A/N: I'm so sorry I did not manage to post last week... I'm still busy adapting myself to university life, and sometimes it gets so hectic that I sleep at 2-3AM, and completely forget to post! I haven't had any time to write so far, but thank goodness for pre-written chapters! I cannot promise that my posting schedule will be as regular as before due to school, but I'll try my best.
Hmm, I'm not sure if I'm allowed to do this, but as a side note, my hobby is fashion blogging (not sure how many of you knew that!). I think I'm not supposed to be posting any URL up here, but if you google whimsicalstatements blogspot, you should be able to find my blog. Maybe some of you'll be curious to see the face behind the words!
Nikki1991: Aren't we all glad to see Buquet dead! (Though it means now that Raoul may be stepping up to be the villain, sigh). And I'm glad you liked the kiss scene! -squeal-
Masked Man 2: I'm sorry to write a cliffie and leave you guys hanging for two weeks! Trust me, I absolutely intended to post last week haha. I had so much fun describing the dancers and writing the fight scene, so I'm extra happy that you liked them.
Aria: Oh wow, I am so jealous! I actually live in Singapore, which is about a 24 hours flight to NY, if I'm not wrong... which makes it completely impossible for me to get to NY to watch Poto. I wish I could! (Perhaps someday...). I've only ever watched Poto when it came to Singapore for a world tour, so wow, I'm so glad for you that you get to go to NY to watch it!
Lydia the tygeropean: My Erik has clean hands, hahaha. No more murders!
kitkat: Good luck for school too, then! I also recently started school, boo to studying!
WickedPhantomFan13: Hello! Thank you so much! To be honest, this isn't my first written piece, it's just my first written work for Poto. (: I've always loved to write. I pronounce her name as... imagine Amelia, but instead of "lia", it's pronounced as "li".
E-man-dy-S: Thank you (:
AngelOfPhanFics831: I'm sorry for the long wait! I normally update every Monday, but I got a little busy last week. But gosh, Theo's just a poor harmless chap that I invented so that he could help Amelie up from where she had fallen. Nothing harmful about him there!
Many thanks to Amber0639, Vesta Dragon, WickedPhantomFan13, VaniLux and Aria of Life for the favs/follows. I'm just really so glad that you guys like the story... when I first started this story I could never have imagined it growing to 50 favourites, but here I am today. Thank you all readers for all your support! xx
Chapter 43: Betrayal
Footsteps pounded along the stairway up to the rooftop—a route very rarely used. Yet today, it had already seen four pairs of feet.
Christine's breath came in short, frantic pants as she lifted her voluminous skirts higher, running faster. She had only just finished changing into the heavy costume of the Countess when the screams had begun from the theatre. She had dropped her powder puff, startled by the noise, and a ballet rat had burst into the room, screaming that there was a dead man in the theatre before collapsing in a dramatic faint.
Christine had stayed long enough to understand that Buquet had been murdered mere moments after the appearance of the Opera Ghost and Carlotta's humiliation, and that the whole theatre was abuzz with rumours of Buquet's potential murderer, with all fingers pointed toward the mysterious spectre that haunted the opera house. Upon hearing the news, Christine had run out of the dressing room, only to bump into Raoul, who had been rushing to her dressing room to make sure that she was safe. Even now he was hurrying up the stairs behind her, for she had grabbed his arm and bade him to follow her quickly.
She pushed open the door to the rooftop and paused for a moment, catching her breath, making puffs of fog in the cold air. It had been a cold spring, with remnants of the winter's chill hovering in the air, and in the night time, it grew even colder. She walked slowly onto the concrete ground of the rooftop, clasping her hands together nervously. Raoul followed behind.
"Christine, wait! Why have you brought me here? What is going on?" Raoul ran his hand through his hair frustratedly. "After the incident on the stage, you became as pale as a ghost, and when I asked you if you knew anything about it, you shrieked at me. What is going on?"
"Oh Raoul," Christine's lower lip trembled. "Raoul, he will be implicated in all of this."
"He? Who is he?" Raoul frowned. "Tell me at once."
"No, I couldn't," Christine shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. Despite the heavy costume of the Countess, she shivered. The rooftop was all too menacing a place, with the looming stone gargoyles, their faces a twisted mask of solid stone, and the air a cold chill that settled in the base of one's spine. Even now goosebumps ran down her skin, and she rubbed her clammy hands over her arms, covered in the satin of the Countess's costume.
She was to play the Countess in the end, then. Had this been part of his plan? To kill Buquet, in order to force the managers to put her in the role of the Countess? But no, the managers had already announced that she would play the Countess, even before Buquet's death. Perhaps her teacher had done it to emphasize his power, to show the managers that bad things could and would happen if they chose to defy his polite requests.
And yet, he did not seem like the kind of person who would do that, simply for the sake of killing a man. He had not hurt her once, and even when she had rejected him because of his looks, he had not begrudged her anything.
But she did not know him that well, either. How long had she known him? It was not long enough to judge whether he was capable of killing a man. But he had been so good to her, so gentle
No, no, no. What am I supposed to do? Christine shook her head wildly, trying to clear the confusing thoughts swirling about in her mind. If her teacher had indeed killed Buquet… there would be no escaping persecution, for he was now a murderer.
Raoul made a frustrated noise and stepped up to her, grasping her upper arms. "Christine, please! Enough secrets, enough mysteries! Who is this person you speak of, and why would he be implicated? Why would you even care if he is implicated?"
"Raoul, please, do not force me, I cannot say…"
"Christine, Christine," his voice was gentler now. "I only want to help you. Look at you, all distraught and flustered! It worries me to see you like this."
"I… Raoul, I promised that I would not reveal his secrets to anybody. But I am so scared, so worried. I do not know if he had anything to do with today's events, but I am worried for what will happen if he were."
"This person you speak of… is he your teacher?" Raoul said in a low voice, laced with steel. "That mysterious teacher you speak of? Tell me now, Christine, please."
"My teacher is, well… Raoul, he… is the Opera Ghost." Christine whispered hesitantly.
"But please, please do not make any hasty decisions. Raoul, he has been nothing but good to me. He is an amazing teacher, and he taught me everything I know, brought me to where I am now. Without him, I would be nothing."
"The Opera Ghost! Your teacher is the Opera Ghost? And you did not see fit to tell me?" Raoul stared at her incredulously. "He kidnapped you before, and the incident was brushed aside as though it was nothing serious!"
"Raoul, I could not tell you, please understand! My teacher had to be kept a secret. He did not kidnap me; I told you before, I went willingly, because he was my teacher, and—"
"Your teacher is a murderer," Raoul said flatly, cutting her off. "You stand here before me, defending a murderer."
"No!" Christine's mouth opened in shock. "No, how could you say that? Raoul, I just told you how good he has been to me."
"Nothing of what you said actually proves that he is not a murderer, Christine," Raoul pointed out. "You only said that he has been a good teacher to you, but not that he could not have killed Buquet. We were all in the theatre, Christine. We all heard the Opera Ghost use his trickery to make away with Carlotta's voice, replacing it with a croak. And then Buquet was killed. We heard his laughter afterward. Any child could connect the dots."
Christine knew that there had been no sorcery, only Erik's clever use of ventriloquy, but to the audience it must have appeared to be the Opera Ghost using some sort of black magic to spirit away Carlotta's voice. She closed her eyes and groaned in frustration.
"Raoul, that was all he did in that theatre. He… he did not kill Buquet."
"You do not sound so convinced yourself," Raoul said, noting the way Christine's voice had trembled and her face had been uncertain. "You said you were worried. What are you worried about? That you will be his next target should you ever lose favour as his favourite singer? Are you not worried that you will end up like La Carlotta?"
Christine gaped at him, at a complete loss for words. She shook her head sadly, pleading silently with her eyes for Raoul to believe her, but he was too caught up in his own tirade.
"Christine, please. Believe me in this. Your teacher is a madman! He is a criminal—he threatened the managers, and now he has even killed a man. What more proof do you need? Had he not been lying to you all the while about his identity?" Raoul said desperately.
"I… I…" Unable to find anything to say, Christine's resolve faltered.
"Christine, listen to me. He killed a man; we all saw Buquet fall. We know he has been threatening the managers for so long. Do not let yourself be fooled by him. If you continue to defend him, you could be accused of being in cahoots with him when the gendarmes come to investigate Buquet's murder. You must protect yourself, Christine. Leave this opera house."
"What? No! Leave this place? Where will I go?"
"Marry me." Raoul grasped her hands in his. "Marry me, and I will take you away from all this madness. We will be happy, just like we were, so many years ago, in that little beach house, in the summer."
Not for the first time that evening, Christine just stared blankly at him. Raoul smiled at her, and squeezed her hands gently.
"Christine, Christine. I care for you deeply, and I would like to think that you feel the same way about me. Marry me, and you will be safe with me. We will go far away, a place where we can forget about this opera house. Please say yes. Let me love you—that is all I ask of you."
And Christine, young, bewildered Christine, in her anguished state of distress, nodded numbly and said "yes?" in a confused, shaky tone. In truth, she was all alone in this world, for her beloved papa had left her, and now her teacher would come under suspicion for a man's murder. Raoul, on the other hand, had always been her steadfast rock, unchanging and stolid.
Raoul bent slightly to look into her eyes, from where her head was tilted downward and she was staring at the floor. He cupped her cheek, making her look up at him. He looked at her questioningly.
"Yes?" He smiled.
Christine felt her eyes well up with tears—not happy ones, strangely, but rather tears of frustration and resignation. What can I do? If I continue to defend him, Raoul will not believe me, still.
And so she said "Yes."
Raoul's face lit up with so much happiness that Christine felt guilty, guilty for not having put her whole heart into accepting his proposal, for he had looked so blissful in that instant. She gazed up at him wondrously. Raoul laughed happily, and picked up her in his arms, swinging her around, laughing all the while. Christine squeaked, holding onto his arms as he spun around.
"You said yes!" He laughed happily again, sweeping her into his arms.
"Thank you," he said, brushing his hand over her face tenderly before bending and kissing her.
When they broke apart, he was still smiling widely, his face exuberant with joy. The distant streams of music signaling that the intermission would be over soon could be heard faintly on the rooftop, and Christine picked up her skirts hastily, running for the door.
"Raoul, I must go. The performance will start soon!"
"Christine, I love you," Raoul called after her retreating form.
Christine paused, if only for a split second, but continued running down the stairs.
She did not reply.
XXXXX
The chill hung heavily in the air, buffeted by the wind. The chill in the air must have been stronger than he had thought, for Erik felt it to his bones, eating away at his insides like burning acid.
The patron was leaning over the balustrade, feeling the strong winds against his face, and laughing happily. He looked blissful. Erik could not blame him. He wanted to, so desperately, wanted to hate this man, wanted to rush from the shadows and close his fingers around the man's neck. But he could not, for he knew that if he had been the one to ask Amélie that question, and she had said yes, he would have been as happy, perhaps even happier. Ah, but your happiness is built upon a foundation of my sorrow.
Erik watched as the patron pulled his coat tighter around him, and hastily made for the stairs back to the theatre as the opening strains of the next act sounded. He was silent.
Erik could hear Amélie's breathing from beside him, but she said nothing.
The two stood there for a long while.
"She was confused and frightened, Erik." Amélie's voice was quiet.
"You do not have to defend her any further," Erik said, his voice devoid of life. "Amélie, I heard it all. There is no possible way to sugarcoat the situation."
"Is this the end, then?"
XXXXX
The curtain rose to reveal the cast of Il Muto, bedecked in their finery and led by Christine, who stood center–stage in the Countess's costume, glowing with happiness. The crowd roared with applause as she curtseyed deeply.
Il Muto had been a success, led by the Swedish Songbird. It was a nickname that would stick, a nickname that would be plastered across the front of the newspapers the next day.
Swedish Songbird successful again.
Christine Daae brings the stage down.
Daae – new prima donna on the horizon?
Yes, Christine Daae had a possibly bright future ahead of her.
As the curtain fell again, Christine picked up her skirts and ran to a dressing room, eager to hear her teacher's voice. Only when she had stepped through the door did she stop, suddenly recalling the events of the past hour. She came to an abrupt halt.
The murder. The rooftop. Agreeing to leave. The proposal.
"Another success for you, it seems." Her Angel's voice sounded from a corner, but it was cold and hard.
"A-Angel! Y-you're here!" Christine twisted her hands in her dress nervously, unable to keep the tremble from her voice.
"Is that fear I detect from you, Christine?" He continued, his voice sounding almost amused, but completely cold. "Perhaps you're a little afraid of your teacher now that you think he has killed a man?"
Christine's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. "I—I, Angel, I…"
"You thought I would not hear." He said simply, sarcastically. "You knew I was no real Angel, and so I would not be able to know what you did or said."
She could not deny it, for she had chosen the rooftop for the fact that nobody would be up there to hear her talk with Raoul.
"But Christine… though I am no Angel, the Opera Ghost knows everything." He laughed humourlessly, deadly. "So, it is to be war between us, then."
The light from the candle on the table flickered, and went out, and Christine was plunged into darkness. She cried out in shock, fumbling around the room for a box of matches.
When she relit the candle with trembling hands, the room was silent.
Christine sat down heavily upon a chair, tears welling up in her eyes haplessly. What else could I have done?
XXXXX
A/N: Poor Christine! At least this week isn't a cliffie... hopefully I'll be able to keep to my posting schedule for next week! As usual, please read/review/fav/follow. xx hazel