September 14th 1892: Raoul
My question was drowned out by the sounds of people jumping up from their seats, craning their necks to get a better view and by the excited chatter and cries of surprise. Every single person in the audience seemed to try and give an opinion about the event at the same time. The noise was indescribable. Some women were already covering their ears with their hands.
I neither shouted nor jumped up. All I did was stare at Box Five, at my boy. But was this child still my boy? He didn't look like the Philippe I knew. These clothes were simply ridiculous. And yet… I leaned forwards in my chair to make out the expression on his face. As strange as it might sound, from my position it looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was even laughing; I could clearly see it. And the Phantom was laughing with him. He had even put an arm around the boy's shoulders.
In this moment I knew I had to get to him. I wouldn't let a complete stranger touch my son, least of all that man. Who did he think he was – his father? Christine's words echoed through my head: You are Philippe's father, Raoul, and no one will every question that. They had been so soothing then, but now they sounded all wrong. After such an appearance everyone would question it. The artist who had painted our family portrait might have said that Philippe looked like me, yet that was no longer true. Now he looked like the Phantom.
"We have to get our son away from him," I told Christine in an urgent whisper. "Who know what he'll – " As I threw her a sideways glance, I froze. Her head was tilted to one side in a rather uncomfortable angle, and her eyes were closed. I realised that the sight had made her faint. My worries about Philippe were forgotten momentarily as I looked at her pale face. "Oh God," I breathed. "Christine… What shall I do?"
Luckily Jacqueline had become aware of my wife's state by now as well. While Antoinette was sitting on the very edge of her seat, fascinated by the turmoil, the maid stood up and came to help me. "There should be a bottle of smelling salts in her handbag," she said, leaning over Christine. Glad that I could do something, I grabbed the handbag from under her chair. My fingers were trembling as I tugged at the clasp impatiently and rummaged between hairpins, a comb and handkerchiefs.
After what felt like an eternity I found the little bottle, opened it and held it under Christine's nose. Both Jacqueline and I sighed in relief when she blinked and finally opened her eyes. "Raoul? What has happened?" she whispered. "The Phantom and Philippe, dressed in the same clothes – it must have been a bit too much for you," I explained, stroking her hair tenderly. Gradually her face became its normal rosy colour again. "Yes… I guess that's what it was…" she muttered. "Thank you for helping me. If it hadn't been for the two of you…" "You'd have woken up sooner or later by yourself," Jacqueline said with a gentle smile. When she had made sure Christine was all right, she sat down next to Antoinette again.
Stuffing the bottle back into her handbag I told my wife: "I have to go now. I have to free Philippe from that man's clutches. Do you think you can accompany me?". It only took her a few moments to find a reply, but in my opinion even that was too long. We had already lost so much time. Looking over at Box Five I saw that at least they were still in there. So I'd know where to find them.
Finally Christine answered: "I'm fine. But, Raoul… I don't think you or I or anyone else should go.". "Why not?" I asked, staring at her blankly. Suddenly I doubted the state of her mind. Maybe it had suffered during her faint. There could be no other explanation for her words. "It is not necessary," she replied. "Erik is no danger to our son. He loves him; he wouldn't touch a hair on his head."
"But don't you understand?" I called, much louder than I had intended. Fortunately the audience was even louder, so that no one could overhear our conversation, which was quickly turning into an argument as I continued: "This is just the first step. He'll take him down to his lair, and I'll never see my boy again! He'll – ". "No, you don't understand," Christine interrupted me. "You're mixing up two completely different scenarios. Philippe isn't me, Raoul, and Erik isn't the person he used to be ten years ago either. He's just showing our son to the people here because he's proud of him. That's nothing bad." She gazed at me intently, as if trying to make me calm down.
I, however, wasn't willing to give in this quickly. "And you fainted because you were so pleased to see the boy dressed up as a little Phantom?" I asked with a bitter laugh. "Of course not," she replied. "It was a shock for me. Yet the longer I think about it, the less terrible it gets. Don't you remember that afternoon when our children sneaked into our bedroom, and Antoinette tried my dressed and Philippe your suits? It's just like that."
"No, it isn't," I contradicted her. "That man is a monster. Philippe shouldn't even think of becoming like him in any way." "That's just the point, isn't it? You don't like Erik, so our little one isn't allowed to like him either," she hissed, clearly less patient than before. "Well, that's something I am not going to discuss with you. I tried to make you understand him once, yet apparently it didn't have the slightest effect on you. So I won't try again. Do what you want. Make a fool of yourself. But don't expect me to be on your side." With these words she turned away from me and stared at the stage, where still nothing was happening.
Standing up from my chair I said: "Very well. Then I'll go and get him alone.". I was furious. Didn't my wife see that I just wanted to help? After all, I had rescued her from the Phantom once, no matter what she chose to think about it now. And this time I wouldn't even have to enter the cellars. All I'd have to do was go to Box Five and return my boy to where he belonged: at my side.
Yet arriving at the door I had to realise that things wouldn't be that simple. It was locked. Glaring at Narelle angrily I called: "Open the door! This isn't the right moment for stupid games!". The only reaction I got was a surprised glance and a shrug. "I didn't do anything with the door but close it after we had gone inside. So it cannot be locked now," she replied, getting to her feet. She tried to push down the handle, but naturally it didn't work for her either. "This is strange…" she muttered, shaking her head.
Her ignorance only infuriated me more. "And you are sure that you haven't ´accidentally´ locked the door?" I asked with barely controlled anger. "Of course I'm sure," she whispered, looking at me like a mouse facing a hungry cat. She reached into her pockets and turned them inside-out to demonstrate they were empty. "Look! I don't have any keys," she said. Confronted with such obvious innocence I gave a deep sigh, suddenly feeling helpless rather than angry. "It's all right. I believe you," I told the girl, who sank back on her stool.
"You could try to push against the door really hard," Narelle suggested. "It's rather old. Maybe the wood will give way." Nodding I threw myself against the door with all my power, yet that only earned me an aching shoulder. The door merely vibrated slightly. It seemed to be more solid than the girl assumed. A cry from my daughter made me turn around. "What are you doing, Papa?" she wanted to know. I saw that she was watching me, as well as my wife and the maid. "He has locked us in," I explained shortly, not caring that Antoinette had no idea who ´he´ was. "But I won't – "
In this moment we heard the Phantom's voice. It echoed through the auditorium. "I think I've given you all more than enough time for talking or trying to get out of here. Apparently you've forgotten that the performance is about to begin. This is no good behaviour, neither regarding the artists nor my little Philippe. He wants to enjoy his first opera. So I expect you to be quiet. You'll be able to leave the auditorium and the boxes – mind you, not the building itself – during the interval. You'll have the chance to exchange rumours then. And now – let's begin!" At a wave of his hand the curtains were drawn, and the music started. I did the only thing logical: I sat down and waited, rubbing my aching shoulder.