A/N: Dear Readers, I am very sorry that I have delayed Writing, five tests and three essays have prevented me from updating. Please read and review, and thank you to all who have reviewed in the past.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of it's characters, (Once again, I wish I owned Gerard Butler, you're all getting sick of reading me write that statement, i know, lol)
Tears fell from Christine's eyes every second of the way. Raoul's body had been so much heavier than it looked. Carrying him five storeys to the surface was no easy task, physically and emotionally, she was scarred far worse than ever before.
Blood dripped from his wound, leaving a horrid trail of evidence as they slowly moved to ground level. Madame Giry was aware of Christine's tears, but she knew deep down that somewhere within Christine's poor confused thoughts, she was somehow relieved.
Over and over in her mind, Christine could see Raoul's death, she could hear the shot repeated time and time again, as if she were enduring some form of punishment. The demons of hell must have been dancing around their fire as they laughed their wicked laugh, mocking this tragedy. She knew she was damned to the depths of flame.
"It will all be over soon" Madame Giry softly assured, but Christine could scarcely believe her. It would all be over yes, but would she ever live this down? Suddenly a wave of bitter agony washed over her like an ocean of burden. This would never be over... never.
The storm that had once ripped through the city of Paris had subsided, and all was now quiet. The morning sky, and the light, was as unfeeling as Erik had once described it. It was only when Antoinette could fully see Christine that she noticed the emptiness which consumed the girl's eyes. She looked soulless, almost vacant. No doubt... the poor thing, this should not have happened, but Kristen did not deserve to die! and neither did Erik. Raoul had turned into a heartless monster of a man, he of all people deserved to be put out of everyone else's misery.
"What am I going to do?" Christine whispered. They laid his body to the floor. As Christine gazed down at her reddened hands, her eyes betrayed an insanity beyond Madame Giry's comprehension. "What am I going to do?" She repeated, this time in a state of pure panic.
Madame Giry pulled the poor girl to her and held her closely, "Now listen to me Christine, everything will be fine... do you hear me? You can live here still, you are not out in the cold, you are not alone. You have me... you have Meg, you have Kristen, and believe it or not Christine, you have Erik too. Everything... will be ok"
Christine looked up into Madame Giry's eyes. "But you killed him." She whispered inaudibly.
Giry's eyes lit up in a worried fire, "Hold you tongue dear, no one shall know. It was another man's rifle which took the life from this man, that is the story, the only story!"
It took a lot of courage on Christine's part to nod in agreement.
When the ambulance coach finally arrived, the sun was in a higher position in the sky, casting an unwanted ray of light through the stained glass window of the rotunda, and onto Raoul's lifeless body. Christine had been reduced to a shaking ball of fear and sorrow in the corner as they carried him away. There were no reporters, no investigators, just the coach, and the mortician.
They carried his body away with more speed than would have been necessary. When the doors were shut, Madame Giry turned to Christine, who sat in that same corner,
"Let it all be forgotten." She said, as she helped Christine from the protection of the shadows.
...(Scene Shift)...
"I cannot believe he is dead." Kristen whispered, as she lay within Erik's arms, beneath the covers of their beautiful swan bed, skin against skin, consumed by warmth. How long this had lasted, she couldn't possibly tell, all she knew was that she could never let go of this moment. She needed his love, for the fear which had been planted within her heart upon almost losing him, and seeing a man die in her own home, was perhaps too much for her to handle alone.
The lair was empty, save for the two of them. Christine and Antoinette had made off with the body, and Nadir had carried Meg to the safety of her own bedroom, away from the horrors and fright of the dungeons.
"I cannot believe it was Madame Giry who killed him." he replied, holding her closely, his eyes shut.
"When will the madness end, Erik?" she asked, "When will everything be normal again? When will the nightmare die?" She placed her palm against his malformed features, and kissed him softly, "Please tell me it will be over soon."
"Kristen, I think that our demons were killed this night." he told her, as he looked down at her looking up at him. "Nothing has ruined us so far... we've made it through every horrid obstacle that this miserable world has bestowed upon us. It is over."
She sat up beside him, bringing the sheets with her, covering her front. "I never want to see the surface again..." She said, "I wish I could just stay here forever, and ever."
He watched her peculiarly. Surely she could not mean what she was saying... this was simply the result of the traumatic events which had occurred. "Anything you want." He told her, even though he knew she would eventually come around, he could not bare to discourage her from her strange wishes now... not when she was so full of unpleasant emotion.
Her knees came to her chest, and she pulled the covers over her more, "What shall we name our child, Erik?" She then asked, desiring immensely to stray from the subject.
"It depends on the gender of our baby." he replied lovingly, kissing her cheek. Ever since Kristen had noticed that she was pregnant... since the ceasing of her monthly cycle, and the spells of morning sickness, she had pondered many things about the child she found herself carrying. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would he or she be blessed with the same kind of genius in which Erik was born with... Would he or she be born with other similar features? It was only inevitable that she would wonder whether her child would be born with Erik's disfigurement, and she nearly cursed herself for smiling. Of course anything that reminded her of Erik would send chills through her body... and not the kind of chills which one would detest.
She could not understand how any mother could disregard her child, no matter what kind of problems he or she was born with. As she sat beside him in the bed, with the fantasy of cradling her child, perfect or not, in her arms, she smiled and kissed him once more. "If it's a girl?" she asked.
"Kristen, I think you should name our child." he told her,
"But Erik!..." She paused for a short while, "Our child should bare a name purely unique. I cannot think of such a name... I know you can."
He sighed slowly... there she was again, his stubborn beloved.
"You shall have to give me time," he said,
"I cannot wait until we are a family" she said, leaning her head against his shoulder, caressing his upper arm, "All of the love we will share."
Now he was plagued with silence. However soon the question had entered Kristen's mind, one could bet their life that he had already pondered it before the pregnancy was announced. The word love often brought on a different feeling within his heart when it was spoken of in definition. Hate was what he felt when he heard that term, after all it was the very emotion which caused him so much pain as a child and throughout his adulthood. Kristen would tell him that she loved him though, that was certainly not the same. Those words brought him so much joy, and he felt great happiness in saying them to her as well... but what about the child? the child...his child...
"Kristen," He hesitantly began, "I don't want to bring darkness back into our words..."
She listened with sudden concern. His tone had gone from loving to troubled, she could not bare not knowing what was causing him such inner conflict.
"What's wrong?" she asked, hoping he would respond with haste.
"You will love our child, no matter what, right?" he asked her. Her eyes filled with such hurt that he regretted even saying the words.
"Of course I will love our child," She told him, "How can you ask me that?"
"My mother did not love me, I just wanted to know."
She was quiet from there on. Of course he would need to know, she felt stupid for almost accusing him of taking her for some sort of heartless wench.
He could feel her breath warming his skin as she brushed her lips against his. She pulled him down to her, and now lying beneath him, she kissed him deeply, passionately, with unimaginable love and desire. Instantly he knew her intentions.
"I need you Erik," She murmured between their kissing. He did not deny her. She truly need him, more than he knew, and more than she knew, he needed her as well. What they had just been through that night was possibly the worst experience she'd ever endured, and the experience in which he loathed the most.
Their love making had never been so explosive, so strong. Never had she cried out like that, and never had he felt such dynamic relief. The two of them together so closely, moving with such passion, their hearts racing at the most amazing speeds. They both collapsed into each other upon climactic release, breathing so heavily and holding each other as close as they'd been.
Had a man died down there that night? Had Christine even existed? she could hardly remember any of it with her mind and soul so elevated. No matter how bad things got, being with him could erase her fears completely. Satiation consumed her once more. She cursed time, just as it brought such pleasure, it also allowed these moments to pass by, in lamentable ending.
...(scene shift)...
She wasn't exactly light, but she was by no means a burden to carry. The lovely young lady had been once more consumed by her fever, she could not stay in the cold of the lair, she needed warmth. Nadir carried Meg's sleeping form from the dungeons to the dormitories, and once reaching her room, he laid her to rest within the warmth of her bed. Constantly he watched over her, keeping her fever down with the application of a cold cloth to her brow.
One thing he noticed, and became very curious about, was the mumbling she emitted during her deeper sleep. He could hardly understand a word she projected, but whatever she was seeing in her mind was certainly displeasing, no doubt the effects of her illness. The poor dancer. Countless times he's watched her, on occasion admired her, she was so fair, so lovely. That was back when he was under the control of the Phantom himself. While every other girl screamed her bloody head off, Meg seemed to possess a higher level of nerve. Of course this was because she knew her mother was acquainted with the opera ghost, but he respected her bravery nonetheless.
No light could wake her. Nadir made sure to close the curtains of the windows. She needed to rest... he couldn't understand why he felt such need to see her well... of course! She was Madame Gity's daughter... he owed her a lifetime of debt, she had done such favour to both him and Erik. He would never forgive himself if he allowed an ill fate to befall dear Meg Giry. But somehow, in truth he knew it was the girl herself which forced him to care for her, and for this he loathed himself.
Madame Giry would never approve of this, it could never happen.
He removed the cloth as the young lady began to stir,
"Mother? Kristen?" She mumbled beneath her breath as she ascended from slumber.
"Shhh, no dear, they are not here."
"You..." She muttered in realization, barely opening her eyes, "Where am I?"
"In your bedroom. Don't worry, everything will be better now."
She tried to move, her effort was evident, but her pain was also apparent. Her injuries were not severe, but she would need to recover. Those soldiers had been less than gentlemen towards her.
"Don't move..." he told her, "You need your rest." He gently replaced the cloth to her forehead. Oh what misery, she thought.
The mild anguish on her face caught him off guard, "Am I hurting you?" he asked her. She could have told him yes, in fact she almost wanted to. Where was her mother in this cruelty? She would rather have had her mother's cold hands heal her damage than be treated by this false hope.
"N... no" She replied, "But I am already in pain." Her voice was so soft, he wondered why she didn't sing as well as dance, he could hear it in her voice that she could very well be a singer, but never having been given the chance to sing would definitely hinder her chances of discovery. If only he could know the true meaning of those words.
Where was Kristen now? She wondered to herself. Probably basking in the love of her husband to be. Sure, she'd been harassed by sickness and nightmares, but between wake and sleep, she'd managed to heed the news of Kristen's pregnancy... it was quite unlike her to feel jealousy towards a close friend, but it was also unlike her to be the one to be envied. No one wants to be Meg, she thought to herself, Meg just wants to be everyone else.
"I know," he offered, "You will be better soon."
She turned her head from him then. Who was he kidding? Certainly not her. She almost wished that this illness had taken her soul as well as her energy. Upon this he frowned,
"What is bothering you. Surely you are strong enough to battle this fever without allowing it to completely take over your spirit."
The audacity of this man! She sat up, though slowly, whimpering, but still, she sat up. "Why are you here?" She demanded, keeping her eyes away from his, not able to look towards him. It was so ironic that she spoke so harshly towards her care giver, she didn't want to, but she had to. Never before had a man cared for her, her heart was new to emotion, she knew how quickly she would fall if she let go, especially after these past few weeks of ill judgement and sadness.
"Forgive me... but, I could not abandon you. You are sick, and everyone else is occupied."
"What happened?... down there I mean" she then asked, calming somewhat.
"Everyone is fine... except, Raoul de Chagny was killed."
"WHAT!" She shrieked in horror. "Oh, Christine! She will be positively mad with sorrow. Oh! You must take me to her"
"No" he said, "You cannot get out of bed in your condition. You are far too injured."
"Would you stop!" She yelled, perhaps louder than she'd intended. "She will be alone! She will be all alone! Her husband is dead, and you want me to just... stay here? Do you know what it's like to... be alone?" She asked him, "To be frightened? Scared? Hopeless?" her voice raised to the point where she could not longer bare to even hear her own words. She surrendered into her sorrow, allowing her tears to fall, and letting her sobs be heard.
Nadir watched the girl in silence. He'd never before wanted so much to take the burden of someone else's sadness.
"You aren't speaking of Christine, are you..." he said softly, taking her hair from her face and placing it delicately behind her ears.
To feel his hand against her face merely brought about more tears from her crying eyes, this would never be for real.
However much she wanted to lie, dishonesty would prove useless in her case. She shook her head, and admitted, "No longer..." was her response, a response of more truth than he could possibly fathom.
"Surely you are not so lonely. I see you surrounded by so many who love you."
"Foolish man, I have their love, so it is not their love that I cry over."
He slightly smiled. Her insult had been so innocent it was adorable. "You speak as though you were the Phantom yourself" he said, he of all would know. Why would she, so beautiful and kind, be lonely? But then again, how could a man whose genius could lour an opera diva like Christine Daae willingly into darkness be denied love?
"Oh, but Erik has Kristen..." she said, drying her tears, "Christine had Raoul. I remember the day he came to the Opera. Not a month later she was gone... I was always the spectator, I suppose I was born to watch others shine. But at least Erik lives here... he can't take Kristen away from me like Raoul took away Christine."
"Listen to me Meg, you're speaking of absurd conclusions. You are very lovely, can you not see that?" She covered her face upon his compliment, fearing that more tears would trail down her skin. She barely expected to feel her left hand gently ripped away. Nadir, whom had brought her hand from her face, now held it within his, and looked her in the eye, "Has no one called on you?" He asked her, his voice betraying a disappointment. Truly, how could a woman like her be left out in the cold? She was always at the sidelines of the stage, the supporting actress to the star, always left to watch her friends find their glory, and then live happily ever after. When was it her turn to shine? When would she find her happiness? Ever since she realized that it might never happen her personality and her enthusiasm had weakened considerably, and everyone could see it, though they said nothing.
"No," She sadly confessed. "Even my mother wonders why." There was no stopping her tears. Nadir's heart nearly broke in half when he saw her look over to him with such despairing eyes, "It just wasn't meant to be."
