Hey everyone. I'm glad the last chapter was popular, especially considering that it mostly featured Raoul. This chapter is a bit transitional, but I am looking forward to writing the next one. Finally, thank you for all your comments. Some of them made me laugh, and all of them encouraged me to continue.
Please Read and Review!
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, sending several icy chills down the spine of her back. Christine shivered. Her instructor had reprimanded her before. He had even yelled at her on several occasions. Never, though, had she heard the voice sound so angry. So much hate was filled in that one question: Who was that?
She gazed around the room, finally settling her eyes on the wood carvings in the tabletop. It seemed too dangerous to look up at the ceiling. "I..." she stuttered dumbly. "Meg?"
"No," the voice hissed back. "The other one. The boy."
"Oh! Raoul?" she choked out. "Just a friend I had growing up. We used to see each other during the summers." She didn't understand what was wrong. What had she done to upset him?
"A friend? That's all?" it questioned, now taking on an eerie calmness. "He likes you, Christine. I imagine he wants more. He will distract you."
"No! We're friends. He wants to visit with me. It's been such a long time since we've seen each other." Christine looked to the empty ceiling to plead her case, still not understanding the fury in the room. She longed to hear that soft, pleasing tone again-not this sharp, cold one that seemed to sting her ears.
"I don't want you to see him outside of this building," her instructor commanded. "You have to focus during these next weeks, Christine. Nothing should be on your mind but your singing. I don't want him interfering with what we have accomplished."
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "But we'll get together for a few hours! I promise I won't..."
"No!" it boomed. "Either you devote yourself completely, or I will leave. You will have to perform without my help. Do I make myself clear?"
Christine gripped on to the armrest, digging her nails into the soft material. Panic gripped her heart at the thought of never hearing the voice again. She knew she couldn't sing without him. Once Mrs. Valerius was gone, there would be no one left. She would be alone. "No! Please don't go. I can't do all of this without you." She shook her head rapidly and swallowed. "I won't see him. I'll tell him I'm busy."
"Do you promise this to me?"
"Yes!" She nodded to emphasize her sincerity. "I promise I won't see him. He's just a friend from a long time ago. I promise!"
"I'm glad you understand, Christine." The voice became soothing again, like a lullaby. "It's only for your own good. You don't want anyone destroying your future." It paused. "Did you like that feeling of being upon the stage? Of having everyone love you?"
"Yes." She smiled, and her blue eyes glazed over. "I loved it. I'd never felt anything like it."
"You did wonderfully tonight. Better than I could have imagined. You should be pleased with yourself. Many more nights like this one await for you."
The melodious praise caused her to brush all concerns from her mind. She beamed on the inside and out. "Thank you! I couldn't have done it without your help. It was amazing. Except...when I got so tired at the end. I didn't mean to faint."
"You will become stronger with time. A small dizzy spell is normal in the beginning."
"I see."
A long silence followed. Christine shifted in her heavy costume, feeling herself grow even more exhausted after the confrontation. Although she wanted to hear more of her instructor's voice, her body also longed to collapse into a warm bed. The night was taking its toll on her.
"Look on the shelf behind you," the voice finally said. "The middle one."
She quickly stood up and did as she was told. Her eyes grazed over several boxes of tissues before finally spotting a faint glimmer in the fluorescent lighting. Reaching down with a slender hand, Christine picked up a silver necklace chain from the shelf. Looped onto it was a smooth and shiny black pennant. She ran her thumb over the cool surface of the jewel with a sense of wonder.
"It is onyx," the voice stated. "From India."
"It's very beautiful," she said, still gazing down. "Is it from you?"
"It is."
"Thank you," she murmured, clutching the cold gem inside her hand. Only for a second did she wonder how a voice could give a gift.
"You're welcome, Christine." The voice sounded pleased, and the hostility from earlier had vanished. "I will see you for a lesson tomorrow evening."
Her attention left the jewel and focused back on the ceiling. She tensed, almost unable to make her statement. "I...I need to tell you something. I'm going somewhere tomorrow night." Christine paused. Hearing no response, she quickly continued. "There's no performance for a couple of days, so I thought it would be okay."
"And where are you going?"
She hesitated. "My...my father is buried down near Albany. It's been a while since I visited the cemetery. I was going to leave tomorrow evening and stay overnight."
"Alone?"
"Yes," she replied. "The drive isn't that bad. And Meg couldn't come..." Christine waited, praying he wouldn't be angered by the request.
"Fine, Christine," came a hesitant reply. "But you're not going alone. I will see that someone picks you up at your house and takes you."
"Oh! That's okay," she protested. "I'll be fine. The drive's not that bad."
"No. A chauffeur will take you and bring you home." There was no room for compromise.
She shifted but nodded. "All right. Thank you. I guess the roads can be kind of bad this time of year. Should I pay someone for the ride or...?"
"I will take care of everything as I always do."
Christine brushed her hair from her face, only now noticing how quiet the halls outside had become. Everyone was likely gone. "Okay," she said softly, still clasping the necklace. "I'll be back in a couple of days. Thank you again. For everything."
No response came. After murmuring a goodbye, she exited the room, picking up her pace as she flew through the corridors. She had considered changing out of her costume first, but the vacant building was beginning to give her a creepy feeling. After Christine walked into the freezing air, she gazed down at the necklace for a moment, watching as the onyx stone glittered in the dim light. After a second's hesitation, she undid the clasp and placed the heavy piece of jewelry around her neck.
In the reflection of the glass door, she could barely see the dark jewel's contrast against her yellow costume. It looked a bit out of place, though the necklace itself was still beautiful.
Feeling her head ache with fatigue, Christine turned and made her way down the steps, the events of the night blurring together within her mind.
Nadir turned over on the broken mattress, hearing the springs groan under his weight. From the night stand, his cell phone rang out into the darkness, playing a fast version of Moonlight Sonata. He cursed and opened his eyes before fumbling around in the dark to grab it. As his eyes fell on the red digits of the alarm clock, a look of disgust crossed his face. Who the hell was calling at four in the morning?
Finally, he picked up the phone and attempted to push "send." "Hello?" he mumbled.
"Hello. Mr. Nadir Khan?" questioned a gruff voice.
"This is he."
"I'm calling to you from the Federal Bureau of Investigation's field office in Boston. I can't get into all of this over the phone, but there's some information down here for you to pick up. Some files reserved for you."
Nadir was suddenly wide awake. "What? Files? From who?"
"I'd rather discuss this later with you, Mr. Khan. The fact is that a recently deceased agent seemed to want you to have them. Your name is on them." Some papers rustled in the background, and the Iranian could hear several other voices speaking.
"Mr. Buquet?" Nadir asked with a swallow.
"Yes, sir."
He sighed. "All right, then. I'm sorry about that tragedy by the way. Do I come and pick them up? Do I need some kind of clearance?"
There was a brief hesitation. "Mr. Khan. You and I both know what we're dealing with here. And I imagine you know a hell of a lot more than I do. Come by this afternoon. Then we can go into specifics."
The Iranian shifted nervously. "All right...sir. Can I get a name?"
"Darius Weiss. I'll be at the front."
"Thank you," he replied, scribbling it down onto a notepad.
"Thanks." Mr. Weiss hung up quickly, leaving Nadir listening to a dead dial tone for a moment. Gently placing the cell phone down, he flicked on the dusty bedside light. He scratched his chin several times and stared at the jagged holes in the old carpeting.
So there were people who knew things? Nadir wondered how much they knew. Did they know of the entire history? Even he didn't know Erik's complete history. The most Nadir knew about Erik's childhood was that he'd resided in an orphanage somewhere in Eastern Europe for a number of years. At some point, he must have gotten an education. Even a genius couldn't come about that much knowledge without some sort of training.
Nadir's real area of expertise lay in Erik's activities in Iran during the late 80's and early 90's. He wondered how much the American government knew about that. Probably not very much. Otherwise, the Feds would have searched the whole country from top to bottom by now.
He also knew that Erik had lived in Europe for a number of years, having his fun with the chaos of the Soviet collapse before keeping a low profile in France. After French authorities became aware of the threat within their country, they began to investigate. Although Nadir wasn't sure what had followed, he guessed that Erik had found his way into the United States.
Now, the only question was whether anything else had found its way into the U.S. with Erik. Judging by Ms. Charlotte Gregory's current condition, it had.
As the Iranian got up and put on a bathrobe, his mind wandered back to the most recent occurrences. What was Erik doing with that young girl? There was no explanation. How could she be of any benefit to him? Nadir had even checked to see if she was wealthy, wondering if Erik was after some type of ransom. Christine Daae was right above the poverty line, though.
Was it possible that Erik really did have affections for the girl?
Nadir smirked at this thought for a moment. The invincible masked man in love?
His smile quickly faded as a new realization hit him. He had seen men do crazy and desperate things in the name of love. God knew what Erik would do, especially when he realized that the love would be unrequited.
His mind full of new troubling thoughts, Nadir gave up all notions of going back to sleep.
Maybe there was a café open somewhere.
Raoul Chagny pulled out the heavy yellow telephone book from its place under the hotel night stand and dropped it onto the bed with a soft thud. Before opening it, he checked the illuminated numbers on the alarm clock. It was a little after nine in the morning, not too early to call.
As he searched the "V" section of the White Pages with his index finger, he went over his encounter with Christine from the night before. Although everything appeared normal, he couldn't shake the feeling that something hadn't been right about the situation. She had looked exhausted after the performance, both pale and sickly. She had always been somewhat shy when they were kids, but he had never seen her so edgy and dazed.
He finally spotted a Hazel Valerius among the thousands of other names. Picking up his cellular phone from its place by the television, he quickly punched in the number. All was completely silent as he dialed, save for the quiet hum of the heater and the occasional sound of footsteps on the floor above. After pressing "enter," he heard the phone began to ring on the other end.
By the fourth ring, Raoul started to hang up, wondering if Christine still had morning rehearsals even with performances going on. With a click, though, the ringing ceased and a tired female voice answered. "Hello?"
"Hello. Christine?" he questioned unsurely.
"This is she."
"Hey! It's Raoul. Sorry if it's kind of early. How are you feeling?"
There was a very long hesitation before he received a reply. "I'm fine, Raoul. How are you?"
"I'm good! Mostly hanging around at the hotel while Phillip goes out with Sorelli. Hopefully I can get the car for a little while, though. Would you want to get together some time this evening?"
Another unnerving silence followed. Raoul got up and walked to the window. The sky was a dark shade of gray, and a winter wind shook the bare branches of the oak trees in the front on the hotel. Several flurries dusted past the glass. "I'm sorry," she finally answered. He thought he heard a slight quiver in her voice. "I'm kind of busy. It's...it's not a good time with school and the musical. And this evening I'm going to visit my dad down in Albany."
"Oh," he replied, brushing away his disappointment. "Are you going alone? I wouldn't mind taking you. I felt bad that I didn't hear about the funeral in time to go. He was a good man."
"Yeah. He was." Her voice became distant for a moment. "Anyway, someone's already taking me. It's kind of far, and I wouldn't want you to make the drive on your own."
"Where is it?"
"Northern Albany. Our Lady of Angels Cemetery. But...the weather is bad. You shouldn't make the drive."
Raoul paused, not quite able to tell if she wanted him to come or not. There was a strange tone in her voice that he couldn't decipher. "Maybe we can get together when you get back then. Or when's a good time for you?"
"I...I'm just too busy," she replied in a rush. "I'm sorry. I can't meet with you at all during these next weeks. It's a really bad time."
He was silent for a moment, turning away from the window and taking a seat on the bed. "All right, Christine," he replied, unable to mask his slight resentment. "If you're busy, I guess...I'll see you at the show. Maybe we can talk then."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just tired."
"Then I guess I'll...talk to you later." He waited during another strange period of silence, wondering if she wanted to tell him something.
"Bye," she said softly.
The reception on the other end clicked off and the dial tone sounded. He slowly switched off the phone and placed it on the bed stand before walking back to the window with a sigh of disappointment.
Had he done something to upset her? He tried to think back a ways, but nothing came to mind. The last time he had seen her had been years ago at the lake, when she had been ten and he had been twelve. As they parted for the final time at the end of summer, Christine had kissed his cheek under the sunset and told him that she would see him soon. And that had been it.
What had happened?
From behind him, the door to the room suddenly creaked open. Raoul quickly turned to see Phillip poking his head in from the hallway. "Hey! I'm running out to the store for some batteries! Want to ride along?"
"No thanks. Think I'll stay here."
Phillip shrugged. "Okay. Everything all right? You look damn depressed."
"Yeah. I'm fine." He hesitated a moment. "Hey Phillip. I need the car this evening."
Phillip grinned. "Did you get a date with that girl?"
"Uh...something like that. Mind if I take it?"
"Yeah. Why not? I need to get some work done back in the room anyway. Don't bang it up in the weather."
"Yeah. I won't. Thanks."
After Phillip had left, he checked the window one last time before sitting back on the bed and flipping on the television. Most of the local channels were carrying the news. Noticing that the stations were all showing the same photograph of a man, he stopped on one to listen to the grave voice of an anchorman.
"All signs in the death of Mr. Buquet point to suicide, though no note has been found so far. Although his friends and family claim that he had no motive for ending his life, police have found no evidence of foul play. Private funeral services will take place next Monday."
After a moment, Raoul turned the channel to a local weather report.
It looked like snow for Albany.