Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brillian of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Chapter seven.
"Christine?" There was a loud knock on the door. "Christine!" it had been hours since anyone had bothered to disturb her.
Raoul stood outside the bedroom door, his voice becoming louder and more insistent, and his knocking upon the door more persistent. Christine offered no reply, she was so deeply consumed by her thoughts that it were as though he didn't even exist. The rift between them had grown a little wider. She sat huddled in her bedclothes, the gold ring still hanging symbolically from her chest, which rose and fell with her slightly uneven breathing. If one couldn't hear the commotion out in the hallway one would think this was a peaceful setting, but a loud CRASH emanated from the doorway. The trance was broken, and Christine's eyes swivelled quickly in their sockets. He formed an almost impressive visage, standing there in the broken-down door's stead; the lamps from the hallway casting eerie shadows across his aristocratic features.
"Christine!" he cried exasperatedly.
Christine barely seemed to take in his presence. He took a few moments to survey the room, and his wife lying huddled on the bed. The blood, dried and splattered on her hands, still yet to be cleaned up was what he noticed first. The obvious lack of self care; her hair tangled and mussed, and her eyes puffy, weary and blood-shot. Her skin had become so pale; he had never seen it this pale before. It no longer possessed the milky quality, but had become drained and translucent, as though the life within her had left on the wings of her Angel. He shuddered at the resemblance.
"Christine! What are you doing to yourself! I will not allow this to go on any longer!" He would have been better off yelling his frustrations at a brick wall for all the good trying to talk to Christine did.
"For Gods sake Christine, look at me!" Her eyes slowly dragged her gaze to fall upon her husband.
"What are you doing! What do you think you'll accomplish by rotting away in this room?" No answer.
"My God, Christine! You don't eat, you barely sleep, my god, it is as though you are dead!"
"Perhaps I am." Her voice came as a hoarse whisper from lack of use.
"What ever this Angel of yours was, he was, in reality nothing more than an insane and disillusioned man."
"You're wrong…"
"Am I? The last time I checked, sane people didn't live in dank cesspools under an Opera House, abducting young girls from behind mirrors and murdering innocent people for no apparent reason! Listen to reason, Christine!"
"There is no reason, nor logic left in the world."
"Do you not see what he has done to you? He's brainwashed you, made you-"
"Why don't you just go on and say it?" Christine snapped, her eyes suddenly full of fury. "Go on! Say it! Say you're glad he's dead!"
"Christine…"
"SAY IT!"
"Christine…!"
"SAY IT!"
"Alright!" Raoul practically shouted the word. "I'm glad he's dead, but not nearly glad enough! There, are you happy? Believe me when I say, Christine, that nothing would bring me greater pleasure that to be able to say that it was I who did away with him! A crude, vulgar, psychopathic murderer! Who would miss such a creature! I'd be doing the world a favour! Ugly, twisted Evi-"
A sharp slap cut the air. Christine stood there, her small frame quivering with rage and her pale hands clenched into fists by her sides. A look a pure shock was chased quickly from Raoul's face to be replaced by utter bewilderment. He stared angrily at Christine, resentment and jealousy for the man who had murdered so often, and without remorse; the man who has occupied the thoughts of his wife for too long clouded his vision.
"Adele!" He yelled for the hand-maid, without allowing his eyes to leave Christine's.
Adele appeared swiftly in the doorway, a small look of shock at the scene quickly and professionally wiped from her face. "Yes Monsieur?"
When Raoul finally spoke, his voice was hard and levelled; Christine was reminded forcibly of Erik. "Madame Christine wishes to clean herself. Help her." And with that he stalked from the room.
XxXxXxX
SMASH! Raoul yelled in fury as the brandy glass shattered against the library door. How could he…? Why does she…? Wild and unanswerable questions bombarded his aching brain. Why? Why Christine? How could you? Why, why, WHY! He dragged his hand through his dishevelled hair, almost attempting to yank it from its roots, he was pulling so hard. The pain made him feel a little better; an outlet for all the anguish he felt.
This was not the way it was supposed to be! He rested his head in his hands, desperately searching for a moment, a singular moment in time when everything had begun to fall apart. We he had ceased living and begun existing. He opened his eyes blearily, and caught the dull reflections of light glinting off the band adorning the fourth finger on his left hand. His wedding ring.
What I have given up for you Christine. His gaze fell to the floor, where a smashed picture frame resided. Two young men smiled cheerfully from the faded black-and-white photo, encapsulated in time; forever young and carefree. Oh, my poor brother. The glass was fractured in several places from Raoul's outburst, a large crack run up the length of the frame, splitting the brothers in two - so like the rift that had formed between them. Raoul could take no more, no more of this hurt, his life was not supposed to be like this and he collapsed with an anguished cry, allowing the tears to fall fast and heavy until he thought he could cry no more. Emotionally drained, he passed into a fitful sleep filled with masked men and childhood memories.
XxXxXxX
After Christine had forcibly been bathed, she dismissed Adele with none of the politeness nor gestures of friendship she had shown the young girl in the past, and the girl had reproachfully, albeit slowly left the room, much like a dog leaves with its tail between its legs when it has been told off. Now Christine wandered around the de Chagny manor aimlessly; its halls empty and hollow – a shallow reflection upon the young woman herself. The manor itself was far too big, why would anyone need such a large house?
She passed empty room after empty room, her footsteps padding softly on the rich carpet, no more than a ghost. As she passed the room at the very end of the hallway she stopped silently. This was her favourite room. It was the room that had the most beautiful view of all the rooms in the manor. Polished wooden floorboards reflected the moonlight that shone through the gap in the curtains – billowing in what seemed to be a non-existent wind.
The window had been left open and Christine crept silently towards it, peering out over the rich gardens of the estate. The moon was full and basked the grounds in a silvery light, making the shadows crisp and defined and the landscape before her appear other-worldly. She shivered slightly as a faint breeze was enticed through the window to caress the soft skin of her bare shoulder. The wind whistled through the trees, the leaves whispering a forgotten song of times now past. How strange… that the earth seems to have a voice of its own – in the wind. When it is angry the wind will howl, when it is silent the wind will cease to blow, and yet here it was… gracing the land with its deft and gentle touch – it was at peace. Christine wished she could feel the same, at peace. But truth be told she was not, and everyday she spent within the stifling confinements of the de Chagny manor, the more the wind would howl like the turmoil in her heart.
Beneath the window a flower box was mounted, and Christine noticed with surprise that it was planted with rich and beautiful red roses. They were in bloom, their delicate petals unfolding in what will be a dazzling display. She reached out one delicate finger to stroke its velvety petals before reaching toward the base and snapping the rose clear from its stem. She sat and stared at it in wonder, as though she had never seen anything so beautiful, and closed her eyes, bringing the rose to her face, breathing in its rich scent and allowing the petals to caress her face. The wind howled. Christine…Christine's eyes snapped open, surely it couldn't be. She peered urgently over the window, searching the ground for anything, the swish of a cape, the glint of a white mask, staring at her from within the shadows. But all she saw was garden. Defeated, she sat back on the window seat, the wind ruffling her curls. A silent tear slid down her face and fell upon the rose. Please, she begged to the heavens, you've taken him from me, so please let me go. Let me forget him… It hurts too much. Please help me forget him…More tears slid down her face as her anguish took over her. She crumpled the rose in her fingers and allowed it to fall to the floor, no more than distant memories, and fled from the room.
XxXxXxX
It was raining heavily; rather unusual for this time of year. The rain fell heavy against the windows as the sky outside darkened to a gun metal grey and rumbled its disapproval. Raoul sat up from his crumpled position on the library floor, his neck and back aching. The fire had long ago extinguished, and he cursed the maids for not sending somebody to tend to it.
Probably thought it was best they stay away, he mused darkly. His head ached terribly as he caught sight of the brandy bottle, standing almost stoically and menacingly upon the glass table top, mocking him for his foolishness. Those 'few stiff shots' he had decided to take ended up draining over half the previously full bottle as Raoul sat, with head slumped in front of the fireplace.
Hadn't he been a good husband? Raoul sat and contemplated this. As he thought back over the two years that he and Christine had been married, looking for a singular moment in time when things had begun to fall apart, he was appalled to find that the memory of business partners, successful deals, business trips and all the nights he'd spent away from Christine, alone, dominated. He had never stopped and realised just how distant they had grown apart. How could he have so callously given no consideration to the devastating impact this would have had upon Christine? His Christine. Suddenly Raoul found himself full of self-contempt. He had driven Christine away from him, back into the memories of that monster. How could he have neglected his only family, swept aside an old love for a new and exciting one; money?
Suddenly he found himself in a state of claustrophobia, trapped in this library with only his thought to torment him cruelly. He staggered out into the hallway, the rain still beating down upon the roof relentlessly, as he stumbled the corridors until he came to a room. That room. Raoul gulped and stepped inside. The curtains stood limp and lifeless on their rungs, the polished floorboards dappled with the reflection of the spattered windows. The walls were painted a light shade of baby blue, a music box lay upon the table on the far side of the wall and Raoul stumbled over to it, lifting its lid ever so carefully. A tune, a beautiful tune, filled with sorrow floated out from the box and reached Raoul's ears. He could almost hear the longing words… Masquerade… paper faces on parade… Masquerade… hide your face so the world will never find you…
Raoul stared wistfully out the window as the memories enveloped him. Christine's shining performance in Hannibal, the day that Raoul had been re-united with her once more… Their first kiss upon the rooftop as snow gently caressed her chocolate locks… the feel of her lips on his… the Masquerade Ball… their engagement… The Phantom appearing at the top of the stairs, dressed in a menacing costume in shades of scarlet with a death's head. Raoul grew angry at this thought. The Phantom ripping his engagement ring from Christine's neck… fighting him in the cemetery… watching his beloved be seduced once more by him during Don Juan… following him to the depths of the Opera house… the feel of the noose around his neck… His beloved kissing that demon… At this Raoul threw the music box across the room, where it skidded to a halt as it hit the wall. His eyes followed it, stopping once it slid across the window. What was that? He shuffled forward on his hands and knees towards the window sill, where he picked up a wilted object. A rose. A red rose. One of His roses! Raoul scowled at the flower, so Christine still laments her Angel? Raoul's heart broke a little, as angry tears enveloped his eyes.As the tears spilled down his face, a tune, as though to mock him began to play in the background.
The music box had fallen open, and its tune waned scornfully; Look around, there's another mask behind you… A lightning bolt suddenly illuminated the sky.
"How can I win against a ghost?" he shouted to no-one and to everyone, craving an answer.