Author's Note: Sorry about the wait! Take a second chapter as consolation!
Trigger Warning: Frank talk of death
Rehearsal was not a dull one for Christine. She had hoped that she would be able to slip easily into the monotonous dance routine before being whisked away by her masked savior. As she dressed for rehearsal, fantasies of the evening to come brought a strong blush to her cheeks, she imagined her vocal lesson going swimmingly before being taken upon the piano, legs spread from baritone to soprano notes as Erik rocked within her all the while kissing her in the way he did that made her feel so beautiful. These thoughts were shoved away by the feeling Meg's icy steel grip on her forearm, stopping her fingers from lacing up her pointe shoes.
"Meg, what is it?"
"Haven't you heard?" A look of delighted horror was spread across the blonde's face; excitement mixed with terror swam in her eyes as she practically buzzed in place at the ability to spread gossip.
"Heard what?" A few gasps of glee from the surrounding ballerinas filled her ears before white skirts came flittering around her, until she was surrounded by the handful of girls who had learned to ignore her amateur dancing but often succeeded in ignoring all of her as of consequence. Christine's handful of friends who took her out for coffees and pastries were nowhere in sight to save her from the gossiping crowd around her, so Christine was stuck amongst the girls as they tittered in anticipation of Meg's story.
"About Buquet. They found his dead body in the hall outside the dormitories, really Christine, as a resident of the house I thought you ought to know!" A flash of grubby hands and rum soaked breath made Christine wince and she felt herself paling as the ballerinas awaited her response. Her mind was upon Erik all at once, why hadn't she thought to tell him to move the body? Surely, it would come back to the man they knew roomed below the opera house, surely the managers would trace it back through Erik's tunnels. Her angel was an angel no more and it would be too soon that everyone found out; Christine would lose him.
"No, I hadn't heard a thing. That's…that's horrible. What happened to him?"
"Nobody knows!" A taller blonde, Michelle, answered in an excited whisper before Meg could cut back in,
"Well, it's obvious who it is, isn't it?" Blood surged through her so violently that Christine thought she might faint, her hands fisted in her tutu as she shook her head in negative.
"No, who is it?"
"It's the Phantom!" A choral gasp resounded from the girls and Christine was thankful that her relieved sigh mixed in without notice, Michelle let out a faux scream of terror. A small domino effect of screeches started up before Meg could shush them again, giggling as she slapped the girls playfully.
"You wouldn't be laughing if you saw him like I have, girls." Meg's lecture was met with more giggles, but Christine's argument was met with a harsh silence.
"Oh, but he isn't real! Meg, there aren't such things as ghosts!" Wide eyes looked upon her in horror as Meg set her hands upon her tiny hips.
"Oh yes he is, Christine Daae! I've seen him myself! And talked to him, even!" The hushed whispers of excitement started up again and a chill ran across Christine's bare arms.
"You have?"
"Mhm! Maman always warned me not to go down to the cellars, but I snuck down there, not too long ago. Could have only been a month or so ago, nobody had talked about the ghost in so long I thought I would be safe-"
"What were you going down there for Meg?" One girl called out.
"A quick roll with Jimmy Tucker?" Her friend asked and snickers broke out amongst the group, but Meg kept her focus on Christine.
"Shut it! It doesn't matter," More laughter, "what matters is what I saw."
"What was it?" Michelle was more serious now, face paling by the moment as the circle grew tighter around Meg. They were definitely running late, only half of the group was fully dressed, but Meg's audience was enraptured as she lowered her voice even more.
"A white mask, floating in the air, next to a burning lantern. That's what I thought it was anyways, until I realized it was a man, wearing a cold white mask over half of his face! And he sang to me!" A few dramatic gasps only worsened the goosebumps upon Christine's skin and she felt horror twisting in her stomach as she pictured Erik in the dark. By Meg's timeline, he might have been waiting around for Christine in the cellars, perhaps creating the latch for her to get down to the lessons from if it was that long ago.
"So what? It was a man in a mask." Christine's breathy voice sounded terrified though and a victorious smirk spread across little Giry's face.
"Well obviously a man only wears a mask for two reasons: he's hiding his identity or he's disgustingly disfigured, that's what Maman says."
"Or both!" Michelle's comment was ignored by Meg, but Christine could not help but remember her hands running over deformed skin in a dark room, of those bloated lips pressing heated kisses across her entire body in the dead of night.
"Christine, you look sick, are you alright?" The girl who had asked about Jimmy Tucker looked genuinely concerned but Christine shook her head, again.
"I'm fine, I just don't understand what this masked man has to do with Buquet-"
"Well don't you know the story of the Phantom, Christine?" Michelle asked, hands picking at her nails with anxiety.
"Obviously she doesn't, it's ok Christine, it all happened before you showed up." A few girls toward the outside of the group wandered off to get changed as Meg sat Christine down on the long bench that ran along the mirrored wall of the dressing room, "It happened all when I was just starting to officially train here as part of the corps, I don't know five or so years ago? But Maman says it'd been happening for ages before that!"
"What had been happening?" The horrific thought of Erik's hands committing crimes against other men made her cringe, and Meg did nothing to silence those thoughts.
"The strangest things, Christine! People would suddenly just disappear! Divas would go missing, sandbags would just fall from the fly area when no one was around! All sorts of things, props would disappear, costumes would be splattered in blood…it was horrifying! And it was all blamed, on him!"
"Him?"
"The Phantom, aren't you paying attention?" Christine nodded numbly, some sort of disconnect forming between the man who she had given her heart to the night before, and the murderer who had killed her near-rapist. They were opposites in her mind, he had killed to save at the time. Could her angel be the same Phantom as the one who had terrorized this company so completely? Erik hiding in Box Five, Erik's tunnels, Erik's silent exits and entrances—all of it came rushing to the forefront of her mind and Christine realized all too quickly, that no one knew of Erik but herself.
Morning rehearsal moved by agonizingly slow, the girls around her were aflutter with the gossip of the day. Twice the rehearsal was paused because of police officers crossing the stage and into the wings, heading toward the spot Buquet's body was found. Again, she felt the burning stare of Erik as she danced across the space, a flush igniting her body as her inner turmoil roared to life. To feel Erik's hands upon her would be the greatest pleasure, but to look him in the eye and know she loved a man who had tortured dozens of people broke her heart. She should have known, she tormented herself and her dancing suffered for it, but she should have known that the man who had lied about being an angel and killed so willingly, would have a story worth the terror of an entire opera house. Yet she still burned beneath his gaze and glanced up toward the dark box often, unable to keep the wanton gleam from her eyes. She loved Erik, it was too late for her to take that back.
After a soggy soup for lunch, Christine headed back to the stage, alone. Meg had spent the entirety of their break running around the benches, spreading gossip of "the masked freak" as quickly as possible. Each time she told the story, Erik grew in ridiculousness. In one he removed his mask to reveal he had no face, only two yellows eyes. In another, there was no lantern, but only a white mask covering a flaming head. The only piece of information that remained consistent, in the cafeteria at least, was that Erik always sang a beautiful piece of music that hypnotized Meg into stillness—the only reason she didn't call for others, immediately! Christine sat alone, the other girls bothered by her unwillingness to participate in the gossip, and listened as stories began to come from every surrounding person. The story most agreed upon was that he must be the ghost of an old opera singer, come back to run the place how he wanted it to be run.
It was truly ridiculous to endure and by the time evening rehearsals were ready to commence, Christine was truly fed up with Meg. She changed quickly back into her leotard and tutu, ignoring the chill that ran up her spine at the darkness of the dressing room and passing it off as the creepiness that Meg had brought upon the place, Christine huffed out onto the stage much earlier than Madame Giry had called for. All at once everything seemed to blur and slow. Nothing mattered but the sight of Raoul, in his best suit and top hat, standing downstage with the managers, Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin. Blonde hair perfectly combed, blue eyes sparkling with the reflection of the footlights, a bright smile perched on his perfectly pink lips.
The breath left her body in one great rush, and the chill from the dressing room had drenched her again as she stood staring at him. Half of her wanted to run toward him and the other half of her wanted Erik to steal her away immediately into the warmth of his cozy home. Once more she wanted to be trapped beneath Erik's rocking body as he claimed her again and again. But that was not possible, Christine realized with an agonized gasp, as Raoul's eyes met her own. Every inch of her body felt as if it was ripping in half, her heart was unwinding quickly into heavy tatters as recognition flashed in Raoul's gorgeous eyes.
"Christine!" His astonished scream caught the attention of all surrounding workers, even people in the wings turned to see the handsome man rushing toward the frozen ballerina.
"You know her, Monsieur Vicomte?" Andre was racing, with Firmin in tow, to stand at Raoul's side. She was unable to protest as Raoul took her freezing hands within his much softer one's as he took her in with bright eyes.
"Very closely, she is the closest friend I've ever encountered." Heat filled her face as Christine stood, paralyzed with shocked amazement, as Raoul took her in, "You look beautiful, Christine." The managers were huffing in place, fidgeting loudly, but the noise was mute to Raoul's ears as he stared deeply into her eyes. Oh, how easily it was to fall into that blue sea, how easily it was to allow Raoul to touch her so intimately, so publically.
"Thank you, Monsieur Vicomte."
"And why the formality, Christine? Do you not remember me as I remember you?" The question jerked her back to reality, and Christine yanked her hands away with a ferocity that brought hurt to the young man's face.
"I remember you perfectly, Monsieur. We did not leave off on a good foot, if I remember, but your unkindness was the reason I found myself here so I suppose I owe you a thank you. So," Christine was backing away as she spoke, very much aware of the audience she had garnered with her snap, "thank you and good day."
"Christine!" Raoul was following her into the wings, she could feel him at her heels as she raced into the darkness, trying to find the deepest corner she could with the hope he would not be able to see her in the shadows. A gasp tumbled from her lips as his warm hand clasped her wrist and spun her to face him.
"Christine? What is it? Why are you acting like this?" Tears were falling before Christine could stop them, as she looked up into the beautiful, oblivious face of the man who had broken her heart.
"You let them kick me out, Raoul, I had nowhere to go—I had nothing I had-"
"I know, Christine, I know and I'm so sorry. You must forgive me! I meant you no harm, I swear it…My mother died, Christine. Shortly after you left, she grew very ill and passed away leaving Phillipe in charge of the estate and I in charge of finances-"
"Congratulations-" Christine attempted to free herself, but Raoul had a tight grip and a sad face as he looked down at her, obviously hoping for pity.
"Don't you understand, Christine? My mother is gone, we can have each other now. Everything is going to be just as we said, it only took some time to-"
"No, Raoul." She felt eyes upon her as soon as the words left her mouth, her angel was watching, and with that little bit of encouragement she gently peeled Raoul's hands away from her.
"N-no?"
"No, I'm sorry, but no. I don't know if you realize this, but you threw me out on the street to die. You broke my heart, I loved you once but not anymore-"
"Oh Christine, you're just angry-" Raoul took a step towards her, but broke off when she quickly backed away. They were standing in a dark corner of the extra wing space they used to store optional set pieces that hardly anyone ever occupied; Christine had used it as a corner to hide in her first week in the corps.
"Raoul, I am not just angry. You hurt me, now it is time for you to go."
"I won't go, I'm a patron of the opera house, I have the right to be here. You love me!" His voice raised not in anger, but desperation. Though he did not reach for her again he stepped closer, until she was squished against the corner and staring up into the gorgeous blue eyes that had once stolen her heart.
"I don't love you, Raoul. I've found love in my Angel of Music. Please, let me go." Trying to keep her voice level, Christine moved to go pass Raoul, but he placed his hands on either side of her head. She was caged in and blushing as she heard voices growing louder, "Raoul, please let me go this is a very compromising position for me to be in-"
"Your Angel of Music? What does that mean, your teacher?"
"Of sorts, Raoul please-" She was growing urgent as she made the nearing voices out to be that of both Girys and the managers.
"But you love me, Christine, I know you do. You love me!" Christine shook her head as Raoul stepped away, a shaking hand running over his face and through his hair as he turned his back to her. Raoul looked anything but composed as he stared down at her, hurt and confusion swimming upon his features.
"Monsieur, is there a problem?" Andre was politely avoiding eye contact with Christine, but Meg was positively beaming with the sight of Raoul's tussled hair and Christine's flushed face. Only months ago Christine had been dreaming for Raoul to appear out of thin air and now that he was here she wanted nothing more than for him to disappear forever. The day's events were growing heavier and heavier upon her and she clutched her arms about herself, for no other reason than to try to hold herself together.
"Problem? No problem here, Monsieur. Mademoiselle Daae and I were simply discussing old times,"
"I'm sure you were." Firmin's mutter was silenced by Andre's firm jab to his gut, Raoul cleared his throat and continued.
"But we are quite finished, for now. I would very much enjoy a tour of the rest of the theatre, if you are still willing?"
"Quite! Quite, Monsieur Vicomte. This here is our resident choreographer, Madame Giry and this is her daughter…" The conversation trailed off and Meg sent Christine one last grin as the group moved away from her secluded corner. Exhaustion drifted over her as Christine leaned her head against the musty wall, eyes shut in the darkness, body grateful for the cool relief of silence. Everything had gone perfectly wrong.
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