Disclaimer: I own nothing related to these characters. That said, let me spin yet another new tale about them...
Chapter 1: An Uncomfortable Truth Emerges
Christine Daae sighed once more, as she felt the droplets of rain begin pelting her wide-brimmed hat. Leaning down, she picked up the small, raven-haired boy standing at her side. Regrettably, she had no umbrella, but she could offer him some protection from the elements by cradling him in her arms, underneath her hat. He snuggled closer to her, putting his little arms around her neck, and she smiled tenderly. Reaching up with one hand, she caressed his head, as she murmured soothingly to him. She then hugged him tightly to herself, wishing, not for the first time, that his father could see him. It had been five years...five very long, tormented years.
Cradling the child protectively against her body, she carefully crossed the street, her stylish clothes accentuating a figure that would be the envy of many a young matron. She could not run, of course, although she dearly wanted to, as the drizzle began to intensify into rain. If she slipped, her precious burden could fall, and possibly be run over by a maddeningly careening carriage. She tried to banish such horrible images from her mind as she walked, mindful of these very carriages, yet carefully picking her way across the street. Cobblestones turned quite slippery in the rain.
Reaching the other side, she breathed out in relief, ducking under a ledge just as the rain started coming down in great torrents. Thunder roared from the sky, accompanied by bright flashes of lightning. The child in her arms whimpered, frightened.
"There, there, Erik," she whispered lovingly, running a comforting hand up and down his back. "We shall soon be at Aunt Meg's, my love." She kissed the top of his head. How she loved to say the name of her beloved! The fact that it now also belonged to his son was a double blessing. When the baby had first been placed in her arms, she knew he must bear no other name, for he looked uncannily as Erik his father surely would have, had his face been free of deformity. She was indeed shocked by the comparison. Her love for the child had been especially strong since that day. She had determined that this Erik would not lack a mother's love. But then, she had thought, feeling guilty, the child's face was flawless, beautiful. What mother would not have loved a child with such a face? Ah, but she knew her love for him would have been equally as strong even if he had inherited his father's distorted features.
She had fearfully approached Raoul, two months after the news of Erik's death appeared in the newspapers. She had delayed her marriage to the Vicomte as long as possible, until she was sure that she was with child. Once there was no doubt as to her pregnancy, she felt bound by honor to speak to him, releasing him from their engagement. He could not possibly be the child's father, since he had never been intimate with her.
As the rain poured fiercely down from the sky, the tears suddenly began coursing down her face. The memories assaulted her, beating mercilessly upon her...She could now vividly see Raoul's face before her, as he faced her, speechless, in total disbelief.
She stood before him, her hands held protectively over her lower abdomen. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Raoul stared at her in shock, anguish beginning to close his features against her. And yet...he loved her. He was trapped in his own devotion to her.
"Are you...quite sure about this? There is no mistake?" he inquired, shakily.
Christine nodded her head wordlessly, looking down, unable to meet his eyes. Raoul looked away from her, his own eyes filling with tears that he hastily dashed away. His happiness, his world, had just been torn asunder. He turned from her, and strode over to a nearby table, on which he leaned, placing his hands upon it. Breathing heavily, he attempted to take control of his emotions, which were a mixture of sadness and anger. His precious Christine was to bear another man's child...and not just any man, but a particular man, a monster who had tried to kill him, Raoul, in that infernal torture chamber...How could she have done this to her own betrothed? The notice had appeared in the papers, announcing the monster's demise, and Raoul would now be saddled with his child, who could turn out to be a monster as well! He could not fathom what had brought about this strange turn of events. This meant only one thing: Christine had truly loved Erik, indeed, must still love him! He suddenly whirled on her angrily.
"When did you...lie with him?" he spat the words at her, and she flinched, shrinking from him as if he had tried to strike her. She kept her head down in utter shame.
"I...I...thought..." she stammered, trembling.
"You thought what!" he suddenly cried out, trembling as well, but with a barely controlled, desperate anger.
She raised her streaming eyes to him. "I...am sorry...Raoul...Please let me...explain..." she was able to mumble this much before she gave in to loud sobbing.
Raoul suddenly felt pity for her. Walking over to her side, he grasped one of her hands, and gently led her to one of the enormous, comfortable couches in his suite of rooms. She sat down, her vision blurred by tears, and murmured a "thank you" to him, as if he had been a gracious stranger, and not her fiance. Raoul sat down next to her, gazing at her steadily, mutely, allowing her time to compose herself enough so that she could continue speaking. He felt it only fair to listen to her explanation. He was, after all, a civilized man, even if there were members of the aristocracy, whom he knew personally, that definitely were not.
At last, she had calmed down sufficiently, and then, she spoke, in a quiet whisper. "I thought that he was dying...as it turned out, he was," she said, with a small hiccup, caused by her violent weeping. This would normally have elicited a tender smile from the Vicomte, but the situation was much too serious, so he totally ignored it.
"So you're saying you engaged in carnal relations with him because you felt sorry for him!" he cried out, indignant. "Meanwhile, I worried for your safety in that chamber of horrors he devised!"
"No! No!" she exclaimed, weeping into her hands. "It wasn't then! It was...it happened when I went to say good-bye to him... for the last time, after I had decided to accept your proposal of marriage..."
Christine took a deep breath, and, without looking at him, went on. "I...I...suddenly realized that I had very strong...feelings for him..." She paused, knowing that this would cause the Vicomte great pain. When he remained silent, she decided to continue. She had to get this out, even as she knew that she was hurting him. She owed him the truth, regardless. "He mesmerized me, his eyes...they were so...intense...I could see his great love for me, shining in his eyes..." She had to stop. Dear God, how could he listen to this?
"Pray go on, Christine," he suddenly said, quietly. "Nothing can change what took place, so I might as well know everything."
She dabbed at her eyes with a delicately scented handkerchief. "I must tell you then, Raoul...I loved him. In fact, I now know that I always will...It was he who sent me away with you, in the end. He knew that he was dying, that he could not expect me to stay in that darkness with him until death descended upon him. But I would gladly have stayed...I very much want his child, even if he himself is gone from this world. I know I will love this baby. It matters not if he has a deformed face..."
"He?" Raoul interrupted, bemused by this assertion. "How can you possibly know that the baby will be a boy?"
It was then that Christine's eyes began to shine. Raoul noticed immediately, and his jaw suddenly tightened.
"I am completely sure that it will be a boy, just as I know that he will be absolutely beautiful, no matter what his face looks like."
"I see," said Raoul, in a stony tone of voice. A radiant expression was now illuminating her face, and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was defeated. He could not compete with this, even if he forgave her. He almost feared what the answer to his next question would be, and yet, he must still ask it.
"Have you decided on a name for him?" He held his breath, waiting.
"Oh, yes," she said slowly, rapturously, as her eyes took on a faraway look. "His name shall be Erik."
He stood up at once, and walked across the room to a small bar that he kept well supplied for the times when he received guests. He was not much of a drinker himself. Now, however, his unsteady emotions definitely clamored for a good, stiff drink. Violently opening the small door of the cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of the finest brandy, and uncorked it, pouring himself a full shot, which he downed in one gulp. He poured another, and swiftly disposed of it also, then did the same with a third. He was in the process of pouring a fourth, when he heard her alarmed voice from across the room, calling out his name. Heedlessly, he continued to pour, filling the glass completely. Then, putting the glass to his lips, he prepared to drink it.
"Raoul!" She had gotten up from the couch, and was now walking quickly toward him. "This is most unlike you! Do you mean to drink yourself into a stupor?"
Holding the untouched drink in his hand, he turned to her with a sarcastic smile, already feeling the effects of the strong liquor. "And why not, Mademoiselle? Or should I now call you Madame? I could not possibly address you by a more fitting name, dear sweet Lotte, since I consider myself a gentleman!"
She winced at these remarks, her eyes stinging. Merciful heavens, he had never spoken to her like this before!
He downed the drink, defiantly throwing back his head, and prepared to pour another one. He was stopped by her surprisingly strong grasp on his arm.
"Raoul!" she cried out, fearing for him. "You must stop this! This is not your fault! What are you doing to yourself!"
He allowed her to take the bottle from his hand, all strength suddenly gone from him. She had dealt him a mortal blow. Turning to her slowly, he fixed his anguished eyes on hers.
"No, Christine...that is not the right question...I must rephrase it for you: what have you done to me, to us?"
She put a hand to her lips, trying to stifle a sob. He turned away from her, to walk unsteadily back to the couch, on which he carelessly threw himself, promptly falling asleep.
Christine was unexpectedly left alone, with her burden and her second impending loss. For a few minutes, she did nothing, but looked steadily at his now sleeping figure. Then, she walked over to the table next to the couch on which he slept. With trembling hands, she slipped his engagement ring from her finger, and laid it on the table. Then she walked across the room again, toward the door. Grasping the doorknob, she paused, and turned to look back at him. A strong emotion seized her, and she felt the tears welling up once more. She could no longer lie to herself. She loved Erik with her whole being. She was carrying his child, whom she wanted desperately. This child was the only bit of him that remained to her. Even if Raoul were to change his mind about their relationship, which she knew was a distinct possibility, she could not marry him while loving another, even if that other was no longer alive. It would also be unfair to expect him to provide for another man's child. Resolutely now, she grasped the doorknob, and turned it. She quietly walked out of the room, out of his life, silently shutting the door behind her.
