Fallen Angels Chap.4

Christine sat nervously in front of the mirror of her dressing room, waiting for the make-up girl. Thoughts flitted through her mind as she tried to calm herself: the aria was a masterpiece of Mozart, Meg would perform tonight as well, Madame Giry would be backstage, and so on and so forth to avoid thinking about the actual performance and the man who she knew would be watching. Eventually, she came to him within her circle of thoughts, and loosed a very loud and uncouth sigh. How she wanted to impress him, to make him see her as she used to be, the brilliant singer. Finally the make-up girl entered and Christine knew that curtain time drew near. Ready or not. She thought drolly.

Christine's role began almost immediately in act I, and then she vanished until act II where the famous aria occurred. Her character was a force in act II, and unfortunately she had to share the stage and sing with Helena, who for some curious reason was not reacting to her presence. Perhaps she really is afraid Erik will leave her. At the end of the production, applause rained down on the two divas, Christine was embraced by the public once again. Helena looked as though she was turning a sickly shade of green at the accolades being showered on Christine, who was all smiles as she hurried back to her dressing room and the mountain of flowers that waited for her there. The blooms covered ever spare inch of the small room, leaving her barely able to move. As she perused the collection, she noticed several notes and small gifts from a number of eager fans. Her eyes then found the one thing that she only could have hoped to find, within a vase on her dressing table, there was a single rose tied with a ribbon of black satin. She gazed longingly at it, as though it would vanish into thin air if she should dare attempt to tough its beauty.

In a moment her peace was shattered as the door to her dressing room was flung open. Strolling in, without even asking her permission was Raoul, dressed in his finest evening attire. "Good evening, Madame, how is the greatest voice in France tonight?" His smile and words exuded a malice Christine did not even know he was capable of. "I come to give you one last chance my dear." From his jacket he produced a large envelope and proceeded to wave it about in front of her nose. "Here are your precious divorce papers, all they require is signing. I want you to give this a long hard thought. If you ask it of me, I will restore you to your position by my side, in your answer is still no, I will send these along."

Christine gave him an open mouth stare. The utter gall of the man, to believe that she would return to him. She shook with fury, even as she knew that behind these words of compromise, she heard him threatening her. "How dare you!" She fumed, no longer wishing to be intimidated by everything in life. "Leave my dressing room at once, or I shall have you escorted out of the theatre." Raoul just turned that sinister smirk on her once again. "Christine, you are my wife." Once again she heard the threat and knew that there were many things a man could legally do to his "wife". "Not for long." She retorted as defiantly as she could muster.

Suddenly, Raoul's eyes drifted to the rose, and Christine's eyes widened in horror. God, what will this provoke him to. He delicately picked it up to hold in front of his face as though savoring its sweet fragrance. He then began to laugh as though the rose signified some great private joke. "Well, well, well. I would ask you to supper Little Lotte, but I fear your Angel of Music would protest." He continued his maniacal laughter. "You may have your misshapen monster then if you will Christine." The jibe got to her, but she didn't believe for a moment that he was about to leave her in peace. She was actually terrified at the instability of sanity he seemed to be displaying. "He's not a monster." She said softly, not wanting to start a fresh argument with a man who was losing his mind. Raoul placed the rose back in its vase and turned to leave her. "You will regret this, dear Christine." the door slammed behind him and Christine was left alone, the happiness of moments before faded.

The production of the Magic Flute was a raving success, playing from mid-February until near April. The last opera for spring was planed to run until the start of June and that would end the opera season, when the hottest months drove the upper class residents to escape Paris to the open countryside. Christine did not see Erik again during the run of The Magic Flute, although she did receive the odd rose, and a couple of small notes on the occasion that her performance and been especially good.

Christine found herself crumpled to her knees when she received news of what the season's last opera was to be, Don Juan Triumphant, by one Erik Le Seul, a mysterious composer and vocal teacher. Her heart broke, he had never wanted that opera performed again, she was sure he had been left no choice in the matter by the uncompromising prima donna. From the moment the announcement came, Helena began prowling about the opera house like a self-satisfied house cat. After a couple of weeks of rehearsal, the performances began, and they went well enough, Christine performing the second female voice as Helena butchered the lead. The opera, which years previous before the Commune, had been considered vulgar and bizarre, was now hailed as a masterpiece. It was given rave reviews, except for Christine, who could not muster any of her usual stage appeal. Her heart was not in the place it should be, and she simply went through the motions of performing. Erik was invisible to her now completely, no word coming from him in all the weeks the production ran. She hated the whole business and desperately wanted the season to end.

The evening before the last performance, the managers held a great ball and lavish supper, to mark the end of one of the most successful seasons in theatre history. For some reason, as she readied herself, some primitive intuition told her that Erik would be there. She carefully inspected herself in her mirror, studying the outline of the elegant light blue and lace production that the managers had insisted on buying her, the lace over coat that covered the near sleevelessness of the dress, her fingers caressed the diamonds at her throat and ears. Meg silently entered into her room, her light pink dress swaying around her form. She took one note of her down cast look and felt her heart break with sympathy for her friend who had suffered so much. "What sadness troubles you these days? You never say a word, but I know you suffer."

"Oh, Meg." She finally broke down before her friend. "I don't know what to do with myself; every choice I make is faulty. I thought I loved Raoul, but I see the folly of that now. It's too late to go back though." Christine began to cry very softly, not wanting to embarrass herself. Meg threw her arms around her friend and drew her close, trying to comfort her though she had barely understood much of what the girl had been babbling about. "Christine, I wish I could help you somehow." "It's no matter." She tried desperately to smile as she dried her tears. "Let's go before we are late." Stiff upper lip, strong like true diva. She tried to draw her strength for the evening ahead.

The dinner, the first event of the evening, dragged by, Christine and the Girys seated near the managers, Helena and escort conspicuous by their absence. She glanced down to see Meg avidly chatting with Henri. Ah, her beau, soon I will be the only one left. Through out she tried to make polite conversation with those around her. She found out that the managers wanted to risk Helena's ire and have her star in a production next season, despite her problems during Don Juan Triumphant. Men occasionally attempted to flirt with her as they passed where she sat; she weakly brushed them off, not putting much heart in it. Finally after the seemingly eternal meal, the dancing began. Suddenly she found herself fighting off would be suitors, declining more dances than she accepted. Resolving to end the display, she tracked down Madame Giry, intent on standing in the woman's intimidating presence. She noticed that the woman's eyes were fixed on the scene of Meg and Henri twirling across the dance floor. A sigh escaped her lips. "Young love." Her eyes became dreamy and far away. "I feel I soon may have a son." The statement suddenly made her feel very alone, though she felt a certain amount of happiness for her friend. Helena arrived at some point and could be seen gliding about with the son of a rich business man, a man who was definitely not Erik. Christine knew he was there, she could feel his palpable presence. Sighing to herself, Christine left her protective position, and sought the solitude of the second floor balcony. Silently, she closed the glass doors behinds, making sure no one would follow her. Christine stared over the edge of the balcony, lost in her misery.

The figure that had stood unnoticed within the shadows at the edges of the balcony stood behind Christine, watching the mental anguish the girl was obviously in. She had been so absorbed in herself that though she had passed near him, she hadn't seen him at all. He watched her now, admiring the cut of the dress, the beauty of the lace overcoat, the sparkle of diamonds, taking note that there were even some stones worked into her upsweep of chestnut curls. She glittered in the moonlight, looking absolute angelic, as her tears spilled off the balcony to the street below. Unconsciously, he reached a hand out in her direction, but was too far away to touch her. How he wanted to touch her, take her in his arms and make all the pain go away. I can't, never again. Erik was not willing to risk the pain that losing her brought. He came closer, causing her to finally notice his presence, and look up towards him. At the sight of him, her desperate tears were put to a sudden stop. "Why?" Her voice quietly asked of him. "Why, what?" God that sounded stupid. "Why Don Juan?" Why are you putting me through this? "Helena wanted to perform it. I felt obliged to allow it to her." Why am I doing this to myself? "Why?" Why do you care about that sow and not me? Erik felt an anger rising in him, both at himself and the questioning girl before him. "Because it is better that living life alone." He practically shouted at her, causing Christine to cringe. Immediately he felt terrible. Why does it have to be her I always hurt? Christine felt obliged to return his outburst as she had been made frantically emotional by the whole conversation. "Why her, why loose your dignity over all of this?" She was shouting now as well. How pathetic we've become the two of us. "I can't give you answers Christine. You have no understanding of what it's like to be alone." For a moment she did not answer him, a look of shocked outrage on her face. "I can't understand! I am alone Erik, I have no family left." Her voice was still raised, but she was no longer shouting. "Just because your husband left you doesn't mean you understand, you are just wallowing in self pity." With that last remark he was almost sure she would strike him from the look in her eyes. "Don't presume to know what my situation is. Your precious Helena is out there with some other man. She cares not one whit for you, and soon you'll find yourself cast aside." Her tears had returned, but she hid them from his view as she made her way to the balcony doors. "I see now that it is truly over." With that she slammed the doors behind. "Christine, I wish you could understand." He stood alone on the balcony, feeling the tears he'd been desperately repressing rise up.

Christine fled the opera house and returned home, leaving the Girys behind. She dashed up to her room and stripped off all the fine clothing and jewelry, leaving it in a pile in the corner. Curling herself into a ball underneath her covers, she cried herself to sleep. When Madame Giry returned her first thoughts were to check on Christine. She found the girl burning up with a fever and mumbling incoherently about ghosts and angels. Putting a hand to her forehead she gasped. "Child, you are ill." Christine looked as though she were trying to smile. "Lovesick Madame." Her smile turned into a grimace of pain. "In love with a man who no longer loves me." "Raoul?" Madame Giry's curiosity was stirred. "No, I've forgotten what loving Raoul was like." She then drifted back off to sleep. Madame Giry hurried to fetch a maid and get ready to tend the sick girl throughout the night. Poor child, that damnable night is still destroying her.

For three days and nights, Christine's body raged with influenza, her fever rose, she hallucinated, and she complained of not being able to breathe. She also missed the last performance of Don Juan Triumphant. In one strange moment of those three days it seemed she was lucid, and before her she saw Erik. She tried to speak to him, to tell him how sorry she was, but found she hadn't the strength. He locked eyes with her. "You must get well Christine, you cannot die." She felt as though she were drowning in her thoughts. God, let me come back and I will put everything right again. She prayed into the silent darkness. On the morning of the fourth day, her fever lifted, and she seemed to almost miraculously revive. She recovered slowly, and by the middle of June she was healthy enough, if still terribly depressed.

Christine's recovery was followed by the happy announcement of Meg's engagement to Henri Frances. There was a summer wedding in the works within hours of the announcement. Christine tried hard to loose her pain in her friend's happiness, to occupy herself with the duties of a maid of honor. The whole household was flung headlong into planning a wedding that would be the most grandiose a ballerina ever had. The opera house was to be the wedding site, and the reception held there afterwards. Secretly, Christine spent a lot of time sighing to herself and plotting her life as a spinster with Madame Giry.

One evening Christine sat perusing wedding dress designs with Meg before the Girys were off to dinner with Henri at his parents' home. "Are you sure you don't want to come with Christine, I'm sure it won't be a stuffy affair." Meg tried to sound cheerful and joking to hide the real concern that she had grown for her friend's deteriorating mental state. She teasingly pulled one of Christine's brown curls. "I'm sure. I think I'll retire early, I'm not as healthy yet as I could be." She smiled reassuringly, for in reality she could not bear to see two people so in love. "Alright, but don't get lonely here by yourself." Meg kissed her cheek and bounded off to the waiting carriage. Christine dismissed the servants for the evening and locked up, intent on having the privacy to cry herself to sleep again. In a matter of moments a knock came. Thinking it was someone returning to retrieve a lost item, Christine opened the door without looking at who was there. As soon as it was open Raoul swooped in, leaving two "hired men", thuggish brutes, on the stoop. He slammed the door behind him. "Ah, my dear Christine, it has been awhile." He loomed over the petite woman. "I think it is time we had a talk." Christine tried to banish her fears and stand strong. "No, we don't." She turned to walk away from him and Raoul grabbed her arm mercilessly. "You are mine." He spat out angrily. "I am not ready to be rid of you yet. You are coming back with me to return to your proper place as my wife." Christine struggled in his grasp; no longer fighting the fear that had began to creep up her spine. "Never! I despise you Raoul Du Chagny. What makes you think I'd ever touch you again, I'll die first." Raoul's free fist connected with the right side of her face, Christine screamed in pain, her eyes welling with tears. "You will learn to watch your tongue from here on out woman. If you do not return to me, your lawful husband, than I shall have the Girys arrested for kidnapping and imprisonment." Christine's mind filled with dawning horror, Raoul had enough money and influence to make it happen. "No." She weakly croaked out. Raoul flung her across the room and colliding into a wall. "And I shall find your beloved Phantom and have him killed." In her heart she wanted to cry out, to strike Raoul for this, but she found herself paralyzed with pain and fear. When did he become such a monster. With a demented smile Raoul knelt beside her and began to draw up her skirts. "Maybe I should make you fulfill your wifely duties here and now." She barely whispered her refusal. "Or have you already let him between your legs, harlot." Raoul's hand which had been lightly caressing Christine's thigh suddenly squeezed it hard enough for her to cry out. He wanted to punish her for the last few months and this was only a petty start to it. Pulling away her undergarments, he revealed her most delicate area, and ran an appreciative finger around it and gently inserted it into her. She almost threw up with revulsion at his touch, but lay unreactive as he fingered her. "No response am I no longer able to satisfy you, wife dear." He laughed mockingly and pulled his finger out. "Or maybe you want something more?" He unbuttoned his trousers and removed his stiff manhood, and drew close to her, threatening to take her against her will. Christine stopped breathing in a moment of sheer horror. Not this, oh God. Raoul was apparently satisfied by her whimpering and tears. He jerked her head up by the hair. "I will see you at dawn or the Girys will spend the rest of their days in prison. He flung himself back into his pants and strode out leaving Christine a tearful mess on the floor.

Damn him! I'll not be his slave, but the Girys won't pay either. I'll leave this country, go to my birth land. She would head to Sweden where she might still have some family living. Quickly her bags were packed, not wanting to risk anyone discovering her, even though she was sure they would not return until near dawn. She had a new purpose in life now, to defeat Raoul and escape him. One, last visit to father's grave. Hiding her bag's, she tread out into the dark streets to say good-bye to her father and the city she had for so long known as home.