Behind Closed Doors

Christine tapped her foot against the leg of the piano bench as she waited in the music room. Having left a message on Raoul's mobile telling him that she'd be a bit late, she had come to wait for… well, she didn't really know what. For the voice, she supposed, or a person. She had already been waiting for twenty minutes. She wondered if she should say something. Would he hear her? After all, everyone else had left; it wasn't as though someone would hear her talking to herself if there was no reply. Who would want to hang around work on a Friday night?

Feeling incredibly foolish, she hesitantly opened her mouth.

"…Hello?" Nothing but silence answered her. Christine sighed irritably and lifted the piano lid. She began to play a quick tune but stopped after a few bars to listen. There was still no sign that anyone was listening.

She left soon after.

(Line Break)

Since Philippe was due to leave the next morning, he was having dinner with Sorelli at a restaurant. Christine and Raoul ate before moving to the sitting room with wine. He told her about his day and she listened with a smile as he asked her opinion on a variety of things that he knew she was completely clueless about. It was just his way of wanting to include her in every aspect of his life, something that Christine loved about him.

"Christine, you've got to stop me rambling like this. Tell me about your day." He said eventually, kissing her cheek. She smiled and shrugged.

"Same old. Plenty of paperwork and many uninteresting occurrences." She said. Raoul lifted an eyebrow.

"You mean to tell me that not one interesting thing happened all day?"

"Exactly. Moncharmin and Richard were capable for an entire day, I wasn't interrupted at all."

"So miracles do happen." Raoul laughed. Christine laughed too, setting her wine glass on the table and tucking her legs up beneath her.

Raoul watched her for a moment, admiring her graceful movements in even that small activity. She caught him watching and smiled, leaning over for a kiss. He gladly welcomed the embrace before the thoughts that had been anxiously tugging at his mind compelled him to say something.

"Christine, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" She said, looking mildly curious. He put his glass down beside hers and took her hands in his, steeling himself for the conversation that would follow.

"I've noticed that you've been rather… out of character lately." He said slowly, "You keep insisting that you're alright, but I'm still worried. I know part of it is because of your father, but I was wondering…" His voice died. Christine frowned and squeezed his fingers gently.

"Raoul?"

"I know we agreed that this wasn't time, because we're still focusing on our careers. But we've been married for over three years and I'm just wondering if maybe you've changed your mind."

She looked at him blankly. Raoul suddenly felt unbelievably awkward.

"Changed my mind?" She asked. Raoul swallowed hard and said,

"Christine… do you want to have a baby?" It took a few moments for Christine to acknowledge what he was suggesting. She smiled slightly and placed her hand on his cheek. The soft touch of her fingers made Raoul feel suddenly less foolish than he had only moments before.

"Oh, Raoul, I… that wasn't it at all. I still don't think we're ready for that, not right now. There are still so many reasons why we shouldn't have one yet."

"I feel the same. I just wish I knew what was going on in your head. I wish I could help." He said, "It was the only explanation I could think of for why you seemed so distracted. We decided not to have a baby, but that was a while ago. I don't know… maybe I thought you weren't comfortable bringing it up."

"You thought that it was my maternal instincts kicking in?" She smiled slightly and Raoul grinned.

"I guess so. It sounds rather ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"I know I've been a bit distant lately. I just… I don't know. But just having you with me is more than enough. I'll sort it out and then we can go back to how we were before."

It was a promise that Christine wasn't sure that she could keep. But for all the world, she would not have hurt Raoul by saying different. Even as they lay in bed that night, she watched him sleeping and thought about the best way to assure him. She rolled over and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders. It was rather cold. She glanced at the window and frowned to see that it was open.

She slid out of bed and shivered as the cool air encased her, slicing through her thin pyjamas. After the warmth of her bed and the companionable heat of Raoul's body, it was like stepping into a deserted wasteland of ice. It reminded her of those nights when she was small, when the need to get a drink of water was fought by the utter fear of the darkness and unwelcoming coldness. Of course, nothing frightening ever did happen on those ventures to the bathroom, but the imagination of a child can make any experience terrifying.

Christine reached the curtains that were buffeting slightly in the breeze. She reached out to pull the handle in but froze, her hand still outstretched. A pair of eyes was staring at her out of the darkness, golden and glinting. It took a moment for Christine to take a step back, pulling the window shut quickly. As suddenly as they'd appeared, the eyes were gone.

"Christine…?" She turned and saw Raoul sitting up, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I was just shutting the window." She whispered, walking back to the bed and not daring to glance back to the glass. Raoul was already dozing, so she didn't say anything further.

A few minutes after the adrenaline had drained from her system and her heartbeat had calmed, she looked back at the window. There was nothing there, although she hadn't expected there to be. She slowly sat up, drawing her knees up under her chin. He had followed her home. This terror was no longer to be confined to the opera house, but was now slowly beginning to invade every aspect of her existence. She climbed out of her bed again and reached for her clothes.

(Line Break)

The air in the dead of night was a curious one. So strangely silent, with a peculiar coolness and moisture that flooded Christine's skin until she felt as though she was sweating. It felt horribly ominous as she walked to the Opera Populaire, as though her body already knew of the danger she was facing. The occasional car passed, but she met no one else walking at this insanely early hour.

She unlocked the door and turned off the security alarm. The CCTV cameras were on constantly, but the major alarms were only on at night. Only a few people had the access to activate the alarm system. Christine, Mrs Giry, Moncharmin and Richard were the main ones, although Phil and Raoul had the information in case of emergencies. Once it was safely disabled, she turned on the corridor lights from the main system and walked quickly to the music room, her footsteps disturbingly loud in the deserted corridors. Opening the door to the practise room, she flicked on the light and looked around. There was nothing out of the ordinary that caught her eye.

"Where are you?" She demanded loudly to the empty room. There was no sound for several moments and then the voice spoke, as if from an invisible person standing beside her.

"Such an inhospitable hour for visits. Tell me; wouldn't you rather be sleeping with your boy than shouting yourself hoarse in an empty opera house?"

The softly mocking tone of the voice angered Christine further. But the anger was still entwined with the fear that she always seemed to feel in this room. She gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists.

"Quite clearly this opera house is not empty. And I was sleeping peacefully until you decided to come and stand outside my window. I want you out of my opera house and I want you to get out of my life!"

"How very egotistical, assuming that this is all about you."

"If it isn't, why were you at my home?"

"Surely you know the phrase 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer'? As it happens I don't have friends – therefore I'm being very close with you."

"That is enough!" Christine shouted. He fell silent and she looked around. "I have put up with this for long enough. You will leave immediately!"

To her furious surprise, he began to laugh softly. For the first time since her arrival, she began to feel that her safety might be more at stake than her pride. After all, hadn't this… thing killed Joseph Buqet? Her fury was quelled slightly to be replaced a nervous apprehension. But she had not come this far to quake in fear. She held her ground and waited until the laughter had died away to a slight chuckle.

"My dear manageress, might I remind you of what I have given you? I have given you the gift of music. Such a wonderful gift, and you would throw it away so easily?"

"This has nothing to do with music. You are here illegally. You have murdered and threatened members of my company, as well as threatening the safety of my husband! I am calling the police and I will have you arrested for what you've done!" She announced, sounding far braver than she actually was.

"You are going to have them arrest a ghost?"

"You are not a ghost! I don't know who you are, but you aren't a ghost. I'm calling the police now!"

She turned and reached for the door handle.

"Stop." Christine half paused and then slid her fingers around the handle. She stepped out and then turned with a gasp as she heard something fall behind her. She swung around and tried to scream, but it stuck in her throat as the figure straightened. Clad in black clothing, a black leather coat swaying around him and with a hood pulled low over his face, he was a terrifyingly tall figure standing over her by at least a foot. Christine felt frozen to the spot, but as the figure lifted a leather-clad hand to touch her, she let out a low gasp and stumbled back, slamming the door shut and running as fast as she could towards the entrance. The door opened milliseconds later and Christine glanced over her shoulder to see a shadow chasing after her.

Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly she could hear it. Her legs ached from running and there were tears welling up in her eyes, tears of inexpressible fear. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, it was to see the creature drawing ever closer. Her breathing was strained; her chest was so tight that she couldn't take in the air. The entrance was just around the corner and Christine dug in her pocket to find the key. But it was gone. She suddenly realised that hers were the only footsteps. She slowly came to a stop and turned. He was stood at the end of the corridor, his hand raised. Enfolded in the black cloth, she saw the glint of her keys.

She stared at him for a moment and then darted down a different corridor. He began to chase her again, but she was already reaching into her pocket for her mobile phone. She glanced down at the numbers at the most unfortunate moment. Her feet stumbled over a loose carpet edge and she fell heavily to the ground, her elbow cracking against the marble. Intense pain shot up her arm but she was already dragging herself to the phone. Dialling 999, she lifted the receiver to her ear only to have it knocked from her hand. She tried to turn but a cloth pressed over her mouth and nose. Her arm was throbbing intensely and she tricked to scream, but only inhaled whatever fumes the cloth was soaked in. Her legs gave way but she was being propped up; her vision was blurring over, tiny black dots swirling in front of her eyes as she heard a small tinny voice speaking from the dropped telephone.

She vaguely felt the sensation of turning and tried to see the face of her hunter as he laid her on her back and turned off her phone. But there was no face to be seen, and with that strange thought, Christine sank into unconsciousness.

(Line Break)

Nausea was creeping its way through Christine's body as she lay with her eyes closed. With a pounding head, she opened her eyes. The room was dark and she lay still for several moments, taking everything in. She was lying on a bed, unmade so she was directly on the bare mattress. The room smelt damp and old and musty, as though it had not been entered for many years. She pushed herself up but almost instantly collapsed as she tried to put weight on her left arm. It gave way beneath her and she let out a moan of pain. She shuffled her way into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed and looked down at her arm. It was strangely swollen around the joint and there was a large purple bruise spreading from it. She swallowed (painful in itself as her throat was parched) and tried to lift her arm. She could and was also able to make a fist, so she assumed that it wasn't broken. She also took in the information that she was still dressed in her t-shirt and jeans, her trainers still on her feet. The only parts of her that ached were her arm and her head, which answered the most disturbing question of all.

She cast her mind back to what had happened. Running, petrified, through the hallways of the Opera Populaire, hitting her arm, breathing in the drugged fumes and looking up at her captor. Why couldn't she recall what he looked like? She remembered black clothing

Christine looked around the room. There was no light, but she could make out two doors. There was also a wardrobe and a desk, but she wasn't interested in these. She swung her legs off the bed and a sudden rush of nausea went through her again. She forced the feeling back and stood shakily, moving to the first door. A quick glance inside told her that it was some sort of bathroom, with the basic facilities and as filthy as the room she was presently stood in. She closed the door and went to the other one. Turning the handle softly, she glanced out. She could see what looked like a large room, with a few other doors coming off it. There were a few chairs, a table and even a fireplace, which was lit. She couldn't hear anyone, so she pushed the door open a little further, stepping out into the room. There were electric lights placed around the room, but apparently no main light, so the room was cast in furtive darkness. The floor was no more than concrete, but the walls were hung with sheets of dark fabric, mismatched and strange, but fitting for this unearthly place.

Christine moved into the room and looked around. The first thing she searched for was a clock, but there was none. She looked at her wrist, but her watch was gone. The second thing that caught her attention was the food and drink set on the table. Bread, cheese, grapes and what looked like wine and a jug of water. Her stomach growled, nausea forgotten, but Christine didn't touch the food. She didn't trust it not to be poisoned or at least drugged. Instead she searched for a sign of the mysterious creature that had brought her here; wherever here was. But no figure emerged from the darkness.

She went to one of the doors and opened it. It led to another room. What looked like a portable gas oven was set up, similar to the sort that one would use when camping. Christine closed the door and went to the next. Another bathroom, as basic as the one that she had found before. She moved on and reached for the next door, but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Her heart began to beat furiously as she looked around for something to defend herself with. Darting to the table, she seized a knife. It wasn't sharp but it was better than nothing. She turned to face the arch that led to impossible darkness, listening in terror as the footsteps became louder.

His shadow appeared first, sliding up the side of the arch as he stepped into view. Still dressed all in black, he turned his face towards her and Christine suddenly realised why she couldn't remember his face. It was because she had never seen one. His face was covered with a mask, black in colour and made from what looked like some stiff material. It left only his eyes and mouth exposed and Christine recognised those eyes immediately. She unconsciously took a step back, still clutching the knife tightly in her right hand. The eyes flickered to it momentarily before glancing her over. He didn't speak but crossed the room to the side that Christine had not yet explored. There was a velvet curtain overhanging part of it. He drew it back to reveal a magnificent organ; it was the only item in the room that looked entirely clean. He reached into his coat and drew out several sheets of music, placing them on the stand of the instrument before turning to look at her again.

Christine held herself steady, the knife raised, as he met her eyes. He removed his coat and laid it casually over a nearby chair before speaking.

"Unless you're going to cut bread with that knife, I suggest you lower it." The voice was cool and just as haunting as it had been when it came from thin air. Christine didn't move as she examined him. His shirt had long sleeves and as he removed his gloves, she noticed that his fingers were strangely long and thin, the bones protruding awkwardly under the skin. The rest of him was just as painfully thin and long, not to mention incredibly pale, from the parts of skins that she could see. The whiteness of his hands and chin seemed unnatural. Now that the hood was lowered, she could see thick black hair that reached his chin.

He took a step forward and Christine retreated, backing into a wall. Her injured arm knocked against the wall and she cried out. The knife slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the cold concrete. Christine fell to her knees, desperately reaching for her only defence but a heavily-booted foot fell upon the blade, forcing Christine to snatch her fingers back. She looked up hesitantly. He was staring down at her, his eyes emotionless.

"Stand up." She had no choice but to obey. He offered no hand to help her but watched as she clumsily got to her feet, still pressed against the wall in an attempt to put the most distance possible between them. He glanced at her elbow and went to a cabinet. She couldn't see what he was doing but when he turned, he was holding a poultice. She could smell it faintly, a mixture of unfamiliar herbs permeating the air. He set it on a small table next to her.

"Hold it to your elbow. It will lower the swelling and numb the pain."

"And I should take the advice of someone who has just attacked me?"

The words had escaped her before she could stop herself. He looked at her calmly.

"Then stay in pain, it makes no difference to me."

"Where am I? Tell me who you are!" She demanded. He turned away.

"Do not delude yourself with illusions of grandeur. You are in my home and whilst you are here you will be the respectable woman I know you to be."

He moved over to the organ and sat, scratching at the music with a pen. Christine glanced at the bandage and tentatively lifted it to her arm. It almost instantly sent warmth through the bruising and Christine sighed in relief as she tied it around her arm. He ignored her and after a few moments of silence she took a couple of tentative steps to the archway he had come through.

"If you try to leave, you will get lost. If you get lost here, you will die of hunger before you can find a way out." He said softly, not looking up from his work. Christine glared at the back of his head and he raised a hand to gesture at the table.

"Eat. That food is for you."

"How do I know it isn't poisoned?" She spat.

"Because if I was going to go through the trouble of killing you, I would hardly do it in my own home where you would only create a mess." He said sharply, still working.

Christine glanced at the food. The sensation of hunger was unbearable, gnawing painfully at her stomach. She reached for a slice of bread and spread a slice of cheese on it. The first bite was so delicious that she forced the rest into her mouth, chewing as quickly as possible, already preparing a second piece. After the third piece she stopped and poured herself some water. No wine, she didn't want to risk being incapacitated.

Once she had eaten her fill, she turned once more to look at her captor. He was still working silently.

"Will you at least tell me who you are?" She asked quietly, politely. Clearly shouting and fury were not going to persuade him at all. He stopped and then placed his pen on the organ. He stood and turned to look at her, an imposing figure against the shadowy backdrop.

"Who I am?"

"You're obviously not a ghost. So you must have a name." Christine pointed out. He bowed his head slightly in a tiny nod.

"It is true, Christine de Chagny. I am not a ghost or phantom… I am Erik."

A/N: Wow, a relatively speedy update! You must be so proud. I'm pretty pleased with this chapter, for a change, so let me know what you think. The line breaks will be replaced with actual lines just as soon as FFN decides to like me again. Anywho, I've got quite a lot of stuff to tell you. The first announcement is that I passed all of my A level exams and got into my top university! WOOHOO! Come the end of September, I shall be a student of Bangor University!

The next bit of information – I have been chosen to partake in the POL (Phansonline. net) Author Interviews! Which basically means you'll have a chance to ask me questions about writing, me, my opinions on life, my opinions on cheese… pretty much anything really! It's such an honour! If you would like to ask a question here are the rules:

No more than 2 questions (3 at a very big push). Try and make them individualistic. If there are lots of the same kind of question, they'll be smushed into one to save time. Do not send questions to me or post them in a review! My lovely Beta has been stuck with the task, so either PM them to her through FFN (TheAngelCried) or email them to her at phantasyfreeme (at) hotmail. com Remove the spaces to get the right address. Mention a username, or if you wish to remain anonymous, mention that in the email/message.

You'll have until 31st August to get your questions in. So get thinking and have fun!

Love

Katie