Behind Closed Doors
It was raining steadily when the car pulled up outside the little cottage, tucked away in the South Downs in Kent. Laughing loudly, Raoul and Christine ran to the front door, tumbling into the dark house, water soaking into their feet. Raoul dropped their bags and fumbled for a light switch, whilst Christine kicked off her shoes, wriggling her cold toes. The lights came on, illuminating the small room, charmingly decorated with rustic furniture and paintings, almost clichéd in its authenticity.
Raoul crossed to the fireplace and lit the log fire, swearing as he burnt his fingers on the match. Christine smiled, venturing into the kitchen to put on the kettle, carrying the two shopping bags filled with food. Whilst coffee brewed, Raoul put on the radio to some chattering local station and they talked and laughed as they made lasagne (Raoul's one and only speciality). It was comfortable and safe and Christine had never felt so in love with her husband as he sang tunelessly to the radio, pulling the cooking implements out of her hands to waltz her around the kitchen to some old song.
"What do you think? Is there a place for me in your newest production, with my fine dancing skills?" He joked, dipping her swiftly. She snorted with laughter, wrapping her arms around his neck as they straightened.
"Absolutely. You'll blow them away!" He grinned, pecking her on the cheek before turning to inspect their dinner. Christine returned to slicing bread, still grinning.
"Well, I might just audition – I'm sure Mrs Giry will be on my side. Hey, even the Phantom might put in a good word for me!"
A cold chill shot through Christine's spine and the bread knife slipped, slicing her finger. She gasped, dropping the blade and Raoul was instantly beside her, pressing a paper towel to the deep cut.
"Are you alright?"
"It's fine, I wasn't paying attention." Christine murmured, running her finger under the tap. The blood mingled with the water before disappearing down the drain. Raoul was bustling through the cupboards, emerging triumphantly with a first aid kit. He stuck a bandage over the cut and then lightly kissed the tip of her finger. Christine couldn't help smiling at him.
"Kiss it better?"
"Works every time." He said firmly, turning to slice the lasagne. Christine slid into one of the wooden chairs at the old table, the oak surface pitted with scratches and burn marks, where it had obviously been used for cooking and preparing food at some point. Raoul placed a plateful of food in front of her and they ate in near silence, both tired from the journey and the stress of the past week.
"Christine?" Raoul's voice broke through the tired fog that had clouded her mind as they settled onto the settee in the tiny living room. She blinked up at him.
"Hmm?"
"Is something…" He hesitated and then steeled himself, "Is something going on at the opera house?"
"What makes you think that?" She asked in a would-be casual voice, desperately praying for a change in conversation. He looked at her frankly.
"Sweetheart, how can I not think it? After everything that has happened… look, if it's really nothing you can just tell me to mind my own business and I'll forget all about it, but I'm worried about you. I'm afraid that…"
She stared at him, taking in his deep blue eyes, his disarray of blonde hair as he ran an agitated hand through it, the taut expression on his handsome face. After a moment he swallowed and when he spoke, his voice was constricted with emotion.
"I'm afraid that I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone again." He choked and his head dropped into his hands, as though the weight of his confession had crushed him. Christine bit back a choked sob and shuffled along the settee, half climbing into his lap. Instinctively his arms wrapped around her, holding her so tightly that it hurt her ribs and she clung to him, pressing her face into his neck.
"Raoul, I will never leave you. Never." She mumbled, squeezing her eyes closed, "I'm just nothing without you."
He didn't reply and she pulled her face back to look at his. He was watching her with the expression of a young child, vulnerable, easily crushed. She ran her slender hand down his cheek, the light stubble grazing her fingertips.
"I love you, Raoul." She murmured, "More than I can ever tell you. And there are things happening at the moment that… that are difficult for me to talk about and once I understand what those things are, what it is that I can do about them, I promise I'll tell you everything."
His eyes searched hers and seemed to find the truth there, because he kissed her deeply, arms forming a cocoon around her that she wished could protect her from the darkness that was encroaching into their lives.
The conversation was pushed, somewhat forcibly, out of their minds as they endeavoured to enjoy their weekend. They took a long walk along the downs, drove to Ramsgate on the coast and toyed with the idea of paddling in the icy water, ate fish-and-chips (most of which ended up inside dive-bombing seagulls) and sat reading in front of the log fire during the evening.
"Do we have to go back?" Christine asked, leaning her head against Raoul's knee as he read the paper they'd picked up from a small newsagent.
"No."
"So we can just stay here?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'll call Phil and tell him to hire a new manager." Raoul lowered the paper and reached for his phone. Christine gave a light chuckle, patting his knee and then resting her chin on it, looking up at him. His fingers stroked gently along her jaw line as he watched her, a faint smile on his lips.
"One day we will. We'll just pack it all in, leave it all behind, get in the car and just drive until we feel like stopping. We can go anywhere you want." He promised and she kissed his fingers, heart aching.
They left at midday, driving with the radio turned on loudly to 'the best of the 80's'. Christine could tell that Raoul was trying his hardest to keep her spirits lifted. It was needed, for she could feel the dread of the Opera House descending on her like a dark cloud. No sooner had they pulled into their street when Raoul's phone began to ring and he handed it to Christine to answer. It was his office, his secretary sounding absolutely apologetic for bothering them at the weekend, but every computer system had managed to crash, leaving them completely unprepared for an incredibly important meeting the next day. Raoul merely chuckled, running hand though his hair.
"Right, I'm on my way. I've got all the backups for the meeting in my office, everything else will have to wait until the IT team come in tomorrow." He waved to Christine, heading for the door, "I'll be home for dinner, sweetheart."
The servants were nowhere to be seen, Raoul having given them the weekend off. Christine dropped her overnight bag by the hall table and stretched, kicking off her shoes and burying her toes into the plush carpet as she turned on the lights. The soft glow filled the hallway, giving it a homey feel that she sometimes felt it lacked.
Raoul would be gone for at least an hour and now she was back in this familiar place, the task that she needed to fulfil for the next day was weighing heavily on her mind. Reluctantly she went to the little parlour at the end of the hallway where a piano sat, usually not played for great lengths of time.
For some reason, feeling like a guilty child, she crossed to the piano and played a quick scale, testing her voice. Pleasingly, it was steady and clear. She spent several minutes running through scales, remembering the patterns that Erik had used at their last lesson.
Just the thought of his name sent a shudder through her and she forced herself to take a deep breath, eying the aria that was perched innocently on the music stand. She knew it well, The Magic Flute had been a favourite for years. But now whenever she considered the music, it was played with long, bony fingers, curiously golden eyes on hers as the song flowed from her lips.
"Ach, ich fühl's, es ist verschwunden,
Ewig hin der Liebe Glück!"
Her voice strained by the end of the second line and she stopped, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.
When Raoul came home, two hours later, she had sung the song through twice without error. She hadn't even realised he was back until she finished the aria on a clear, quavering note and light applause sounded behind her. He was grinning wildly, looking desperately tired but delighted.
"Christine, that was wonderful. It's been so long since I heard you sing." She smiled faintly and sipped at her water.
"I… felt like it." She murmured, a little ashamed to have been caught; it had been an intensely private moment, and she was equally ashamed that she didn't want Raoul involved. She held out her arms and he stepped into them, embracing her tightly.
"It was good to hear you again." He mumbled into her hair, squeezing her, "It's been too long."
"I don't know how long it'll last for, but it feels… it feels good. Feels like home." She replied softly, desperately clinging to the idea that music was something that was safe, was something that belonged in her warm home and in a job that she adored. But that concept was slipping away with every passing note and she was both anxious for and dreading her music lesson the next evening.
There was no note waiting on her desk; there was no need for one, anything that needed to be said could wait until that evening because they both knew that she would be there. Christine had already told Raoul she'd be home late, saying that she wanted to catch up on paperwork. He'd been fine with it, preoccupied by the meeting he had to prepare for, let alone reinstalling all the computers in the office. So at six thirty that evening, after everyone else had left, Christine paced the small music room nervously, humming occasionally to test her voice and flicking her fingers like a nervous twitch.
She felt his presence before she heard him, a chill settling over the room and creeping up her spine.
"Good evening, Christine. Let us begin."
And with that he settled at the piano without another word. Christine hesitated for a split second before launching into her scales, knowing that an argument would not be worth the risk at that moment.
For an hour, Erik trained her, her voice rising and falling, swelling to great proportions before fading to little more than a whisper as they went through the aria. Eventually his fingers fell still on the keys and he turned to gaze at her with his piercing golden eyes. Christine dropped her gaze to her hands, unwilling to look at him, unwilling to admit that she loved how her voice sounded when he was with her.
"You have practised."
"Yes." She murmured the confirmation and he stood, closing the lid of the piano keys with the gentleness of a lover before turning to face her again. Christine kept her eyes on the floor, lifting her arms to wrap them around her middle, an ineffective cage against his spell. He let out a soft sigh and his hand lifted towards her as though to touch her face but her eyes flickered to his in mild alarm and he dropped it abruptly.
"Wednesday. The same time. Practise tomorrow, you must be as close to perfection as possible."
"Yes."
He turned to leave and her breath caught in her throat as she tried to summon the courage to ask about the terrifying scene that had played out in the cellar. The small noise caught his attention and he turned back to her, his black hair a sharp contrast to the paleness of his chin, the only visible skin of his face. Christine swallowed hard and steeled herself.
"I-in…. in the cellar, I saw… there was-"
"It was a warning." Erik said darkly, "And you should pay heed to it."
"Would it have hurt me?"
"No." His answer was instantaneous but loaded with meaning. Christine frowned.
"If someone else had gone down there?"
"I make no guarantees for the safety of anyone else in this opera house."
"Not even Mrs Giry?"
"Everyone is dispensable." He said dismissively and again, his eyes fixed on hers, "Everyone but you."
She knew then. Her life was his. Her future and her dreams were in his hands and she could not comprehend any possible escape. She shuddered and tears filled her eyes. She turned away, not wanting to share this revelation and blinked back the moisture as she stared at the wall. The understanding of how far she had fallen into his trap was only now occurring to her.
He moved to stand behind her, not touching because he never touched her apart from the times he had drugged her in his home. But there was a strange tension between them, like a tight piece of rope stretched from her to him and binding them permanently so that wherever he went, she would be forced to follow.
"You will shine, Christine." He murmured, his voice beautiful and soft, "I will put you before the world and they will be humbled by you."
"If I shine, it is because you have polished me. It is your talent and I can't take credit. Everything I am is what you have made me and it is you that should be put before the world." She wanted him to realise his own talent and leave hers be, to encourage him to take what he had and use it instead of forcing her into this play of his own design.
Erik hissed quietly and she stiffened, afraid again but when she dared to glimpse him over her shoulder, his eyes were closed as though in agony.
"If I were put before the world, I would be feared and hated as you fear and hate me. I will, as you say, polish you but you are the diamond and I can only work with the materials given to me. Accept your status, Christine."
She half-turned in time to see him walking to the vent. Launching himself into the air, Erik crawled into the vent, with the promise of Wednesday's lesson ringing in her ears.
A/N: I can't believe people are still reading this! Many, many thanks for the support, it makes me all giddy inside!
Much love
Katie