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 eight.

One month later.

When Christine had requested that Raoul allow her to return to the Opera House and pay her last respects to her Angel, he became enraged and denied her swiftly.

"No! Absolutely not, Christine!"

Christine balled her small fists, ready to violently snap back at him.

"After what the Monster did to us? How can you even think of returning there? It's not safe! No, I forbid you to go back there."

"You cannot stop me Raoul!"

"Damnit Christine! You will not cross me on this!"

And with that he stormed from the room, slamming the door on his way out.

When Christine attempted to defy her husband's orders, she was informed by the carriage driver that Monsieur de Changy had demanded that no carriage of his was to grant her passage, and she stormed back angrily inside. Damn you, Raoul! That night she shut herself away in her bedchambers, refusing food and company from anyway, especially Raoul.

When morning came Christine woke to find that Raoul was not beside her. It had ceased to surprise, or worry her a long time ago, she had simply ceased expecting to see him there in the mornings, it was so rare that he even came to bed. The storm from the night before had cleared, leaving a wonderfully fresh and clear morning, the sun shining and the birds chirping in the nearby trees. But for all Christine cared, it could have been raining fire and ash, in fact it would be a better representation of the utter anger and anguish she felt within her. The birds, the sun, the fresh clear morning; they brought her no joy, and she sadly wondered whether she would ever feel joy again. She looked through the gap in the curtains and smiled sadly. If only you were alive, Erik.

Christine didn't know why she should feel this way, it was not as if he would have even known of such a glorious morning, or indeed taken any enjoyment in it, he would have remained, hidden in the darkness of his secluded, underground world. Christine's stomach lurched at the thought of her angel, cold and alone in those dank caverns, with nothing but his utter loneliness to keep him company. There was an unbearable weight building in Christine's chest, begging for release. Suddenly Christine saw, with an unusual clarity the reason for such a beautiful morning. He wants me to sing... I must sing Erik's requiem.

She rose from the bed in a dream-like fashion, pulling the curtains and the windows open, allowing the cool breeze to grace her warmed sin. Suddenly anticipation took hold as she opened her mouth a little, cleared her airways and let a small note escape from her lips. From then on she was lost to the music, as she had craved to sing for so long, this release was wondrous, for both her and Erik. She sang a song that her Angel had taught her, it was by no means a traditional requiem, but in every way it was devoted to Erik. It was a song of love, and loss, tragedy and triumph, but Christine knew now that fairytales and happy endings were just useless dreams and wishes never granted. They existed only in story books for young children who knew no better. The heavens itself seemed to listen in anticipation, as the birds joined in her melody. A pearly tear slid down her cheek as the memories of her Angel plagued her. It was true that Erik had been many things, a murdered, a deceiver, but to Christine he was no more than a tormented soul, and she had seen the beauty that lay within him, and the terror. The devotion and love which it seemed he saved only for her... She would miss him till the day she died, love him... he was all she'd ever had for years...

A door slammed loudly and abruptly behind her. Her song faltered.

"What the hell do you think you are doing!" Raoul yelled, his face flushed with anger, and what appeared to be sweat. He must have heard her in the gardens and rushed to put a stop to it.

"Raoul… I…. I was just…." Christine attempted weakly to explain.

"You were singing!"

"Yes.. but I…"

"You were singing one of His songs!" Raoul virtually spat the words out. Christine couldn't deny it.

"You were singing for Him, weren't you!" Again, silence. Raoul ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. How did it come to this?

"Why can't you just let him go, Christine? He's dead and yet you hang to him like he's a real being of flesh and blood. I'm here Christine! I'm the one who's still here! And I have given you everything, EVERYTHING! What has he given you beside death and destruction!" Raoul's eyes were frantic. He stared at Christine as she mumbled something incoherent. "Well?"

"He… he gave me music…"

Raoul stood deathly silent, his face re-composing itself and hardening. Christine waited silently, her eyes downcast, fearful to look at her husband. Suddenly Raoul crossed the distance between the two of them, and gripped her roughly by the shoulders, "I won't have my wife chasing a ghost!" and with that he kissed her, hard and rough, bruising her lips; nothing at all like the kisses he had bestowed on her, it were as though he were possessed. He ended the kiss harshly and grabbed her arm, "come on, we're leaving."

"R-Raoul!" Christine protested. "Raoul, what are you doing? Let go of me!"

"Adele!" Raoul shouted for Christine's hand maid, dragging her from room to room in his search, "Adele!"

The hand maid swept into the room in a flurry of skirts, a duster in her hand. "Yes monsieur?"

She looked nervously from Raoul's angry, flustered face, to the tight grip he had on Christine's arm, to the pained look in Christine's eyes. "Is everything all right monsieur?"

Raoul ignored the enquiry. "I want you to go upstairs and pack a suitcase for Christine, include enough clothes to last a few weeks, but don't bother with any personal items." Raoul barked at her.

When Adele didn't moved for the look Christine had given her, Raoul gave her a rough push towards the stairs, "Now!"

"Raoul! I'm not going anywhere! Let me go!" Christine cried angrily.

"Lucian!" Raoul now called for his manservant.

"Yes Monsieur?" Lucian appeared almost immediately. Christine had a feeling he had heard the dispute and had been eavesdropping near by.

"Lucian," he said, walking over to the desk and scribbling a brief missive on a spare piece of parchment. "I want you to take this to Monsieur Ettiene now, tell him that I will be out of the country for several weeks, and that this is the address he is to forward any important business documents or articles that need my attention." Lucian turned to leave. "Oh, and Lucian?"

"Yes monsieur?"

"Keep this to yourself for the time being."

Christine looked around her in a panicky fashion. Did he say out of the country?

XxXxXxX

Raoul had been true to his word, forcing Christine into a carriage that would take them to the train station, that very night they boarded a train that would take them to the French coast, where they would board a boat for England. Christine had fought him all the way, making a spectacle of Raoul and herself in the train station lobby; Raoul's grip had never lessened on her arm, and Christine was sure, judging by the maniacal gleam in his eye, that he had temporarily lost his mind! Raoul paid heftily for a private compartment away from prying eyes, and with the right price, his wish was granted. Christine looked about her fearfully. Could no-one see that she was being escorted, kidnapped even, by a madman! No, they took one look at the wedding bands adorning their hands and decided this was a domestic quarrel; a lover's tiff. In the end Christine had stopped fighting. There was no way to snap Raoul out of his ridiculous frenzy; he had to play it out. It was easier if you didn't fight.

The sooner we get out of Paris, the better Raoul had thought. He, however, didn't understand. Christine looked morosely out the window of the speeding train. The storm clouds had returned and the rain once again fell against the windows, it's steady patter almost hypnotic. How ironic, Christine thought bitterly, watching the blurred outlines of the country side whip past. I have managed to destroy the two men I have loved most dearly in my life.

She looked over at the near-sleeping form of her husband, and for the first time noticed the fine lines of stress around his eyes, and the few grey hairs that appeared throughout his fine, golden hair. Poor Raoul, she thought, still a boy at heart... he doesn't understand. The problem doesn't lie in Paris... it lies within me... And with that she allowed her head to loll back against the seat and close her eyes; welcoming the sweet bliss of sleep.

It was storming terribly by the time the train pulled in the little sea-faring town. Christine pulled her cloak around her small form tightly, trying desperately to fight off the sheets of rain and cold wind that pummelled her and the other passengers as they stepped off the train.

Raoul grabbed her hand impatiently, "Come now Christine, we must get a move on…" She could tell he was anxious, but as they neared the docks, Christine looked at the small boat and tumultuous water that seemed to engulf it.

"Raoul…" She asked worriedly.

"Yes my dear?"

"Surely we're not going to set sail in that thing… tonight?" Raoul shifted his gaze to the boat and the merciless waves crashing upon its deck. He frowned.

"No… I," he paused to consider his options; even he didn't like the look of that vessels chances out in the open sea. "No, I shall think not… not to worry, I'm sure we can find suitable accommodation for the night."

The accommodation they managed to find was not suited for the likes a Comte and Comtess. When they had stumbled into the local inn looking bedraggled in their soaked clothes, lugging their luggage behind them, the man behind the bar counter had offered them a room above the inn for the night. Raoul had gladly accepted, thankful to be out of the downpour, and anxious to get into some dry clothes. As he dragged the luggage in through the door, Christine peered nervously inside. The room was small, but not as small as she was used to, having grown up within the Opera house dormitories. It consisted of scuffed wooden floorboards, a scrubbed wooden table and two roughly cut chairs, a sofa that had holes in it and a worn, and slightly sagging bed by the corner. Thankfully the room had its own bathroom; a small area consisting of a wash basin, a tub and toilet. Raoul turned around to look at her. She looks frozen! He thought worriedly, and walked over to embrace her in an effort to warm her up. Christine stopped him midway.

"If you'll excuse me Raoul, I'm going to have a bath and clean myself up." She spoke with a dry-cut politeness that baffled him, as he watched her form slip through into the bathroom, and the door close behind her. He heard the dull clicking of the latch falling into place. Doesn't she appreciate anything I'm doing for her?

Christine drew herself a bath, stripped down and allowed her tired body to be enveloped within the warm water. It was a small luxury, but a heavenly one. She pulled a small bar of soap from within her bag, and began rubbing the rose scented foam into her hair, washing away the oiliness and grime that had accumulated with travel. Rinsing her hair, she allowed herself to sink even deeper under the bubbles. She was completely at peace until she heard the irritable knocking on the bathroom door. Thank god I put the latch on. She didn't know why, but she felt that if Raoul were to walk in on her like she was now, she would feel extremely embarrassed.

"Christine!" No answer. Raoul sighed irritably. "Christine if you're still in there I'm going downstairs to get a drink." Still no answer. He gave up pounding on the door, and left the room. Christine waited until she heard the sound of his dying footsteps down the hallway before she allowed herself to breath.

Over the past two year things had changed, with Raoul gone for so long all the time she had only begun to realize just how much. There was no denying that she had loved him dearly all those years ago, he had been her safety and provided her with a gentle love, and promises of a fairytale life. At the age of sixteen, this was all she had ever wanted. But it was times like these, and they occurred more than ever that she just wished for more. More than the life of a comtess, which Christine found difficult, yet boring, challenging and unsatisfying all at the same time. She often found herself wondering what am I doing here? At the age of 18, and after nearly two years of marriage, the pressure was also on Christine to bear Raoul an heir. A year ago she would have been content to be a wife to Raoul and a mother to their child, but now more than ever she wondered if she made the right choice. At first hers and Raoul's marriage had been exciting and sensual, full of love and adoration, they had tried often and on numerous occasion to conceive a child, but it just never happened, and soon after Philippe's death and Raoul having to take on the family business, she felt as though she had ceased to amuse him anymore. With nothing around the manor to do, and her music career long dead Christine felt, in a way, useless. These days she found herself avoiding him as much as possible, and dreaming even more of the Angel she had left behind…. Her angel.

XxXxXxX

Christine woke with a start, choking on the water as she took quick, spluttered breaths. She had fallen asleep in the bath, and gasped as the icy water swirled about her. She had been dreaming of him… dreaming of his seductive voice drawing her into his arms… only this time she had gone willingly. Christine shook her head and clambered out of the bath, searching around the dark room for her dressing robe, as the candle had burnt out long ago. She shivered against the frigid air of the room, and fumbled with the latch on the door. There were no candles in the main bedroom, but a faint glow was cast by an oil lamp placed on the scuffed table. That hadn't been there before. She cast a nervous glance around the room, checking to make sure she was alone. She was. Not even Raoul was there, and she wondered where he might be. Shaking herself she concluded that the owner of the Inn must have been in to deliver the lamp. Now I'm really glad I did put the latch on, she mused silently. She pulled back the sheets on the bed, the blankets were musty and moth eaten, but for the life of her Christine didn't care, as she collapsed in an exhausted pile and fell almost instantly into sleep.

Something hot swept across her face… Christine stirred slightly, the hairs on her neck prickling uncomfortably. A whisper of air tickled her ear, she sighed before warning lights went off in her head. A pungent odour drifted towards her… it smelt strongly of smoke and alcohol, cheap rum to be exact. Her breath hitched in her lungs, she dared not breathe or open her eyes. She felt the close proximity of whoever it was looming over her, and the smell of sweat filled her nostrils. She almost gagged on the smell, and couldn't suppress the small whimper that issued from her mouth.

"Ahh…" chuckled a thickly slurred voice, "so you are awake then, my pretty."

Christine was now positively terrified, she felt large hands fumble with the blankets, and her eyes snapped open. She had expected to see Raoul looming on top of her, but whoever this man was, it wasn't her husband. A flubby, heavily stubbled face met hers, with a pudgy noise, and squinty blood-shot eyes. Ragged breath coursed out of his large lips and his stench was over powering. Christine jerked away quickly.

"Who are you!" She screeched, before a thick hand slapped down over her mouth, clamping it shut.

"No need, my dear, you and I will be very well acquainted soon." He chuckled evilly.