of platinum and diamonds, feeling her fingers brush against the other ring of cool gold as she did so. She forced herself to look into his eyes as she laid the engagement ring in the palm of his hand.

Her hand drew back and she knew he was looking down at it, but he made no move to close his fingers.

"Keep it," he said, his voice pleading.

"Raoul, you know I cannot."

"I am not asking anything other than for you to keep it. You can do with it whatever you like, but this is something I can never give to another. Please understand that."

A long moment passed. Then Christine reached forward and took the ring from his outstretched palm. "I will keep it, Raoul. But I must tell you that I can never wear it again."

"I understand, of course I understand." He said it far too quickly, and Christine was not fooled.

She closed her hand around the ring and took a step back, a step that felt for all the world like a planet pulling out of its orbit. Raoul continued to concentrate on looking everywhere except at her; his eyes were riveted once again upon the waters far below. She stepped back until she reached the end of the bridge before turning away

Her carefully measured steps soon turned into a brisk walk and then a flat-out run. More than a few eyes turned to watch her flight through the streets of Paris. Christine could feel the tears stinging her cheeks and then whipping away with the wind, but she made no move to wipe them away. She knew that they were no longer a sign of weakness.

She ran out of the afternoon sunlight and turned onto a side street, searching for a carriage to bring her back to the de Londres estate.

Clarice watched her husband all day, waiting for some indication of what had transpired between him and Christine. She knew from the start that it was a futile effort. If Hannibal did not wish for her to know something, she would not know it. However, her stubbornness had always been one of her most consistent traits.

Erik joined them for dinner that night. Christine did not.

Hannibal suggested that perhaps her business in the city had kept her later than planned, a theory that Erik supported, but Clarice still sat down at her chair with a painful feeling twisting inside her chest.

Erik, however, seemed relieved that his newly-discovered love was not present as he sat at a formal dining table for the first time in his life. He had watched countless parties at the Opera from afar, of course, and had been invited to multiple festivities during his time in Persia, but there they sat upon mats on the ground and ate with their fingers. The stiff, sterile environment of aristocratic European dining unnerved him.

The Duke and Duchess had sent the servants away after the meal had been laid and before Erik had arrived. He thanked them for their foresight, unsure of how he could have endured two hours of curious eyes peering at his mask and his fingers as he fumbled with his copious collection of silverware.

His mask…

Clarice had pressed it into his hand without ceremony as he had entered the dining room. He had slipped it on over his head instinctively, too stunned to question. It took only five minutes of sitting still before he became uncomfortable. He had not worn the mask since his fearful brush with death. Weeks and weeks of comfortable if despondent living had filled out the hollows in his cheeks and he felt the mask rubbing up uncomfortably against flesh. A more obvious discomfort was the sudden sensation of near suffocation. For the first time in his life, his skin had breathed for weeks without a barrier and been kissed by the air of a cold morning, and now he felt as though he could not breathe.

He looked up to see Hannibal looking pointedly at him and realized that this was yet another test.

"Do not call attention to the mask, and neither will anyone else," Hannibal said. Then he gestured to his wife, who was seated across the table to the left of Erik.

Clarice turned to him. "As a married couple, you will not be permitted to sit beside Christine. Your primary objective during a meal will be to tend to the needs of the woman who will be sitting in my place. She eats nothing unless you place it upon her plate."

Erik caught on after her first sidelong glance towards the center of the table, where a magnificent roast rested on a tray with serving fork and knife ready at its side. As he picked up the utensils, Hannibal spoke again.

"In France, the carving would be done by servants but not so in America. We decided to let you practice in this manner because we shall be returning to the States in a matter of weeks. We would be most honored if you would join us."

Erik's hands froze over the roast. "Have you told Christine of this?"

Clarice watched how her husband paused and then said, "Yes."

Erik nodded. "We would be honored to travel with you until Christine sees fit to settle down." Then he sliced into the roast. His hands, though inexperienced, completed the task with as much grace as he performed all tasks.

"A portion for you, madam?" he said with a cheeky grin. Obviously he had taken her advice about smiling more into account.

Clarice pushed aside her discomfort and nodded her assent. After Erik had served her and himself, she prevented him from digging into his meal with his salad fork. She watched him throughout the course of their dinner, correcting everything from his posture to the angle at which he held his utensils to his lack of eye contact with the rest of their imaginary dining guests. Every time she corrected him, she marveled at the patience and lack of complaint from a man who until recently had sworn off all forms of human contact for good.

For his part, Erik was as exacting a pupil as he had been a teacher and never made the same mistake twice. Where before he would have scoffed at the frivolities of social life, he found himself instead fascinated by the thought of ingraining himself within society; fascinated by the thought that he could, in fact, succeed and wanting nothing more than to do so.

He had only to recall his sweet memories of the previous night to remind himself of why.

At long last the dessert had been served, and Clarice explained that the ladies at this point would withdraw into the drawing room while the men stayed behind to drink. Erik laid his silverware properly upon his empty plate and sat back elegantly in his chair. "I apologize for my appalling table manners, my dear hosts," he said with a smirk.

Hannibal had finished pouring them all flutes of champagne and set the bottle aside. "You have done well, Erik. But if you remember nothing else, remember this." He picked up his glass and gestured for the other two to do the same.

"Never apologize for anything."

Then he toasted Erik with a sweeping motion, and all three sipped from their glasses.

"Hannibal!" Clarice rapped again upon his study door. She had let the worry fester inside her chest to the point that she felt she would burst if she did not confront him at last. They may have realized their undying love for each other, but that didn't mean she would let him get away with any more crimes.

Automatically assuming the worst of him, are you? My, my, what does that say about your future together?

Clarice ignored the voice in her head. That voice had been there from the very first day, but it hadn't taken long before her stubborn and rather reckless spirit quelled it into silence. Thusfar, her impulsiveness had served her quite well.

"Is something wrong?"

Erik's voice stopped her as she raised her hand to pound on the door again and perhaps throw in some swear words for good measure. She sighed and started to say, "It's nothing" but stopped herself. They had passed the point of keeping secrets long ago.

"Hannibal seemed rather distraught today, and it worries me that he will not tell me what is bothering him."

Erik frowned. "Are you concerned that something may be harming him?"

"No." She grimaced. "I'm concerned that he may be harming someone else."

His eyes widened in understanding. "You really think he could have…?"

"Why not, he has done so in the past." She could have bitten her tongue immediately afterwards; she didn't need to turn to see the pained look upon Erik's face at the unintentional chord she had hit within him.

"He has changed, Erik, make no mistake about that. And I know that he is a strong man, just like you, but that doesn't mean he can never be tempted again. I only wish that he would let me know…so that I could be there for him."

As if on cue, there was the sound of a bolt drawing back from the other side of the door and then silence. Clarice placed her hand on the knob and hesitated only a moment before pushing the door open. After a few seconds, Erik followed her.

He had taken only several steps into the study when he nearly ran into her unmoving form. Clarice was frozen in place, unable to tear her horrified gaze away from what lay before her.

The top of the elegant desk had been swept bare of its contents and covered with layers of plastic and cloth. The figure lying atop these sheets was dressed for her wedding. However, the beautiful white garment was soiled with smears of blood, some patches dusky and dried and some fresh and still dripping onto the plastic sheeting.

The face was bruised and scarred to the point of being unrecognizable, but even within the bleeding mess of flesh, there was no mistaking the brilliant blue eyes peeking out from beneath swollen lids.

Clarice's cry of horror was lost in the sound of her glass shattering on the floor.

A/N: I apologize for the wretched cliffhanger, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy it. All I ask is for you to trust me. :) There should be one or two more chapters followed by an epilogue. Hang in there!

And please please please review! I know I sound like a whiny child asking, but I only got one review for the previous chapter, albeit a lovely and moving one from my one true love Fantome, and I really need you guys to help me through the last few steps of this journey. Thanks!