Chapter Summary: As Serge and Tallis return to France, Serge makes Tallis confront the truth within herself that she does not wish to acknowledge aloud. Philippe finds joy in the resumption of the normal habits of his life. He invites Monique and Xavier to Chagny for a going away party. Raoul has a request for Christine as they continue on the road to rebuilding their lives. And somewhere, someone decides that it is now time to tear down that which is being rebuilt.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

He had seen to the transfer of their luggage from the ferry to the train station. He had carefully counted each trunk, each carpetbag, each leather valise to assure himself that nothing had been left behind or overlooked. He had paid well for the attention to detail that his upbringing demanded, all the while fighting down the urge to smile at the image of his stern father nodding in approval. He had telegraphed family in Paris apprising them of his imminent return. He had also telegraphed the friend of his traveling companion to let her know that they were returning. He had shaken his head sadly as he turned from the telegraph window; catching a glimpse of the forlorn figure of his companion. He had composed himself as he approached her, taking her lightly by the elbow, guiding her through the crowded station and toward their train; he could only hope they would be in time.

Now Serge sat across from Tallis in the private train car he had hired, perusing the local paper but surreptitiously watching the woman across from him. She was dressed in a simple gray coat that matched the dress she wore beneath. He had insisted that both coat and dress were too light for the Channel crossing but it had been to no avail. A state of numbness had crept over Tallis since the day he had played Erik's music to her and now she seemed to move and exist in a world of her own. She had turned inward at the very moment, surrendering to the love and pleading that Serge had coaxed from the piano keys. Tallis found she could not resist Erik's unspoken words and had agreed to return to France with Serge. Now she was a shell of her former self, her soul buried so deep that Serge was not sure she would ever be able to find it again; yet, if she was unable to do so, someone else would have to try. Serge knew he would at least attempt to draw forth the woman who he had so quickly grown to like. He carefully folded the paper he could not read and placed it on the seat next to him, placing his hands in his lap.

"Fraulein?" he tried. "Tallis?" he said upon not receiving an answer smiling with his eyes as Tallis finally turned her head to look at him. "Is there anything I may get for you?" Serge wondered, hoping to draw Tallis out of herself. "Tea, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," Tallis replied softly. "I should be doing that for you." She began to rise to her feet only to find Serge reaching for her hands, urging her back down.

"I am fine," Serge said. "It is you that I am worried about. You have been terribly silent for nearly the last week."

Tallis lowered her eyes to look at the fingers that played nervously in the folds of her skirt. "I have nothing to say."

"I do not believe that is so," Serge replied gently. There was nothing but silence in response. "Tallis, I wish you would not consider me your employer but your friend."

That caught Tallis' attention and she raised her head again. "I do consider you my friend!"

Serge inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. "Then as your friend, will you promise not to take offense if I speak what is in my heart?" He watched as Tallis swallowed hard and nodded her head. "Danke." Serge drew a deep breath before continuing. "I do not know much of this man you profess to love. I know what the papers say of him – the Opera Ghost – the man responsible for the destruction of an entire opera house and the lives of innocent people. I do not know what it is that can drive a man to such madness. Perhaps he received great mistreatment at the hands of those who should have protected him as a child. Perhaps – like King Ludwig of Bavaria – it is a combination of passion and intelligence that is too great for the mind of one man." Serge shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps he is just mad." He was silent for a moment as he watched Tallis wince at his words before once again composing her features. "If you truly believed he was mad, you would not be in sitting in this car with me, ya?"

Tallis shook her head as her chin trembled. "I do not even know what it is I think anymore."

"Honesty, Fraulein," Serge prodded. "You must be honest with me and more importantly you must be honest with yourself."

Tallis turned her head toward the window. "I cannot … I … I … cannot," she whispered as a single tear slipped from the corner of her eye to trace downward over her pale cheek.

"Then allow me to tell you," Serge replied, a sigh in his voice as he leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. "Once in every lifetime the good God grants us the chance to find the other part of our soul. Unfortunately, it may not always be as we picture our own soul. We may see ourselves as noble and generous and pious and loving. Yet there is always that in our soul that is not pleasant to look at. It may be dark and ugly. It may be jealous and possessive. It may be bitter and angry but it is there and we cannot deny it as much as we would wish. And that is why I believe God has created someone for each and every one of us to love. That is the person who is truly our other half. They are the one whom we look at and see either the best or the worst of ourselves. They are the ones who either lift us up or whom we lift up. They are the mirror into our own souls that allow us to see that which all of us would prefer to keep hidden and such a sight allows us to become better. It allows us a further step on the narrow road that shall finally lead us to God." Serge frowned slightly as Tallis turned to look at him. "And if we pass up such an opportunity, then we are fools indeed and deserve the just punishment that shall meet us at the end of our days."

"I am here with you, am I not?" Tallis wondered. "What more do you require of me?"

"If I have to tell you, then it is of no use."

There was a potent silence in the train car punctuated by the clacking of wheels upon tracks. Serge watched as Tallis finally set her lips into a taut line and closed her eyes.

"I love him," Tallis began. "Is that what you wanted to hear? I love him and I do not care what it is that he has done. I love the frightened little boy he keeps so well hidden. I love the unsure man who wants what he thinks he cannot have. I even love the monster that frightens so many others! I love all of him," she finished softly before opening her eyes. "And I made the biggest mistake in my life by letting him go. Which one of us does that make the fool – me for letting him go or him for allowing it to happen?"

"You," Serge said softly.

"Do you not think I know that?" Tallis nearly shouted, her expression one of pain and longing.

Serge allowed a slight smile to turn up the edges of his lips. "Honesty always hurts, dear friend." He gave Tallis a moment to compose herself. "Now, what are you going to do about this mess that you created?"

"That is brutal honesty," Tallis said as she took a gloved hand and wiped at the tears she refused to cry.

Serge bowed slightly from his waist. "It is my upbringing. My father treated us with – as you say – brutal honesty and demanded nothing less from us in return." Once again, Serge settled back in his seat. "That still does not answer my question – what are you planning on doing?"

Tallis sniffled. "I am going to find him and I am going to do whatever I need to bring him back to me." Her sad expression took on an air of grim determination. "I do not care what it takes," Tallis stated. "I do not care if I have to make a complete fool of myself and throw myself at his feet. I do not care if I have to beg!"

"And if he no longer wants you?" Serge wondered aloud.

"Then you shall need to find another housekeeper for I cannot live without him." Tallis was silent for moment. "I cannot live without him," she admitted. "And if he no longer wants me then I shall find the most distant convent possible and there I shall live out my years. I shall spend the rest of my life doing penance for throwing away the greatest gift that God ever gave me," Tallis finished softly and turned her gaze out the window to look over the cold winter landscape.

Serge watched Tallis, a million thoughts running through his mind. He did not dare intrude upon the emotional chaos that he had forced Tallis to bring to light. So Serge closed his own eyes, struggling with his own thoughts. He buried thoughts of Ilse that always seemed so close to the surface back deep within the dark recesses of his mind, knowing that he, too, would have to deal with a love that seemed just beyond reach. He thought of Erik and the greatness that the world might never see. He thought of Tallis and the love that might be lost forever. And Serge thought of all the possibilities that the two of them – Tallis and Erik – could bring forth if only they could reach beyond the hurt. Serge sent up a silent prayer that God would give each of them the strength to extend arms and hearts and souls to bridge the hurt. He could not do otherwise for the thought of what might be lost was nearly too great to bear.

Another type of loss was on the minds of three friends gathered around a small table, enjoying an early breakfast. They sat patiently as the maid gathered the remains of their meals, placing the fine china on a serving tray before handing it to another maid. The coffee service was left on the table as the girls gave slight smiles to the three people seated at the end of a table meant for larger gatherings. A final smile was given from the first maid as she disappeared behind the door that led to the butler's pantry and the kitchen beyond.

"That was very pleasant," Philippe said as he placed his napkin on the place where his plate had recently rested. He nodded as Monique poised the coffeepot above his cup. Philippe nodded and waited until Monique was pouring coffee for Xavier before he took a sip of the hot liquid.

"It was and it is," Xavier agreed. "I cannot remember the last time you were here to share a meal with us."

"I can," Philippe frowned.

"Xavier," Monique whispered between clenched teeth.

"It is all right," Philippe told them. "Things are slowly returning to normal and every little familiar thing that is once again done is just another step to having things are they once were."

"That is a relief!" Xavier sighed with a roll of his eyes. "I have been so worried about saying or doing the wrong thing. I have been guarding my tongue and watching my actions for I have no desire to make things any more difficult then they all ready are." A sheepish look crossed his face. "It is good to know that you can still overlook the error of my ways."

"We have been friends for over thirty years," Philippe reminded him. "If after all that time, we cannot say what we feel before each other, then…" Philippe shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know." He laughed. "I am making no sense, whatsoever!"

"Neither of us are," Xavier told him. "One would almost think we were Henri and Didier after one of their afternoons spent carousing at the inn."

"We never did anything like that," Philippe said in a somber tone, the twinkle in his eyes belying his words.

"Never," Xavier agreed with a nod, the twinkle in his eyes matching Philippe's.

"Remind me never to gossip about the two of you behind my fan," Monique said quietly, her eyes downcast.

"Caught out," Xavier sighed.

"Indeed," Philippe grimaced. "I have a feeling it may cost us more than a season in Paris to keep our secrets behind that beautiful fan." He exchanged a blank look with Xavier before both men burst into laughter. It was an infectious sound that even drew Monique in, her hand going over her mouth as she fought to control her own laughter. Philippe was not so lucky and he pushed his chair back from the table, reaching for his side, trying desperately to catch his breath. "Oh God," he finally breathed. "I do not think I can remember the last time I laughed that hard!"

"It is wonderful to hear again," Xavier told him, a smile in his eyes as he turned to his wife. "Thank you," he mouthed to her."

Monique inclined her head to him before turning to Philippe. "It is indeed wonderful to hear you laugh like that." She sighed. "It is something I know we shall both miss when we go to Paris."

The mood in the room sobered immediately.

"Must you go now?" Philippe asked. "There is going to be so much happening here over the next few months! Desiree and Charlotte's families are coming and I do not know the last time either of you saw their children. And there shall be a new baby at Chagny in a few weeks – do you not wish to be here when it is born?"

"I should very much like to stay here," Xavier told him, "but Monique wishes the gaiety and bright lights of the big city and I find there is nothing I can do to dissuade her."

Philippe turned his attention to Monique, opening his mouth but stilled by the slight shake of her head.

"Please try to understand," she began as she reached for and found her husband's hand. "You are going to have a whole house full of family who are all going to want to gather round Raoul and Christine and that is only to be expected. I know that you consider us family but I think it would be far better to allow your sisters and their families some quiet time with you and Raoul. Then before you know it Christine will be having her own child and I think that Raoul and Christine deserve some quiet time alone with their child. They have more than earned such a thing; do you not think? Not to mention that once they make plans to return to Paris, they shall not have a single moment of peace! If Xavier and I spend the winter in Paris, perhaps we can help to alleviate some of the chaos that will attend Raoul and Christine once they return."

Philippe thought silently for a moment, beginning to nod his head. "That could prove quite helpful," he acknowledged. "You have seen the all the calling cards and letters. Damned nosy folks who have nothing better to do with their lives," he grumbled before brightening. "You could spread the word of how Raoul has been recovering, how he and Christine are happy and looking forward to their child. You could even say that they are expected back sometime in the spring."

"We could put some of the more salacious rumors to rest," Xavier agreed and turned to his wife. "What say you, my dear? Would you care to be the fount of wisdom against the harpy gossip of the season?"

Monique favored her husband with a broad smile. "I should like that, very much!"

"Consider it done," Xavier said as he returned his attention to Philippe. "But I am so going to miss a quiet winter here in the country. It has been a few years since I have spent a season in Paris and even the thought of the clamor wearies me to the bone! I fear I am going to find myself dozing off at the most inopportune moments. Can you imagine me snoring in the midst of the climactic aria?"

Philippe smirked. "Better one of us than both of us!"

"Do men ever mature beyond their adolescent years?" Monique asked no one in particular.

"No," Philippe and Xavier replied in unison before laughing once again.

"On a more serious note," Philippe said, drawing the attention of his friends. "I have been asked to invite you both to a celebratory farewell dinner before you leave; it is a specific request from Raoul and Christine. Their friends, Meg and Val, are leaving on the first of December – two days before you are scheduled to depart. They would like to have everyone gathered about for one last meal. I cannot honestly say that Raoul will be able to manage the stairs but we could have dinner upstairs with him." Philippe rolled his eyes. "Goodness knows my sisters are all ready rearranging every single piece of furniture on that floor. What would be one more room?" There was a long silence. "Please say yes," Philippe pleaded. "Do not make me go home empty handed!"

"Of course we shall be there!" Xavier told him and turned to his wife, catching her nod of approval, before turning back to Philippe. "It shall be one large gathering to celebrate all that lies before us!"

Yet there were those who still found it difficult to let go of the past to see the possibilities that the future held. There were those who were haunted by events beyond their control. They struggled to move beyond the shadows, beyond themselves, the fight sapping a bit more of their strength with every stride they made forward. Each of them struggled and stumbled and fell. Each of them would claim little victories in the greater war. Ultimately each of them would have to choose their final battle. One had chosen to surrender, giving in to a war he no longer had the desire to fight, allowing the war to continue to rage about him, without him. The other had chosen to continue to fight no matter how many times he fell on the field of battle. He had made the difficult choice to listen to the voices about him that continuously urged him back to his feet. He knew he stumbled and would take two steps backward for every step forward. He was all too aware of the desire – the need - to give up and give in; yet, he could not for there were those who were depending upon him, who needed him. And that knowledge was what had seen him through his darkest days and would continue to see him through all the days yet to come.

"I just … I just…" Raoul shook his head sadly and stared at his trembling hands. "I do not wish to speak about it." His eyes closed and he felt two hands clasp to his own, warm and soft. "Please, Christine," he pleaded. "Please try to understand."

Christine sighed and smiled even though she knew that Raoul could not see it. "As you wish," she began softly. "But when you have these nightmares and you cry out, it frightens me. I only want to make it better for you."

"I wish you could," Raoul replied as he raised their hands to his cheek, leaning in to them, seeking comfort. "I wish you could take away the nightmares and the memories." There was a cry in his voice. "Oh God, I wish it was that simple! I wish that there was a way to make these last months just disappear!"

Christine sighed and rested her head against her husband's. They had been sitting in one of the upstairs parlors, Christine reading while Raoul rested quietly by her side. Christine's attention had been drawn from her book as Raoul begin to moan softly. She had turned to look at him, watching as an expression of pain crossed his face, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. She had placed her book on the table beside the loveseat and moved slightly out of the way. It broke her heart to seemingly leave Raoul to work through his nightmare alone but after having received several blows, as Raoul would awaken, Christine had learned to stay away from flailing arms and hands. And she had no wish to once again see the pain and guilt in Raoul's eyes that she had seen the first time Raoul had realized he had struck her in his sleep. "I wish there were, as well," Christine told him. "I wish there was something – anything! – I could do to make up in some small way for all that you have suffered." Christine saw a strange look cross her husband's face. "What?" she asked, a nervous smile passing over her lips.

Raoul lowered their hands. "I have missed so much, Christine," he stated the obvious. "I have lost months! I have missed summer afternoons riding with Philippe. I have missed evenings surrounded by friends." He laughed slightly. "I have even missed the occasional afternoon with Henri and Didier at the local inn." The laughter diminished to be replaced by deep sorrow. "But what I miss the most is everything we have lost. I miss watching you in the garden among the flowers, the sun shining off your hair. I miss hearing you hum those little tunes that I do not recognize when you are happy. I have missed the quiet times like this when we just sit together without any words needing to be spoken." Raoul released Christine's hands and placed one over their child. "I missed hearing from your lips the fact that we were finally going to be parents. I missed seeing the light in your eyes the day you felt our child move for the first time. I have missed laying awake at night, holding you, as we made plans for our future." Raoul ran a still trembling hand down his wife's cheek. "I can barely remember what it is like to dream of the future, any future," he sighed, "a future with you."

Christine was silent for a moment as she fought with all the conflicting emotions that these moments with Raoul would bring forth. She had never expected to feel apprehension and fear and anger around Raoul and had only begun to learn how to reconcile those feelings with the man she had married. Instead Christine placed a gentle smile on her face. "I still remember what it is like to dream of a future with you, growing old with you. I have kept those memories in trust for both of us," she moved Raoul's hand over the child that was demanding its share of the attention, "for your baby. And you know I would do anything you ask of me. What is that you want Raoul? Just tell me! I would move heaven and earth and even hell itself to make you happy!"

"Not hell, Christine!" Raoul whispered. "Please not hell."

"I am sorry," Christine whispered back, biting her lip, worried that she had again crossed a line that Raoul would not tell her about. She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tell me what is you want." Christine found herself entangled in the desperate need in her husband's blue eyes.

"I want to be there when our child is born."

Christine was puzzled. "You will be here! You will be with Philippe and …"

"I want to be with you when our child is born," Raoul interrupted.

"What?" Christine blurted out.

"Please!" Raoul pleaded. "I have missed everything about our child's life. I have missed being there to support you. I do not want to miss anything else! I do not want to miss my child's first cry! I want to be there to support you, to help you as you have helped me!"

"Raoul … I …" Christine stammered.

"Please, Christine, do not make me beg!"

"I was not going to do any such thing!" Christine insisted and cupped Raoul's face in her hands. "I know it is not done or proper but I would like nothing better than to have you beside me." Her smile wavered a bit. "I am frightened of what bringing this child into the world entails. I am afraid of the pain and the time it will take. I am terrified that something will go wrong. And should you be at my side, I do not think I should be quite as frightened." Her eyes twinkled and her smile grew stronger. "I think we would even be able to convince Monsieur Corhei to allow such a thing; he is very forward in his thinking."

"He is going to be a perfect replacement for Senor Gallardo," Raoul admitted and an unsure look passed over his face. "Are you certain Christine?"

Christine leaned slightly forward, placing a kiss on Raoul's forehead before leaning her own against it. "I have never been more certain of anything in my life." She rubbed her nose against Raoul's and laughed softly. "Other than the fact that I love you beyond any mere word could ever say."

Raoul wrapped his arms about his wife and buried his head in the crook of her neck. "I do love you," he breathed into Christine's ear. "It is the one certainty I know beyond a doubt - I love you. God, how I love you!"

God and doubts and certainties were on the mind of the person who sat motionless in the dark, forgotten room in the corner of a large basement. The person sat surrounded by stacks of letters wrapped in blue ribbons, other stacks neatly bound by plain string. Apothecary jars in various shades lined a shelf, their contents meant to hurt or heal depending upon the mood of the dispenser. An antique chest stood open in a corner, small chests resting inside, the earthy odor of fermented leaves wafting upward. The only sound in the room came from fingers being drummed upon a dust-covered secretary.

"Time," the person whispered. "There is no more time." Fingers stopped drumming and curled into a fist. "It is time to strike." The person was certain, no doubts left in a mind clouded by years of seeing that which was not there and seeing that which was. An open palm slammed down upon the secretary.

"God no longer needs to wait for seven days!" the hissed words escaped from between clenched teeth. "It takes less time to tear down a world than it does to build it up." A hand reached for the Tarot cards that remained where there had been the last time they had been touched. "Death," the person whispered as eyes scanned the card the hand held. The person rose to their feet, a hand reaching out to wipe the grime from a basement window.

"Time for a change," the person whispered as they looked out over the valley, snow taking on the violet hues of twilight. "Long past time for a change."