Author's Note: If anyone's wondering, I did have something specific in mind for the tune that Christine used to sing our favourite Phantom to sleep. It's an instrumental that the Corrs do, called Joy of Life. It's insanely gorgeous and it really worked at the point. Just a little bit of trivia for you, seeing as people ask about things like that.
Now I know I said I was going to try and have it finished by Christmas Day, but as usually happens when I have a deadline: I was a complete and utter moron and left it to the last minute, so come Christmas Eve, I only had a bit of this chapter written. As I also said, seeing as I've gone too long without an update, I am now posting even though I haven't finished the story. I've very nearly finished Chapter 78, and I've got it planned so that I'll be ending with Chapter 80 as an epilogue of sorts (at least I think that's how it'll work out). Please, please, please bear with me a little while longer, these are not easy chapters to write, and they're made even harder because I don't want this story to end - even if it does mean I finally get to write the sequel.
Thanks to Soignante, KyrieofAccender, Passed Over, phantom-jedi1, terbear, CarolROI, Tiggy of the Wind, Timeflies, Lothiel, snowflake17, Lady Winifred, TalithatJ, LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath, Catteh, Spectralprincess, Sqweakie the Wonder Mouse, StakeMeSpike04, mildetryth, PhantomObssessed (triple thanks, that was some incredible catch up reading you did), Melodic Rose, montaquecat (triple thanks), jtbwriter, saphireangelcutie, qt72011, Mystery Guest and Kinetic Aspargus (8 great big thank yous (hope that grammar's OK, though I'm never sure) and funky screen name btw) for their latest reviews. A tremendous thank you for the wonderful responses I received for the last chapter. I'm so glad you all enjoyed reading it, because I certainly loved writing it.
Also, thank you to grannydaisytoo, KyrieofAccender, phantom-jedi1, Lothiel (double thanks), mildetryth, and montaquecat for their encouraging PM's after my little author's note. I'm sorry it wasn't a chapter, and again, I'm really sorry I couldn't make Christmas deadline. Rest assured, I was seriously disappointed, and I did feel guilty quite a few times over the holiday. But the end IS in sight.
To all my readers (sorry reviewers, you are getting it again), allow me to wish a somewhat belated Merry Christmas. I hope you like my gift to you in spite of the delay. Thanks again, and enjoy! Nedjmet.
Disclaimer: The characters and plotline of the Phantom of the Opera on which this story is based are – to the best of my knowledge – the property of Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Nor do I own any of the songs or music used or referred to within this story. No infringement of copyright is intended nor is this story written for profit as I have the greatest respect for their work.
Chapter 76
She didn't know who she wanted to thump more.
As soon as she had offered her 'greeting', Raoul had smothered her in a bear hug, repeatedly asking her almost hysterically if she was alright. It was going to be a long day – as if the previous one hadn't gone on enough. After assuring him that she was alright – and reminding him that she did actually need to breathe – he let go and looked at her as if to make sure. And then he looked at her again as if he was only just seeing her – and he clearly liked what he saw. Resisting the urge to groan, she tried to excuse herself but he caught hold of her again instead.
"What happened? Where is that . . . that . . .?"
"He isn't here." She wondered if he even noticed the emphasis on that first word. Apparently not.
"What do you mean? Christine, what happened? After I left, I was so worried-"
"He left." She was sorely tempted to close his mouth for him, but decided to take advantage of his temporary speechlessness.
"After you left, we . . . exchanged a few words, he brought me back here and then he left." The jaw closed, a frown of doubt creasing Raoul's features.
"Did you see where he went?" Christine shook her head.
"I can't believe he just 'left'. He didn't threaten you, did he?" Even amidst the concern, why did it almost sound as though he hoped exactly that had happened?
"Raoul yesterday was a really long day. Since you've woken me up, can I at least go and get dressed?" Christine sighed, heading towards the stairs, not particularly bothered about receiving his permission.
"Do you want me to come with you?" She whipped round, her eyes flashing at the suggestion. "I didn't mean it like that. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." 'That he hadn't come back' hung in the air between them.
"I'll be fine, Raoul."
Ignoring her usually habitual good hostess skills, she didn't offer him a seat in the living room, or anywhere else for that matter, hoping he'd stay in the hallway. She didn't like the thought of him being in the house, knowing that its 'owner' disapproved so vehemently of him.
As she shut her door behind her, obtaining solitude once more, she felt her cheeks burning with the memory of that man.
He had tried to kill her friend. Her friend had tried to kill her Angel. Her Angel had been the one to protect her, even when faced with that morbid possibility. Her friend had sought to help her, even in defiance of such a strong enemy. Raoul wanted to help her, to free her from something he didn't understand; to free her from something in which she would gladly remain ensnared. Her Angel . . . her Angel was frustrating her beyond all reason.
She didn't know who she wanted to thump more: Raoul for ruining her chances of reconciliation again, for still treating her like a damsel in distress no matter how sweet his intentions; or her Angel for refusing to see what she had made plain so many times, for refusing to hear what she had all but said outright. Why had he refused to let her be with him?
When he had first taken her down to his home, she had been so swept up in the euphoria of being with her Angel; had been so completely enchanted by the spell of his music that she hadn't grasped all that he had said. He had filled all of her senses with his voice, with his soul; had offered her all that he was: he had made love to her with music, and it had not been unwelcome. When she had removed his mask . . .
You wanted to see the demon, and now you cannot ever be free.
That night, she had been his hope. That action had brought nothing but pain and doubt. And yet, she could not stop herself from returning the love he had once offered. How many times had he said he would never leave her? Yet love had only been mentioned once.
He offered her everything; then crawled away in despair.
He pushed her away, but held her at the Masquerade.
He denied her; then publicly brought her back under his wing.
He rejected her, but could not sleep in peace without her.
And though he blindly consigned her to Raoul, he swore he would never let her go.
He loved her to the point of obsession. But he was afraid of rejection.
Slowly descending the stairs, Christine dwelt on these thoughts, having finally collected them all together. And as she saw Raoul, she dreaded whatever had brought such grim resolution to his face.
She stood by the window trembling all over. Whether it was in fear or fury, she couldn't say. All she knew was that this was the last place she wanted to be.
Once she had joined him, Raoul had insisted on taking her for a drive. In spite of his efforts to keep the message subtle, he had made it rather obvious that he didn't want to talk in the house, in case the walls literally did have ears. It was only when the familiar old, grand houses on the other side of town came into view that Christine realised where they were headed.
The DeChagny house – if it could in all honesty be called a 'house' – had always been a source of delight to Christine on the few occasions as a child when she'd been able to visit. Being given over to imagination, probably more than most, she had found no end of games and stories within the stately walls. As she allowed herself to be drawn over the threshold, she couldn't help but feel as though she were letting someone down. It wasn't hard to work out exactly who that someone was.
Raoul led her into a small sitting room, away from the front of the house. They had often snuck in here as children to enjoy the fire and whatever treat they'd managed to pilfer from the kitchen. Those points coupled with the room's out of the way location gave it all a sense of mystery and excitement – in many ways it was as good as their attic adventures. Though her visits here had been few and far between, the room held a lot of memories – a lot of good memories – for Christine and for Raoul. They were memories of happiness, innocence, and a bond of friendship that in their young eyes would last forever.
He really was being a good friend. In bringing her into this room, surrounding her with such warmth and fond memories, he was trying to bring her out of her gloom, to give her support and comfort in the only way he really knew how. Here in this room, free from all other . . . distractions, she truly felt the friendship he offered and remembered how much she had enjoyed the company of the young boy from so many years ago. And that spending time with the young man he had become was equally pleasant. Yet something tugged at her within her mind, pulling her away from the warm hospitality; something that said she did not belong, that it was only a game.
Feeling the tension creeping unwelcome into the air, Raoul broke the silence that had settled.
"Do you remember the time we tried to see the Korrigans dancing?" She looked at him, a slightly dream-like state settling over her, wondering at the fact that he'd remembered.
"I remember you stealing some of your father's best cigars and throwing them into the fire and then sulking because they weren't doing anything as special as he'd made out." She answered quietly, though with a smile tracing its way stealthily across her mouth.
"I did not sulk! I merely . . . objected vocally."
"Right. And that of course explains why you nearly burnt the house down trying to get the fire to dance like the Korrigans. Are you blushing?" There was no need to ask, given that his face was beginning to rival a fire engine for colour, but where would the fun have been in that?
"Well, it was only because you'd spent weeks going on about them. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
"As if you didn't know. You heard the stories nearly as much as I did in those summers."
"I still can't believe you got to hear them more than me. The amount of gloating I had to put up with."
"And I still can't work out whether your father was more angry that you set the room on fire or that you burnt half a dozen of his favourite and terribly rare cigars. I think your only saving grace was that you hadn't even thought about smoking them."
"Actually, I think my only saving grace was that you charmed him with the stories and those baby blue eyes of yours."
"What? I didn't try to charm him!" Christine shot back in surprise.
"You never do. That's why he was always so soft when it came to you." Raoul's tone belied that he was still referring solely to his own father. Sitting next to her, he confirmed that suspicion.
"Most of the trouble I got into those summers was because of you, you know."
"It wasn't as if you needed help with that." Christine said lightly, uncertain she wanted to hear where this was going.
"True. But I did it all for you then, and even after all this time, I'm still willing to do everything for you." She looked him in the eye, trying to read what was there.
"Raoul, you're not trying to tell me you're going to burn down the sitting room?"
"No." He said with a smile, humouring her in her nervousness. Goodness knew he was nervous enough about this. "What I'm trying to say is that I care about you, my Little Lotte. I stopped seeing you as a sister a long time ago. I'm saying I want to help you. I don't know how you got into this . . . situation. I told you once that I would save you from the darkness, and I mean to do just that." He leaned closer as he spoke. "Let me free you Lotte, let me show you the light we once shared." Before his lips could touch her, she rose and moved away, her arms around her in some attempt at comfort. Or was it protection? Raoul gave her the space she needed, not wanting to rush her, knowing she had a lot to deal with. But couldn't she see he was trying to make it easier?
"Was it all true?"
"Christine?"
"All the gossip. Everything the ballet corps was saying whenever they saw you around the theatre after Hannibal. I mean let's face it; it's not as if the son of a patron has to attend that many rehearsals." He finally realised what she was talking about.
"My father's been trying to introduce me to playing a more 'active role' in the company. It seemed like a good opportunity."
"For what?" Her voice was breaking, but she needed to hear it anyway.
"To become better acquainted with one of my family's interests." He stood behind her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. "And to become reacquainted with one of my family's interests." She turned to face him, stepping out of his hold as she did so, the words of her Angel flooding her mind, almost as though he were whispering them into her ear anew.
"But you didn't even realise it was me until I spelled it out for you."
"It had been so long, and you'd changed so much."
"So had you. I hadn't forgotten. Didn't you think what it might do to my reputation? Did you even realise what people were saying?"
"I did realise. Christine, you have no idea how much I tried to hold back, how long I've waited. I know things are difficult right now, but when this is all over-"
"I can't." He took hold her again, gently though given how upset she was becoming.
"Christine, I understand that he has some kind of hold over you, I know it's making things impossible; but please, when this is all over, when you're free of him, promise me you'll think about what I've said." She froze in realisation.
"What do you mean 'when'?" Softly, he placed a kiss on her cheek, just as he had that fateful night on the roof.
"I told you: I mean to free you from his darkness."
Releasing her, he left the room to meet the guests who had just arrived. A familiar chill swept over Christine. She knew her Angel wasn't here, but the atmosphere suddenly felt the same as his displeasure would: it filled her with dread. Raoul had said those words with such a grim determination that she was somehow left with yet another wish that her Angel had taken her with him. No matter what kind of a mood he was in, that situation had to be better than whatever was causing this sense of foreboding within her. It was like . . . it was like . . . it was the same way she'd felt the last time her Angel had left her before Il Muto.
Slowly, she sank into the seat she'd only recently vacated, finally understanding just how much her life had slipped into the hands of others. How much she'd let it happen.
You didn't mind so much when it was your Angel
No matter how much the thought was unwelcome – given that she had enough of them swirling around her head as it was – it was nevertheless undeniable. As was the fact she couldn't entirely begrudge Raoul's gestures of friendship. Except that that's not all they were, and he had finally said as much. The unease she felt only heightened as she saw who Raoul's guests were. Firmin, Andre and Dr. Poligny entered the room; the former greeting her with the barest of polite courtesies, the latter with surprise and concern. Raoul walked in behind them, surprisingly with a new air of confidence as he bid them all be seated. It was going to be a really long day.
"Thank you for inviting us here, Mr. de Chagny. Might I ask what is so urgent that it could not wait until Monday?" Dr. Poligny began, clearly irked at having his weekend disrupted only to spend it with his managers and the excitable young patron.
"I understand Mr. Firmin and Mr. Andre have conveyed to you the conversation we had after the Masquerade."
"Yes, they were good enough to fill in the blanks." The Dean replied, his tone suggesting that he would have been happier without.
"You have a plan?" Andre asked, making no attempt to hide his eagerness.
Though she wondered what on earth they were talking about, Christine made no move to ask, the last day's events catching up with her now that they were compounded by her latest set of worries.
"We have all been blind. This 'Opera Ghost' isn't a ghost at all. He's just a man."
"Just a man? I'm not one for believing in all these superstitions, but surely just one man couldn't wreak all the havoc we've been having."
"I don't know how he's done it, Mr. Firmin, but I know he is a man. Ghosts don't bleed." None of the men present asked what he meant by that, not wanting to incriminate themselves by knowing what the boy had done; though their evident – albeit silent – curiosity meant that none of them noticed the interesting shade of white Christine had turned with those words.
"What are you suggesting, Mr. de Chagny?" Dr Poligny asked, shifting slightly so that he could keep an eye on Christine as the conversation progressed, not particularly liking the look of things.
"That we perform his opera, follow all his instructions," he raised a hand, seeing that the two managers were about to start protesting, "but remember, we have the advantage: he has given very specific instructions about the casting. So long as Christine performs, he'll be there."
"Mr. de Chagny, you're not seriously suggesting-"
"I'm sure the police would be very cooperative after all the effort they've put in to finding Joseph Buquet's murderer, Doctor. He's presented us with the perfect opportunity to catch him and I don't think we can afford to turn it down." Firmin and Andre began conferring with each other as Doctor Poligny continued with his protestations.
"You're proposing we attempt to trap the Ghost on the opening night of an incredible new opera, when the reputation of the Ravelle will be at its most precarious and you wish to use one of our students as bait." No one had ever heard the old Dean shout, but his even tone clearly suggested he was very close to doing just that, unnerving Raoul once more.
"Doctor Poligny, surely the reputation of the Ravelle will continue to suffer with this madman imposing his will on the theatre." Firmin began.
"Not to mention he has done so without any right for years." Andre continued.
"Without right? Michael, when I hired you, I informed you of the Ghost's existence and the fact that his recommendations – aside from being beyond even the thought of anyone else in the Ravelle – were the main reason the Institute has the reputation that attracted you and Richard. Whilst I don't agree with his methods, I cannot fault his musical ability. He has earned every right to make his recommendations, and yes I do use that word accurately, for that is what they were until they were ignored. How exactly do you think you can get away with any kind of trap, Mr. de Chagny?" Dr Poligny asked, returning his attention to his host.
"If you're implying his 'omnipresence', I have thought of that. If we conduct any meetings relating to this outside of the Ravelle – no – off campus, then it will be difficult for him to eavesdrop. And I recommend that we don't inform anyone else. The atmosphere, from what I understand, is difficult enough as it is."
Difficult enough? Unable to believe what she was hearing, Christine got up and moved away from the conversation. She stood by the window trembling all over. Whether it was in fear or fury, she couldn't say. All she knew was that this was the last place she wanted to be.
He wanted to user her as bait? Had he really been saying only moments ago that he cared about her, suggested a relationship after all this? Was it only last night he had fought for her? Or was he trying to slay the monster and rescue the Lotte in distress?
They were consigning her to that opera, to his opera. They wanted her to go on stage, to be seduced by his music once more, to face the full force of his rejection as the Don Juan he had written betrayed her. They wanted her to go through an ordeal by fire from which she knew she would never recover. She knew all too well how the scars of such heat refused to heal. Only months ago, it would have been the culmination of all her dreams to be honoured with performing his music on stage for all the world to hear. Now, dread didn't begin to describe the alarm that filled her.
Vaguely, her mind registered that someone was calling her. When she felt Raoul's hands on her shoulders, she immediately stiffened and he promptly let go his hold, though she could still feel him stood behind her.
"Christine, I know this is a lot to ask." 'You don't know the half of it' her mind screamed.
"Miss Daaë, you must know that with your cooperation we can finally end this madness." Firmin added, not that his 'persuasions' were much help.
So many thoughts swirled around in her head. Did she subject herself to her Angel's ultimate seduction, unknowing of what he truly intended, unable to trust in him as she used to? Or did she refuse, placing them all in jeopardy? Or did she agree with this plan and allow her friend to use her as bait to trap her tutor; could she betray the man who had given her back her voice, given her Music? The possibilities were all so twisted and distorted that no matter what choice she made, it would cost her more than she could pay: if she went along with Raoul, she would lose her Angel forever; if she went along with her Angel, she would be surrendered to his darkness forever.
The managers only cared about ridding the Ravelle of the Ghost. Dr Poligny cared about the Ravelle. Raoul said he cared about her, but he wanted to use her. Her Angel . . . her previous thoughts came back to her: he loved her to the point of obsession. But he was afraid of rejection.
Mortally afraid.
She didn't want to choose, but that in itself was a choice. Whatever she did, she would be risking someone she cared about. Mostly, she would be risking her Angel.
"Raoul, I'm scared."
"I know. Christine, please, you know that I care, but everyone's hope rests on you."
That was the last thing she needed to here, for again, he did not know how true that statement was. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out everything in a probably vain effort to think with some clarity.
Is go dté tú mo mhúirnín slán.
Quietly, the words crept into her mind, a fleeting memory, calm and simple amidst the tumult that had overwhelmed her for so long. That voice! There was no mistaking that voice. Silently, she sent a prayer of thanks up to her mother, for there were few who had ever managed to hold such power over her with their music, and she knew that message was not one borne of idle fancy. With that thought came one of the only other who had managed it with those words. She all but drowned in the memory of him holding her. Whatever he felt for her, she knew it was not due to her imagination.
What if she did agree? What if she played along and performed? Perhaps there would be some way . . .
He had indeed presented the perfect opportunity. Clearly this was the only chance he was going to give her. She had to prove herself to him somehow. Don Juan Triumphant was indeed the ultimate seduction, but even amidst the grander scheme of things, Don Juan himself was to fall victim to Aminta. What she had told Raoul was true: she had never tried to charm anyone. Yet he claimed that his father was not the only one to give in to her. How many times had she calmed her Angel with a touch, an embrace? This was her last chance, and so for the first time, she would try.
Silently, she turned and searched Raoul's face. Yes, his concern was evident, but so was his determination. He was trying to save her. Even if she tried to tell him now, he would not believe that he had never had any chance of success. All she could do was try and protect him in return – he was the one who would no doubt need it.
She looked at the managers. To their credit, they did show some signs of concern, though she doubted they were for her. They still believed she was in league with the Ghost, and had been subtly bullying her since the Masquerade, probably in the hope of making her crack, or because she had simply gotten on the wrong side of them.
Doctor Poligny showed concern, and she knew his was genuine. He also showed severe disapproval for this course of action. That he had supported her Angel for so long endeared her to him even more.
Returning her eyes to Raoul, she lowered her head, silently sealing the fates of so many.