September 15th 1892: Raoul
I couldn't remember when I had first thought about dragging myself out of the living room. Had it been one hour after Christine had left, two hours or maybe five? I didn't know it and I didn't care. All I knew was that it was still night; it was all that mattered to me. As long as it was night, she wouldn't come back. So I had to wait.
Slowly I dared leave my crouching position and stretched out my legs, fighting back a scream of pain as cramps shot through them like bullets. Sitting with my knees bent and my arms wrapped around them had hindered the circulation. My neck and back were aching as well, and there were red marks on my fingers from the moments in which the pain had been so intense that I had bitten myself to keep me from crying out. My body felt like a single raw wound.
I needed all my strength to force myself into a standing position. Black and white dots were dancing in front of my eyes, and I had to lean against the wall behind me, afraid of landing on the floor again. I was panting from the effort. Still I knew I had to go on. I couldn't stay here in the living room. Some of the servants got up very early, and one of them always went through all rooms except the bedrooms and opened the windows to let in fresh air. I didn't want anyone to see me like that.
Wasn't it peculiar that I was still thinking about other people's opinion of me, when there should have been much more important things on my mind? Actually it wasn't peculiar, not at all. At the moment my head was perfectly content with thinking about nothing but moving my feet, one after the other. Inch by inch they carried me up the stairs and into… which room?
No, not our bedroom! I stopped dead on the threshold. The last thing I wanted was lying in bed and staring at Christine's part of it, at the empty pillow, the empty space on the mattress, under a blanket that was much too big for one person. That would have been pointless torture for my already damaged soul. I'd rather go to one of the guestrooms.
Yet arriving at the first one I heard loud snoring. Utterly confused by those strange sounds I opened the door a little and threw a glance inside. Our coachman was lying in the bed. It took me a few moments to understand how that was possible. Surely Christine had told him to sleep there, since she hadn't wanted him to walk home at night. She had such a soft heart. I closed the door as quietly as I could and continued my search for a place to stay, feeling more and more like a stray dog in my own house.
Fortunately the next guestroom I checked was empty. I took off my clothes and lay down on the bed. Yet although I closed my eyes and rolled into my favourite sleeping position, I couldn't calm down enough to actually fall asleep. The problem was not something simple, like the blanket being too thick or the mattress being too hard. The bed was perfect, but it didn't… feel right. There was no warm body pressing against mine from behind, no hot breath tickling my skin and no occasional kisses on my neck. There was no Christine.
Pictures formed themselves in front of my closed eyes. They were worse than the last time, and I didn't even have a wall to slam my head against. It was as if my whole imagination was working for the sole purpose of creating the most terrible nightmare scenarios. I saw my wife and the Phantom kissing passionately. Greedily he ripped off her clothes, feasting his eyes on the sight of her naked body. Then he was naked as well and lay on top of her. The pictures became a blur of colours and motion, ended by a frantic cry of the Phantom's name. ´Oh, this felt so good,´ Christine whispered. ´It was better than anything I've ever experienced.´
I opened my eyes, yet my vision was still blurred. I was crying. Impatiently I wiped the tears away with a corner of the blanket. But even after they were gone, the empty feeling in my chest remained. It was as if by leaving, Christine had taken my heart with her and was trampling around on it now. I could practically feel ever kick she gave it by making love to another man.
With a sigh I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling without seeing a thing. Had it been wrong to make her go? It was a sign of my luck – or rather, the lack thereof – that this question, which had been bound to come up sooner or later, chose exactly this moment to attack me. I was too weak to defend myself. What would I do if she liked being with the Phantom so much that she'd stay with him? I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Christine was my life, my… my everything.
And what would happen to our children? This new and frightening question made me even more anxious. She couldn't take them away from me as well, could she? I'd never let them go. But then, children belonged to their mother, that was what everyone said. According to popular belief the father wasn't very important. I was seized by a wave of guilt as I thought about how often I had been away from home. And now that I finally had the time to become a part of my children's lives, that chance would be taken from me?
No! I wouldn't allow it. Neither Christine nor Antoinette and Philippe would leave me. My wife simply had to come back to me. Why should she want to stay with the Phantom? He could offer her nothing but a life in darkness and… and love. If only I hadn't seen his eyes! Before I had done so, it had been easy to tell myself that he just felt lust for her. Yet the glances he had thrown her during their conversation about our son had been filled with love. And I didn't know whether she returned those feelings.
If my wife didn't come back to me, it would be my own fault, that much was certain. There had to be something I had done wrong. Maybe I hadn't been home often enough. Maybe I hadn't shown her how much I loved her. The worst thing about it was that I couldn't change it anymore. I'd have liked to tell her so many things, but she wasn't here to hear them.
Giving yet another sigh I kicked the blanket to the foot of the bed and sat up, realising that I wouldn't sleep anyway. In this dark and empty room I'd only remain the prey of my thoughts. So I could as well get up and try to distract myself. I stoop up, put on the clothes I had taken off not even half an hour ago and left, thinking that this had probably been the shortest stay anyone had ever had in one of our guestrooms.
Walking along the corridor I pondered on where to go now. Usually I didn't have problems with sleeping, so I had little experience in the subject of what to do at night. Besides, I had to be very quiet, so that I wouldn't wake up the children. The idea to go to the kitchen and fetch something to drink was dismissed quickly; it would have made too much noise. Instead, I tiptoed past their rooms and went into my study.
Once I had reached the large and comfortable room I pulled a book out of the crammed set of shelves and settled down in a chair facing the window. Naturally it was still dark outside, but I didn't want to miss the morning when it came. So I sat there, reading and throwing a glance out of the window every now and then. The book, a thick volume on legal statutes which had already been part of my father's library, was the most boring I had ever come across. After maybe an hour I found myself staring into space rather than reading most of the time.
Knowing it couldn't go on like that I came to my feet, fetching another book. The corner in which the shelves stood was so dark that I could only make out the title as I sat down again. With a groan I realised it was one of Christine's romance novels. That would certainly not help getting my mind off the subject of love. But then, I didn't want to stand up a second time. And maybe my wife would appreciate it that I showed interest in what she liked.
To my surprise the book turned out to be more fascinating that I had thought. It had at least one huge advantage: The man trying to lure the heroine away from her husband was portrayed very negatively. If Christine read such books often, she had to know that in the end husband and wife would be united again, and maybe she'd take it as an example for her own life.
I read and read while the night gradually gave way to the day. After a few hours I was finished. Now there was nothing left for me to do but wait. Slowly the house woke up. I heard doors open and close, but didn't feel the wish to go and join the liveliness. Remembering my pocket watch at last I took it out and placed it on my leg, so that I could constantly check the time. It was five o'clock. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier as I watched the hands move, and before I could do anything against it, I fell asleep.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………...
"M. le Comte?" A hand touched my shoulder hesitantly. Looking up I saw Jacqueline glance down at me in concern. "Here you are, Monsieur. I'm sorry to wake you up. It's just… neither your wife nor you were in your bedroom when the children came looking for you, and of course they want to know where you are. Has Madame already gone out? Do you know when she'll be back?"
Instead of giving an immediate reply I gazed at the watch, which told me what I had already suspected: It was past nine.
"She'll never come back," I declared gravely.