School has started up again, which means two accounting classes and piles of homework. :( Updates may be a little delayed, but I'll try to make sure you get one every two weeks at the very least. Support is much appreciated!
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Christine clutched the phone in one hand and leaned back onto the leather couch, the familiar nauseous sensation seeping into her stomach. Every morning that she made this phone call, worry engulfed her. Erik watched from the side with his long arms folded, likely concerned and displeased by the expression on her face. She kept her focus on the ground.
The high-pitched ringing finally stopped as someone answered. Christine took a deep breath before asking the question, her free hand clenched into a ball. "Hi. I'm Christine Daae, and I'm calling to check on Mrs. Valerius' present condition. I'm her granddaughter, and I live a long distance away. You probably have me on the visitor's list."
"One moment, please," the woman curtly replied. Another long pause followed, in which Christine grew even more apprehensive. Finally, the woman returned. "She's conscious this morning and has eaten a little. Yesterday was a very rough day for her, but today seems to be better."
"All right," Christine replied with a thick swallow. "Thank you."
"Should I tell her you called?"
"No," she softly responded. "That's okay. Thank you." Christine quickly clicked off the phone and rubbed her temples. She was both relieved that Mrs. Valerius was still alive, and miserable at the fact that she would have to continue making the same phone call until the dreaded event did occur. It was a terrible limbo to be in-waiting for a loved one's death.
"I take it she is not well?" asked Erik, interrupting Christine from her troublesome thoughts.
"She has good days and bad days. It seems to linger...to go back and forth. I don't know what to think."
"Life can play cruel and relentless games, my dear," he replied, with what sounded like genuine empathy. "Perhaps you would feel better if you did not call every morning? You seem very distressed, and we would not want you to damage your health."
Christine hesitated. "I want to know when it happens, though. I'd like to be able to go to her funeral and help clear out the apartment. I have to know when she leaves."
It was the first time she had made the statement, and Christine hoped the request would not anger him. Erik had not yelled at her for some time. In fact, he had remained calm and eager to please over the last several days of her stay. Long vocal lessons had consumed the hours, lifting her away from her confusion and anxiety.
"Perhaps a visit there can be arranged," he replied, after a short pause. "It would allow you to say all your goodbyes. One so young and alive should not constantly dwell on death. And I imagine you have possessions that you wish to recover?"
"I do. A lot of photographs. Things I got from my father..." She softly laughed. "A bunch of old toys and things that I could never bear to get rid of." Feeling childish, she looked up to see him listening intently to her every word. His eyes were set at a soft glow.
"You will see your belongings again, Christine. I have no intent on forever keeping you from them. Arrangements will be made when the time comes."
She nodded her appreciation. "Thank you...Erik." Wishing to get away from the somber and awkward topic, Christine quickly switched to a more familiar subject. "I think I need to practice my song several more times. It's better than I've ever done before. But I'd like to run through it again, if that's okay."
"Of course!" Erik exclaimed. She found that his eyes especially lit up whenever any mention of her singing was made, perhaps because that was how almost all of their time together was spent. "We will practice several more times. You are already near perfection, though. But come! We will go through it again!"
She rose up from the sofa and followed him back to the piano. Stretching her voice more than she had ever imagined was possible, Christine lost herself in the perfectly flowing chords of the piano. Over the past week, she had sung hymns such as "Ave Maria" and her beloved "Amazing Grace." Erik had even begun to accustom her to opera, telling her that nothing should be considered out of reach. He had introduced her to "Un bel di" from Madame Butterfly and "The Jewel Song" from Faust. After months of practice with Erik, plus years of singing alongside her father, the notes were not impossible. Still, Christine often preferred the Broadway tunes and classic ballads, finally choosing one of Sondheim's songs from A Little Night Music as her performance piece. Erik usually submitted to her requests. As long as she was singing for him, he was very content, playing for hours and hours with no pause. Christine's thoughts escaped her during this surreal time. Lost in the swirls of notes, she found that nothing else seemed important.
When she was away from the music, though, Christine did become tense. The fact that she had become a sort of willing prisoner crossed her mind, although she attempted not to dwell on it often. Her upcoming meeting with Raoul constantly frightened her, the thought gnawing at her insides until she felt sick. She regretted sending the letter now. How was she supposed to protect Raoul? And if Erik became angry again...
Christine was very aware that she had gained Erik's trust over the last few weeks, and it was something that she did not want to lose. Of course, betraying him would be a prison sentence. He wouldn't let her see the light of day for God knew how long. She also found that she didn't want to destroy the delicate relationship between them, a strange sort of friendship that was built on music. She'd never had anything like it before; the last years of her life had been very lonely. Christine genuinely enjoyed these tranquil times, and she did not ever want to see that fiery anger and deadly hatred again.
As Christine sang, she would often watch him play the piano, his long fingers gliding over the keys and his concentration focused downward. Sadness and a sympathetic warmth sometimes filled her heart, as she realized that Erik would have been famous if not for his horrible face. Attempting to picture the cadaver's visage in her mind, she wondered if she would be as terrified if Erik ever again removed the mask. Although it was difficult to picture those three gaping holes, Christine hoped she would have the strength to show no reaction.
On their last short rehearsal, the morning before her performance, her nerves began to betray her. Stage fright only made up a small part of her terrible anxiety. Her secret meeting with Raoul was grating upon her in full force. What if Erik discovered it? How would she hide? Christine's voice often went off pitch or became flat. She nervously wrung her hands together, losing her concentration several times and mumbling the words.
Erik suddenly stopped in the middle of song and looked toward her. "You are distracted," he stated.
She glanced up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, struggling to keep her voice steady. "I guess I'm nervous about this evening. I'm sorry. I'll try again."
He nodded. "Do not be. As I have said, do not worry about impressing them. They are unworthy to even hear you. You will surpass all their expectations."
"I've already passed my own expectations," she softly replied. "I never thought I would be this good. It's...amazing."
"Your voice is amazing, Christine."
Her heart rapidly pounded, as he stared at her with what could only be described as desperate longing. "You're still coming?" she asked.
"Of course," he whispered. "You will not see me often, but I will always be listening. I will remain in the shadows, able to listen to the conversations of whomever I choose. By the time we depart, we will know exactly what everyone thought of your performance. Perhaps a deal can even be reached to ensure your future career. But I would never miss hearing your voice, Christine! Never would I!"
Her breath momentarily caught in her throat. Everything would be shattered should he discover her meeting that night. "Erik...I..." She softly sighed. "Thank you."
His yellow eyes glowed with excitement. Suddenly, he leaped up from the piano bench, startling her away from her worries. "Come, my dear! I will show you what you will wear!" He reached out but didn't touch her, only motioning Christine to follow him. She attempted to keep up with his quick steps. "Go to your closet, Christine. You will find it there!"
With a curious glace toward him, she slowly made her way into her bedroom. Opening the walk-in closet, Christine at first noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Turning around, though, she let out a little gasp of delight as she saw what was hanging on her door. A silky, white dress sat on a hanger, its length just above the floor. The sleeves were short, but a matching white shawl hung nearby to protect her arms from the cold. Delicately touching the soft material with her fingers, she noticed with awe that the dress was also lined with a layer of lace. It had likely cost a fortune. She had never worn anything so elegant.
Christine swallowed, blinking back tears from her eyes. Slowly, she took down the dress from the hanger with a shaking hand, not surprised to see that it was exactly her size. After closing the closet door, she undressed and slipped into the gown. The silky material flowed over her waist and hips, lightly dusting her legs and ending near her ankles. Taking the shawl, she wrapped it over her pale arms.
Within several minutes, Christine opened the door of the closet and emerged from the room. Erik was facing in the opposite direction, hands behind his back and chin tilted slightly upward as if he were in thought. For the first time, he didn't seem to notice her entrance.
Without thinking, she slowly walked over and lightly touched his back with her fingers. He flinched and whirled around, eyes aglow like two dancing flames. They stared at each other for several seconds. Christine could feel her cheeks grow warm as his eyes trailed over her.
"Yes," he finally stated, his voice just above a whisper. "I believe that will do fine."
"Thank you," she softly replied. "It's wonderful." After tearing her gaze away from him, Christine quickly turned around and left to prepare for the evening. Both a foreign warmth and a horrible anxiety stayed with her the rest of the afternoon.
The lobby of the enormous hotel was teeming with people, and Raoul found himself constantly stepping out of the way of other guests as he stood waiting. Men in formal suits and women in expensive dresses passed on all sides of him, many going out for dinner or to see the city. He also noticed crowds of people heading into the banquet and conference rooms. Stepping to the side, he wearily glanced around, having no idea of where to begin looking. Christine had said little in the note, only for him to stay out of sight in the lobby. The whole letter had been strange, including how it was delivered.
Three days ago, Phillip had walked into the living room with an irritated expression on his face.
"Don't tell your friends to send their letters to my office," he stated, holding out a wrinkled envelope. "I get enough junk mail as it is."
Raoul had glanced up, reluctant to turn away from the drone of the television. Ever since his last bitter encounter with Christine, he had attempted to keep his mind occupied. Her words had stung him, especially after she had cried in his arms minutes before. "Huh? I never told anyone to send anything there."
Phillip had tossed him the envelope. "Well...somehow it got there. Don't do it again." He shook his head and walked into the office, closing the wooden doors tightly behind him.
Raoul had stared at the return address in shock for a moment, before quickly ripping the envelope open. After reading over the letter twice, he set it aside and turned off the television. Not even a minute had passed before he decided that he would go. Something had to be wrong. The letter was disturbingly vague.
Now, though, he was unsure of what to do. There were hundreds of people walking around him. How would he ever find Christine in all of this mess? How would she find him? Feeling tired from wandering around the lobby for over thirty minutes, he finally took a seat in one of the plush lounge armchairs. Several minutes passed. People continued to go in and out. Someone suddenly opened the door of one of the banquet rooms and stepped out to talk on a cellular phone. Raoul was greeted with the sound of someone singing from the inside of the room.
Jumping out of the chair, Raoul dashed over to the door and held it open a crack. He had immediately recognized the voice, although it was even more vibrant and beautiful than before. There was Christine Daae, singing upon a small stage in her clear voice. Light piano music played in the background, but all else was silent. The audience's focus was entirely on her. Raoul stood there and watched, noticing how stunning she looked in a white gown and with a few well-placed pieces of glimmering jewelry. He suddenly wondered if she even was in any danger. Her expression as she sang was one of delight.
As the song ended, the audience erupted into an enormous round of applause, some people even standing. Christine smiled and murmured a soft thank you into the microphone. Glowing under the lights, she picked up her dress and stepped down from the stage. People continued to praise her as she made her way forward and to the back of the room. Raoul started to run in and meet her, still in slight awe over her performance.
Christine's head suddenly turned toward the door so that she was staring directly at him. Her blue eyes widened in recognition. Raoul waved, but was surprised when Christine's mouth gaped open and her smile disappeared. She took a quick glance around the room before making a clumsy dash forward, nearly tripping over her dress. As some people stood up to begin dancing, he momentarily lost sight of her in the crowds. In several moments, though, she reappeared directly in front of him.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, reaching out to embrace her. "You were amazing up there! I didn't know you could sing like that!"
Christine shook her head. "Shh." Grabbing his wrist tightly, she pulled him out of the banquet room and back into the lobby. Her eyes constantly darted around, staring at every moving object and drifting shadow. Gnawing at her lip, she finally rushed forward toward a room and opened the door, quickly yanking him inside with her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, looking around in complete bewilderment. "What's going on? Why are we in a closet?"
"It's better here," she stated, tightly shutting the door behind them and flipping on a dim light bulb. Brooms, mops, and various cleaning fluids surrounded them. Rags hung on the walls, and a buzzing furnace sat in the corner. A musty smell engulfed the room.
"In a closet? Why can't we talk outside?"
"We can't," Christine softly replied, nervously glancing toward the door. "I can't even talk for that long, actually."
Raoul became slightly irked. "Then why did you ask me here in the first place? Would you please tell me what is going on?"
She looked to the dusty ground, her long hair falling in waves down her shoulders. "I wanted to see you before you left for Aspen. To say goodbye...and...to apologize for what I last said. I don't want to lose touch with you."
He sighed. "Nothing is making any sense, Christine. You're running from one place to another. Sometimes you seem happy to see me, and other times you act like you hate me. Sometimes you're terrified. I don't know what to think. You won't tell me anything!"
"I can't explain everything! It's really complicated, okay?"
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's get out of this closet. It's too hot, and we're probably not even supposed to be in here." Raoul reached over and opened the door.
"No!" Christine yelped. As she looked out with him, he suddenly heard her let out a sharp gasp. Raoul followed her gaze and saw her to be looking toward a strange shadow. It mingled almost invisibly with the crowds in the lobby, staying in the darker corners. "Oh, God. Close the door!"
"Why?" He continued to follow her eyes. "Is that him? Is that who you're worried about?" Raoul stepped forward. "Let me see him. Who is he?"
"No! You're going to get us both killed! Is that what you want? Close the door!" Bounding forward, Christine pushed passed her friend and slammed the door shut, leaning against it so he couldn't open it again." Oh, God. What if he saw us?" She paced back and forth in the cramped space, wringing her hands together. "Oh God. Oh God."
"Christine!" He firmly grabbed her by the shoulders. "Please tell me what is going on! I'm worried about you. What is he doing to you? Let me call the police or something. Please."
"No!" she panicked. Christine took a deep breath and calmed her voice. "Don't do that. He...he's not doing anything to me. I promise. Everything is fine. He's teaching me to sing. He's giving me an opportunity to be famous, Raoul. It's amazing, actually."
He squinted in disbelief. "Then why are you shaking? What are you so afraid of?" When she didn't answer, Raoul slowly placed an arm around her trembling shoulders. She quietly leaned against him before finally speaking.
"I...I'm not afraid. I just..." She sighed. "I don't know what I am. Listen, I can't see you for a while. But I want to keep in touch with you."
"I'm not going to lose touch with you," he replied. "Not when you're upset like this. Tell me what's going on. Why do you stay with him if he scares you? We're hiding in a closet, for God's sake."
"I can't talk about this now. I don't have time. Please." She took out a pen and a paper napkin. "Give me your address and phone number. I'll try to contact you when I can. Have fun in Aspen."
He reluctantly took the pen from her and placed the napkin on an old table that was stored in the room, quickly jotting down the requested information. "Can I get a phone number from you?" he asked. "An address? Anything?"
Christine quickly shook her head. "No. That's not possible. I'm sorry."
He handed her the napkin. "Do you...are you in a relationship with him or something? You're still wearing the ring. Do you love him?"
"Don't ask stupid questions!" she quickly snapped, stepping away from him.
Raoul raised his hands in self-defense. "All right. I'm sorry. I don't want you to get hurt. I don't understand any of this, Christine. But it worries me."
"I'm sorry, too. But I'll be fine. I just...I...think..." Suddenly, she stopped speaking and looked toward the door. A look of horror came over her face. Raoul looked up as well, immediately seeing that the doorknob was slowly turning.
Christine slowly backed up toward the wall. "Please no," she murmured to herself. "Not now, Erik. Not after everything. I'm so sorry. Please don't come in."
Raoul instinctively grabbed a heavy broom and clasped the handle in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon. He took a step in front of her, but Christine quickly yanked his shirt and pulled him backward.
Both could only watch as the door opened with a grating creak.