Happy Thanksgiving! Thank you guys so much for the wonderful reviews! I wasn't expecting that many and was very inspired. A feature has been added that allows me to directly reply to reviewers. If anyone has a problem with me replying to them, please tell me. I will only do it if you have a question or if I really enjoy something you said, but I don't want to scare any of my reviewers away if they are bothered by this.
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The last glimpse of Christine that he saw was a quick flash of blonde hair, barely visible in the consuming darkness. Raoul Chagny called out her name a second time, curious as to why she had paused in the middle of the corridor and wanting to make sure that she was okay in all of the chaos. People continued to push their way past him. He winced as an elbow jabbed him in the stomach and continued to fight his way through the crowds.
With dismay, he noticed that she could not hear him over the panicked murmuring of the mobs of people. Christine began walking forward at a quick pace, almost oblivious to her surroundings. Squinting, Raoul realized that someone was in her company, but it was too dark to see who her tall companion was.
Finally, he made his way out of the sweltering hallway and into the frigid night air. Groups of people were scattered about, huddled for warmth and wondering what to do next. Some had already begun to go find their cars. Scanning the crowds, Raoul could see no one familiar. It seemed that Christine had disappeared into the shadows.
Turning to his right, Raoul saw a vaguely familiar face in the dim streetlights. The Middle Eastern man who had been bothering Christine that evening was standing with his arms folded and his mouth contorted in deep distress. Their eyes met for a moment, but Raoul quickly looked away and began to search for his friend again.
"Raoul!" The voice of his older brother came from behind him. "Why the heck did you run off? I've been searching for you for over twenty minutes!"
Raoul turned. "I was trying to find Christine. I was worried about her. But..." He looked around again. "I think she's gone."
Phillip shrugged. "I'm sure she's fine. I thought you weren't going to bother with her anymore."
"I wasn't. It's...just that something strange is going on. I don't understand why she won't talk to me. She doesn't act mad. It's like there's something else. Something bad."
His brother laughed loudly. "You're the last person who should be trying to figure out women. It's a hopeless cause. Look. She's obviously not interested. Move on. Forget her. Concentrate on your studies for a while. Mom is going to be mad if you take another semester off."
Raoul shot his brother a quick glare before letting out a sigh. "Yeah. I'm kind of worried about her." He glanced up as an ambulance and several fire trucks pulled up to the curb with a screech. A few stragglers were still making their way out of the building.
"She's fine, Raoul. Just leave her alone." Phillip looked around. "I think it's time to get out of here. This place is starting to irritate me. I'm actually starting to miss the city."
Raoul reluctantly nodded, a heavy feeling settling inside of his chest. After a last glance at the crowds, he slowly followed his brother back to the parking lot.
Later that evening, after he had packed the last of his belongings up into a leather suitcase, Raoul picked up his cellular phone. After punching in Mrs. Valerius' number, he let it ring five times before finally hanging up.
He really hadn't expected anyone to be home, though.
The first time that she awoke, Christine was vaguely aware of a car door opening beside her. A whirl of cold air brushed across her face, and she could hear the hum of traffic off in the distance. Christine suddenly felt a pair of hands come up beneath her back and lift her out of the car. She moaned in protest and forced her eyelids open to try to make sense of what was happening.
Her captor was walking forward with his gaze straight ahead. His black mask glinted in the streetlights, and his yellow eyes seemed more visible. Christine raised her head and weakly attempted to struggle away and to the ground. She immediately became dizzy and disoriented, freezing completely when the masked man looked directly at her.
"Remain still," he commanded gently. "It is a long way to the ground."
Her throat was too parched for her to speak or scream. Again, she attempted to sit up and somehow escape his hold on her. With a sigh, her captor placed a gloved hand over her mouth and nose, limiting her breathing significantly.
Already weak from exhaustion and fear, Christine felt herself began to succumb to unconsciousness again.
"Sleep, Christine," were the last words she heard.
The second time she woke up, Christine was greeted with complete silence. As the fog lifted from her mind, she let out a groan, feeling a dull ache inside of her skull. With her eyes still closed, she desperately tried to remember where she was. Was she at home? How had she gotten there?
Opening her eyes, Christine immediately let out a sharp gasp and raised her head from the pillow. Only a very dim lamp lit the room, illuminating the completely unfamiliar surroundings. Pure white walls surrounded a medium-sized bedroom, giving the room a hazy glow. The floor was made of polished wood with an ornate blue and gold throw rug in the center of it. Strange figurines and porcelain vases stood on the many shelves that lined the walls. On one side was a large dresser with nine sets of drawers. She also noticed that there were three silver-knobbed doors within the bedroom, two slightly ajar and one firmly closed.
Looking down, she saw she was lying in a queen-sized bed, covered in a thick midnight blue comforter. The air surrounding her was slightly too cold to be comfortable, and she felt a shiver run through her as she continued to gaze around in bewilderment. Once the ache in her head became only a minor discomfort, Christine slowly removed the covers from her body and turned around on the bed. Fear was slowly building inside of her, and she even wondered if she was dreaming.
Standing up, Christine felt the cold floor beneath her socks and realized she had no memory of removing her shoes. Like a lost child, she stood in the middle of the room, wondering where to go or what to do. Turning, she let out a gasp as a stoic face greeted her, only to shake her head in relief as she saw it was nothing but a doll on a shelf...a blonde, porcelain doll wearing a lavender velvet dress from the nineteenth century. She quickly turned away from its eerie stare and hugged her arms to her body.
Walking over to one of the ajar doors, she reached out a shaking hand and pulled it open. It was a full bathroom, decorated with pine green rugs and towels. Scented shampoos, soaps, and other toiletries had been laid out along the counter of the sink. Flipping on the light, she saw that several nails were poking out from the middle of the wall. Immediately, Christine realized that a mirror should have been hanging there. From the black scratch marks that were engraved into the white wall, it appeared to have been torn down violently.
Turning off the light, Christine took several shaky breaths and turned back around. Her eyes wandered to the door that was completely closed. On the one hand, she wanted out of the gilded cell. Where in God's name was she? At the same time, she dreaded what she would find on the other side. Blurred newspaper images of kidnaped and murdered young women entered her mind. Was she to be the next smiling photograph on a missing person's poster?
Tiptoeing across the cold floorboards, she slowly put her ear to the door and listened. There was complete silence, except for a very soft and rhythmic ticking sound. Biting her lip, Christine twisted the knob and cracked open the door. She found herself looking into a strangely decorated living room.
Two black leather sofas and an armchair stood in the middle, all three showing few signs of age. Between them was a circular mahogany table, its four legs bent and twisted into odd cylindrical shapes. As in the bedroom, the shelves were filled with contorted figurines and unidentifiable objects, although these were more grotesque. Statues of snakes, arachnids, and various predators lined the walls, their glaring eyes constantly focused upon her. Only a few signs existed of the modern era, including several standing lamps and a digital clock.
From behind her, Christine noticed the ticking sound again and turned around to see a gold and black wall clock. Both the minute and second hands were in the shapes of ebony serpents with yellow eyes, and she found them almost hypnotizing as they slowly made their way around the Roman numerals.
"Do you like it?"
Christine let out a gasp and whirled around. There stood her captor at his daunting height, watching her intently from behind the black piece of porcelain. His arms were folded across his chest, and his dark suit hung loosely upon his looming frame.
"I believe it was handcrafted in Switzerland," he continued in that voice she had come to know so well. "It is one of my more prized possessions."
She stood there frozen, barely able to comprehend his words. Continuing to stare into the two golden eyes, Christine attempted to take several steps backward, only to run into the wall. Although she was very aware that this was the Voice, she couldn't bring herself to connect her heavenly instructor with this wraith-like man.
"There is no need to be frightened, Christine." She could almost detect amusement in his voice. "You are perfectly safe here. Nothing can harm you."
Finally, she was able to get her lips to move. "Where am I?"
"In one of my many homes," he replied, gesturing with his arms. "It is probably the most comfortable. Your bedroom is really one of a kind."
His casual tone was almost incomprehensible to her. The fact that she couldn't even see his expressions made her even more nervous. Was he mocking her? Toying with her before he...did something else? "Why am I here? Who are you?"
"I have told you. I am going to allow the world to hear your divine voice. I have taken you to a place where you can concentrate solely on your music-where no one else will interfere. You are secure here, Christine. There is no need to worry."
She shook her head in disbelief. "No! I can't be here. People will look for me! You have to take me back! Please take me back!" Christine knew she was begging, but what choice did she have? There was no way she would win any struggle against him. She didn't even know where the exit was.
"Very few people will miss your short absence." He paused as if in thought. "You are not a prisoner here. I only wish you to become used to these surroundings. It is really the perfect place to ensure that we are not interrupted. After you have spent some time here, then you may leave. And you will willingly come back."
His calmness was almost infuriating. "I want to go back home!" she exclaimed, her eyes darting around the room in search of any escape at all. "You can't keep me here! Please!"
"I won't keep you here, Christine," he calmly replied. "I only said that I wished for you to stay. You are free to leave when you want." He motioned toward a door on the left before refolding his arms, continuing to watch her with a relaxed posture.
She glanced at him with distrust, before looking back to the aforementioned door. Would he attempt to grab her if she tried to run? Taking a breath, she moved from against the wall and walked to the door, keeping her eyes away from him. The silver knob was cold underneath her hand, leading her to believe it truly did lead to the outside. With a quick glance behind her, she saw that he had not moved from his original place. Only the yellow eyes continued to follow her.
Christine turned the knob and opened the door, letting in a gust of frigid air. She was immediately met with darkness and an orchestra of horrible noises. To her front and left was nothing but a tall concrete wall. Turning to her right, she saw a long stairwell of concrete steps that led to the surface. Glaring lights shone from somewhere above. The sounds of sirens, barking dogs, and angry yelling met her ears. A glass bottle shattered, and a car alarm went off. It was a stark contrast from the richly decorated rooms behind her. Frankly, she had no idea where she was.
"I am sure that there are many things out there that would love to get their hands on you, Christine. You are quite a beautiful sort of prey. Why not stay where you are protected and loved?"
She merely continued to stare outside with a growing feeling of horror. Reaching out from behind her, her captor firmly shut the door, thereby making the decision for her. Taking a key, he locked it from the inside. It dawned on her that there was now no escape.
As she stared at the ground, she felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. She flinched and turned around. Her captor quickly drew back his arm as if bitten.
"Who are you?" she asked softly, looking up at him. "What do you want?"
He hesitated. "I am Erik. Your instructor and your friend. I wish to hear your voice throughout my lonely little apartment. I think that you will become happy here in time...away from the rest of the world."
"I want to go home," she pled dully. "Please. I can't stay here."
"You will go home when I want you to," he replied with slight hostility. "Now. You can either eat something or retire for the night. I understand if you are tired."
Knowing that she was defeated, Christine turned around and walked quickly to her supposed room, shutting the door tightly behind her. She saw with dismay that there was no way to lock it from the inside. As tears of panic began to well up in her eyes, she began to open the many drawers, combing through them to find something of use. Pens and paper lay in some. Others were filled with strange trinkets and pieces of jewelry. In one, she even found a silver hand mirror.
Finally, far back in one of the dresser drawers, her hand felt along something sharp. Grabbing the handle of the object, Christine pulled out a letter opener. The keen edge glinted in the dim lighting.
Grasping onto the instrument tightly, she climbed onto the bed and tucked the potential weapon beneath her pillow. Not bothering to get undressed, she lay down atop the comforter and attempted to organize her frantic thoughts. She tried to keep from panicking...tried to think of some sort of plan of action that would ensure her escape.
Obviously, she was trapped in some sort of basement with a psychopath. Her beloved Voice was a masked man. There was no protector or surreal being. And now...now she was truly alone.
What would he do to her? What did he really want with her?
And even in all of her fears and questions concerning her own survival, Christine couldn't help but wonder what was beneath that strange mask of black porcelain.