Chapter 7

"Oh, Christine"

Christine

I had such a dream. Erik was caressing me sweetly, as he was tending to my injuries; crying at my severe frailty and weakened disposition. Through all of this, I was able to do little more than weakly cry out his name once. Surely this was in fact a saintly monk who was tending to me with compassion and nothing more. My tortured mind was yet again trying to make it my Erik, here to help me when I most needed him. In truth, I have needed my Erik numerous times over the last seven months. How heartbreaking it was for me when they discovered the body of the Opera Ghost. They closed the case and were rid of him quite hastily after the chandelier incident; I was not freed so easily.

It felt like I woke from a sensational dream, or dream-turned-nightmare, suddenly. Tears softly falling down my cheek, I groped to see anything in the small measure of light in this strange room. There, over from the foot of the bed I lay in, I saw a figure retreating into a mirror. "Erik!" I cried. Then I knew it was surely another dream and I returned to dark oblivion. One thing was different now though; Erik was there, in that darkness. Somehow he was nearby and it was not so bad. I can do this with you beside me, my dark angel of music. Please stay by my side and guide me?

I was confused about what I was dreaming and what was actually happening to me. In the midst of it all I seem to recall a strangely familiar touch gently examining my arms and my legs. Suddenly, the faceless touch hit my left wrist which was very sore and sent shocks of pain shooting up my arm. I found the gentle touch reassuring to my frazzled nerves. My leg seemed to brand a sharp pain up to my head when it was manipulated. I now had no doubt someone was checking my injuries. I also sensed for the second time this evening, a dull ache deep into my middle from my back. I felt this and a headache so bad that it was hard to keep conscious, though I feared unconsciousness and the mental pain that held for me.

When 'out cold', I relived moments in my life that I wanted to forget. God, how I wanted to forget. In my head the person who was inspecting my injuries and ministering to them was my Angel, my Erik; I was calling to him. Erik. He did not correct me on his name, though I knew it could not be my Angel. At the time, I was so sure of his touch, his voice in my head, guiding me through this pain. It was so confusing and foggy. I needed Erik right now, and it did not matter if I found out later it was all a dream; he was there with me, through all of this, helping me to survive. Never once did Raoul cross my mind through this ordeal.

Cold dreams and nightmares were dancing around my mind; I had no idea how long this continued, only that I was feeling horribly out of sorts. I opened my eyes and realized it was light out. I was alone in a strange room. I heard singing off in the distance; I didn't recognize where it was coming from but the song was quite comforting. I felt as if I was in church with the solemn sounds and the colors of the light pouring in the stained glass window. However, the room itself was an eerie copy of my dressing-room at the Populaire. I must have been dreaming yet, this was so strange; where was I? Deciding that I could be stuck in here with no answers for quite some time, I determined that it would be prudent to get out of bed and go find the source of the singing. Sitting up in the bed, I felt once more the intense aches of the gash on my head, and my back was unbearably sore. When I went to catch myself with my hands, I realized the left wrist ached and was bound. I didn't even get to move my legs. I lay back down feeling defeated, I could be here for some time with the singing going on out there and no one in range to hear me if I try to get someone's attention.

Suddenly the door gently began to open, there was a hooded person entering the room with a tray. I pretended to be asleep, partially closing my eyes quickly. The hooded man—from the way he moved, I knew it was not a woman—looked at me and bowed his head slightly, almost in reverence to my presence, and placed the tray on the table next to my bed. Then he began to turn around and leave. I begged for him to wait.

"Excuse me, good Monsieur, might I be able to ask you a question?" My voice sounded so weak and hoarse, I hardly recognized it. The person stood straight up with their back to me and merely shook their head no, and then they quickly left the room. Why had they done that? I was not rude, why would they feel that they needed to leave when I woke, did they not think I might want to know what happened? Was I going to ever get answers? I groaned in frustration, it was rather loud, louder than I meant it to be. The singing and music stopped abruptly. Moments later, there was a soft knock at the door to which I gratefully answered, "Please, come in."

The door opened slowly once more. The person who entered the room this time wore no hood over his head. He walked quietly over to my bedside and spoke; "Good morning, Mademoiselle, I am Brother James; you are the honored patient and guest of the brothers at the Monastery de le Saintete'. I wish to ask if you are feeling well. You, young lady, have been through a rough ride and we are still concerned that you may have a long road ahead of you to recovery."

I was in a monastery. How in the world did I get here? Obviously, I was mistaken in my belief that I had been saved by Erik; my angel would never have born the quiet simplicity of a monastic life. Yet, I felt him all around me. I could not explain why, I just felt his comfort and protection in everything surrounding me. I was grateful to this man for introducing himself finally and telling me where I was, though I knew not where this monastery was located. My mind was so fuzzy about how I got here. How did I get injured? I was going to the seaside to be married to Raoul; I had left Paris in Raoul's carriage. Raoul had been with me on horse back. I asked him to sit with me, but he preferred to ride along side me on his horse at the moment, so I settled back in the hansom carriage bearing the de Chagny coat of arms, feeling strange that soon I would share that crest. I remember nothing else from that point to waking here. Where was Raoul?

And why didn't I think to wonder where he was sooner? I still was so weak; I had to wait to get more answers as my head began to feel quite cloudy. "Good Brother James, thank you for telling me where I am; I feel so confused. I have many more questions, but I am afraid I must save for another time as I fear I am rather tired now. I thank you for your kindness to keep me here and minister to my injuries. I have no recollection how I was injured; in fact I find myself feeling very lost. If you will excuse me, I must close my…"

Ahh, the familiar unconsciousness I have grown to know so well. What had always caused me to just lose consciousness so easily, I do not know; some people can hold on and some just crumble in one moment. I was the latter.

It was difficult to try to find my way back from the place I went to when I lost consciousness. It would vary from time to time, but always came inexorably back to Erik. All my life seemed to have lead to Erik, and since he left he is all my life has been. I know he is gone, though I have not found a way to let him go. It was worse in the darkest hours of night, or times like now when my injuries kept me in and out of consciousness. I was stuck in an emotional limbo, and there was no easy way out of it. If only I could see Erik again, talk to him, touch him, and tell him how much he meant to me. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek as I regained consciousness once more. I woke feeling like a murderer; I was sure that it was my rebuke of Erik that caused his death as indisputably as if I had killed him myself. I was so unworthy of this good monastery, of life at all. I fully deserved what ever had placed me here and so badly wounded. I would just have to accept this as my fate. I was evil and there was nothing for me now that even Raoul was gone. There had been little enough reason left for me to live when they found Erik's body, but now what small future I may have found with Raoul, well, that was gone too, as I now knew there was no way I could go to him, Erik was too much a part of me, I could not forsake my soul. He seemed to know it to, for he was not here, surely he would have been by my side if he was. Why didn't they just let me die? Who was responsible for saving my wretched soul? I would surely have to pay them back for their treachery.

I woke to a couple of lit candles around the room, there was a solitary person moving about tending to the candles and water in a basin. I wanted to get out of this bed, see where I was; I tried to speak, my throat very raw, mouth dry and sticky. All that came from my lips was a croak. Oh God, I thought, thank you for not allowing Erik to hear that abhorrent sound from the golden throat he gave me.

Erik

What in the world was I doing? How could I bring her here? I should have left her in that wreck. She deserved it; she had made her choice, and it was none of my concern what happened to her from that point on. She left me for dead, why couldn't I repay the favor? Even as I thought this, I knew the reason; it was because I had just spent seven months in agony over her choice. Pitiable, but I now held hope that given this last chance, maybe Christine would stay with me. I knew I was being a fool, but where Christine was concerned I was always, shall we say, less than reasonable.

I would not go running to her and announce my presence; maybe I would decide not to tell her anything. I knew that when I told Brother Stephen to search for any others he found no one. I knew that whatever had happened to Raoul, I would not know until Christine told someone whether he was traveling with her or not. It didn't look as though he was, for there had been no clothes of his in the carriage; I drew a small comfort from that. I wondered if maybe she was leaving him and had heard that I was here. Maybe Raoul got angry with her and decided to hurt her and leave her for dead to show me the consequences of my obsession. No, it didn't fit; I could not imagine what the situation was. I was very angry with the idea that she was here in my room, in my bed, once again. For all I knew she belonged to that brat; he might have known her as I had only dreamt of knowing her, God; it was torturing me so to think that way. I had to purge that from my mind. I had come so far, but now the tortured pictures and imaginations of my past were back in full lecherous force. I had to stop; she was seriously injured and may be here a while, so I would have to disengage myself from her care. It was not going to happen yet, though.

I lit the candles in the room and brought fresh water in her basin. I wanted to get a pitcher of fresh water and a cup for when she woke. No doubt she would be thirsty. There didn't appear to be any fever, thank God, but she was weak and the wounds, three days later, looked very angry and bruised. Her leg was indeed broken, so I set and bound it well this time. Christine's wrist had apparently been dislocated by being pulled abruptly, though it was reset and healing, seeming to be a bit less painful when checked and bound last. The gash in her head was healing well; I had to stitch it up, but I was very careful and used thread soaked in alcohol to ensure it was sterile enough to enter my beloved and not be a hindrance to her recovery. The gash looked much better; it was probably the most healed of all her injuries. Her back, I was still rather worried about. I wondered if there were any bones harmed where the whalebone of her corset had been shoved into her so badly. It still was oozing and I hoped that I should not have stitched it as well, I was not eager to stitch flesh so close to bones covering nerves. I still was not sure there would be no infection. I was constantly bathing it with alcohol water, trying to keep the infection away. So far it seemed to be slowly improving, though I would have felt better if it didn't look so angry and wouldn't bleed now and then. The bruising around it made me cringe; the sight of such wounds on Christine nearly destroyed my composure. Every time I needed to check it, I would battle my heart to gain the courage to look at it; I wanted to forget its existence. I was lost in these thoughts when I heard the most awful croak coming from the bed. I jumped from my thoughts immediately and placed the hood over my mask and wig, to keep her from seeing my face; it would not due for her to know of me, at least not yet.

I turned to see her face, my breath caught in my throat; it was so hard to gaze upon her when she was awake and see no recognition in those beautiful brown eyes. She was troubled. I wanted so to go to her side and hold her hand, comforting her, and tell her all would be well. The truth was, I didn't know if it would be well, and she would be shocked to see me. I was undoubtedly the last thing she thought of these days. If I was that silly foolish boy though, she would take me back without question; Christine would forgive a multitude of transgressions for that perfect face of her youth. Then I remembered the photograph; it brought the reality of the choice she had made back into focus. I took a deep breath and walked over to her bedside, the best imitation of Brother Timothy I could muster without having to speak to her. I approached the bed and nodded my head, bringing her a cup of water I had absently poured while my mind was circling.

I set it by the bed on the table, turning I helped her sit up, when I touched her I nearly recoiled from the feeling her touch had on me. It was hot all the way up my arms, her hands sliding the robe up them unconsciously as she struggled to move. Soon she was touching my bare arms. They were sun-kissed now, not the white they had been when I lived in my lair. She paused and moved the rest of the way to sitting up in the bed, her face white and beaded slightly with sweat from the exertion. I propped her up with the pillows, two of them, quickly. It was enough, when used against the back of my four poster bed, to keep her supported adequately. She nodded her head, a strange look crossing her features before she accepted the proffered cup of water from my hand. I knew that when I touched her she had felt something strange and familiar; I needed to get out of there, now. I nodded yet again and mumbled, "If that is all, Madame?"

Christine

There was something familiar about that voice. I would have sworn it was my Angel, but I knew he was no angel, and I knew he was dead. There was no way, it could be him; that recognition was just my tortured mind wanting to bring him to me again. I took a drink and answered, "Mademoiselle, not Madame." That was all I wanted to say for now. "Merci, your great kindness is appreciated."

I could have sworn that he stopped walking for just a moment when I said that I was a Mademoiselle, though I could not for the life of me figure out why he would have thought I was a Madame. I was not so old that I must be married, was I?

This brother just seemed so familiar to me. I could not figure out why. He left the room and rounded the corner in the hall. I was alone in this strange room. I was glad for the candles, and the oil lamps he had lit, too. I was able to see the room for the first time, really. It was a profusion of red and gray, beautifully decorated, with a large beautiful mirror with an ornately carved and very intricate piece of work for a frame. This room seemed so familiar to me; I felt at home here. It was all so unreal that I began to wonder if I was perhaps still unconscious.

Continuing to gaze around for some time, I finally finished my water and placed, with some difficulty, the cup back onto the table by my bed. I straightened out with some considerable pain accompanying each move I made. I decided to close my eyes and try to get some rest; it would seem that I was past the passing-out phase of this injury, thankfully. I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of the one person this place could somehow inspire; even in a Monastery he would have hated. The object of my dreams for so long now, my Erik, my angel; I knew somehow that he was still with me, here, and I could not discern the reality from my sense that he was. In my dream he was the one who pulled me from the twisted carcass of the carriage; we had gazed upon each other with love written all over our faces, staring as we had the night that I left him. I cried out his name then for the pain of having left him. Doing without him for seven months had left me in such pain that all I could manage to say was, "Erik, I am so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to see you suffer! I am sorry. Please forgive me, my love, I miss you. Why did you let them kill you?"

The reality was that I had just said all of this, I had spoken of my pain, and little did I know that it fell on the ears I meant it for, sending him into a deep pain of his own.

I woke then, not sure what time it was. The sun was beginning to come through the window; it lit the wall aside of my bed with the beautiful colors of the stained glass once more. I gazed across to the doorway just as Brother Timothy was departing the room. I was a bit disconcerted to think that he had been in my room while I slept, though I knew that his vows would not allow anything inappropriate. Rather, I didn't want my subconscious thoughts to betray me and shock his holy ears. I knew that if I mentioned Erik and Raoul in my sleep I would sound very wanton to someone who didn't know the story behind the names. It would cheapen our whole story. I then figured that it was silly to worry over this so I closed my eyes and finally said my morning prayers.

Meanwhile, the brothers were dealing with the aftermath of the carriage wreck. Brother James had said to send word to the Gendarmes of a body lying in the wreckage and tell them of the accident and the girl who arrived and needed tending to. Before this could be accomplished, there was a visitor who came to the door of the monastery to retrieve the body, claiming that it was his responsibility as the man had worked for him. This was acceptable to the brothers, as the man had the same coloring as the foreigner who was lying dead in their shed. They were eager to end the mess and give the body to the man. They didn't want to get into an international dispute over this incident-both the dead man and the living employer seemed Persian or Indian-and were fine with tending to the woman brought here as the man had suggested, to lessen the questions of what happened. As well they were happy to let the dead man go with the official sent for him, his employer as it happened as well. That helped Erik more then he knew, as it kept the Gendarmes away from his doorstep as well.