A/N: Okay, here is the next installment... the resolution of the dreaded cliffie! Anyway, here's where the story takes a definite twist, so let me know what you think! Cheers!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brilliance of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Any song lyrics used are strictly the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe and Charles Hart.

Chapter nine.

Christine tried to scream, to struggle, but the man was too heavy for her. He pinned her to the bed and began fumbling with her nightgown, greedy hands keen to explore every crevice. She was able to slip her hand free from under him, and brought her hand up clear under his nose, thrusting the heel of it into the face of her attacker. This stunned him for a second, but Christine was unable to move – his weight had not shifted.

He growled angrily at her, "You stupid bitch!" he punched her clean across the face, leaving cuts across her cheek from the ring adorning his left hand.

Christine sobbed miserably. Where was Raoul! The man licked at the blood, before clutching her face roughly and kissing her. It was the foulest thing, and Christine bucked under him, trying to free herself. She desperately called for help as her attacker began unbuckling his belt – his intentions clear. Christine tried to calm herself, and saw her opportunity when he had difficulty undoing his belt. With no other option he took the hand restraining Christine away, and she didn't waste a second.

Looking over at the table, she saw the oil lamp sitting there. For one wild minute she considered smashing it over his head, but that would inadvertently have set fire to the bed, and indeed to her. Wildly she looked around the room for something, anything to stop her attacker. He seemed to be having a fair bit of trouble with his belt, and Christine spotted her hairbrush and other accessories lying across the room. Praying to the gods, she reached inconspicuously into her hair to feel for the pins that she had left in the night before. She was almost giving up hope when.. there! She pulled one of the long ivory pins out of her hair and held it close in her palm.

Her attacker hadn't noticed, and his weight was bearing down painfully upon her small frame. Lifting her arms around her head, she screamed again for help. The man quickly clamped down both his hands on her mouth, and Christine took this moment of distraction and brought her hand down forcibly upon her attacker's back, driving the bone pin between his shoulder blades. The man howled in agony, and Christine thrust her hand into his eyes, adding to his anguish. He lifted some of his weight in an attempt to grab the pin out, and Christine took this opportunity to push him off the bed and scrambled, terrified, across the bed.

The man growled after her, and she fumbled with the door before fleeing out into the darkened hallway, her heart pounding in her ears, and her breath coming in terrified sobs. She ran blind down the hallway, the tears streaming from her eyes, crying for anyone, screaming for help. Someone opened a door nearby, light flooding into the hallway. Christine jumped back, before a reassuring voice tried to calm her.

"It's ok lass; I'm not going to hurt you." The kindly face of the Innkeeper peered at her, and Christine ran into his arms, seeking comfort from somebody, anybody. He patted her awkwardly and escorted her downstairs. After calming her, he asked her about what had happened, and she told him, in detail about the man who had come into her room. He listened intently, concern etched all over his face.

"And you said you left him in there?" Christine nodded. "You're sure your husband is around here?"

Christine looked at him blankly. How could she have forgotten that Raoul was supposed to be here… supposed to protect her… and he left her to the mercy of that man… that animal. A fresh wave of tears threatened to envelope her, but she fought them back bitterly. The Innkeeper, sensing her distress, thought not to question her about it anymore. Instead he left to investigate the man who had attacked the young comtess.

Christine grabbed his hand as he turned to leave, "No! Please don't leave me alone!"

"No, of course not. I must go investigate however, you may come with me if you wish." Christine nodded silently, chewing the inside of her cheek.

When they approached Christine's room, she began to shiver uncontrollably. The Innkeeper placed a reassuring hand on her arm; she already liked this man.

"I just realized I don't even know your name," she whispered.

The Innkeeper hesitated, "My name is Patrick," he gave her a small smile.

As they entered the room, the first thing Christine noticed was that the man was not there, although she had no intention of killing him, she had expected there to be a body laying in a pool of blood. She shuddered at the thought. Wind fluttered the heavy curtains, and Patrick walked over to investigate.

"Broken window," he murmured, "and there are spots of blood leading to the window… your attacker must have fled." He concluded.

Both relief and dread at the prospects of the man being alive washed over Christine, and for the first time she noticed how indecently dressed she was in this man's presence. A hot blush crawled up her neck, and her eyes began searching for her dressing robe.

"I think you're looking for this," Patrick held out her dressing robe, and Christine almost snatched it from his grasp, a furious blush blossoming on her face. It's not that she found this man awfully attractive, to be frank he musn't be older than her Angel, but Christine has learnt through aristocratic society that the prospects of being found in this… compromising… position were not favourable. Christine realized Patrick was staring at her, and averted her gaze quickly.

"Well, er.." Patrick coughed, noticing her awkwardness. "How about that husband of yours?"

Fresh tears sprang to Christine's eyes, and she furiously wiped them away. At the exact same moment she heard a muffled giggle, a loud thump and a curse come from the room opposite. Christine stopped dead. She knew that voice. Anger replacing tears, she raced across the room, out the door and through the door opposite. She stood in the threshold, rage emanating from her small form, as the heavy door swung back into place behind her.

"C-Christine!" Raoul, cried in surprise, tumbling off the bed, and indeed off a woman too. Even from here she could smell the foul stench of brandy, and another smell she figured to be his harlots' scent. Raoul stood shakily, wrapping a sheet loosely around his naked form.

"C-Christine! T-This is not what it looks like!" The woman, still wrapped up in the bed looked bewildering from Raoul to Christine.

"So you're not cheating on me with some common whore! Because that's certainly what it looks like!" Christine cried shrilly, throwing her hands into the air.

"No… I just… she… too much to drink…" Raoul stuttered over his words.

"Don't!" she cried. "Stay here with you whore…" she spat the word as though it were vulgar. "I'm leaving, and don't you dare, DARE follow me!"

"No! Christine! Wait!"

She fled the room, almost running straight into Patrick, who she knew had heard the entire conversation; the whole town must have heard! Crying angry tears, she flew down stairs as fast as she could, before collapsing on all fours and loosing an anguished cry. A pair of firm hands fastened around her shoulders, and for a minute she thought that Raoul had followed her. But it wasn't Raoul's eyes that met hers, it was Patrick's concerned ones.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he whispered.

Christine nodded. "Please, could you get my bag from upstairs? It has passenger tickets and money in it… I can't go up there… I… I just can't!"

He nodded understandably, and even though he didn't need to, told her, "Wait here."

Christine felt her heart tear in two. Although she and Raoul had been growing ever more distant as time went by, she still cared for him dearly, and the shock of his betrayal was devastating. This is probably how your Angel felt when you left him… heart-broken, torn in two… a voice niggled in her head, and finally Christine understood the significance of her betrayal and the pain that she inflicted on an already tortured soul. She wiped the tears from her face, as the first rays of morning light peeped shyly through the window.

Patrick returned shortly carrying her bag, and a grim look on his face.

"Where are you going to go? What are you going to do?" he asked her. Poor girl, she's already been through so much in one night, and then to find her husband cheating on her… she must be devastated.

In all honesty Christine had no idea what she was going to do. She couldn't very well return to Paris with Raoul, in truth she was homeless! Meg and Madame Giry had moved... Christine's eyes snapped open. London! She gazed steadily at Patrick.

"I'm going to London." She said resolutely.

XxXxXxX

Patrick's grim look didn't falter. "What are you going to do there? Do you have anywhere to stay? You can't go alone!"

Christine briefly explained Meg and Madame Giry's move to London. "…and Raoul and I were already planning to go…" her face fell, but she quickly regained composure – there would be time for crying later. She pulled the two boarding passes from her handbag. "And I already have tickets. The boat leaves today." She ended matter-of-factly.

"But you still can't go alone." Patrick insisted. "A women of your status…?" he let the sentence trail off; Christine was already fully aware of the atrocities that could befall a woman. "I'm coming with you."

Christine looked up at him, surprised. "No, Patrick, you can't… your Inn… I barely know you…" A multitude of excuses tumbled from her mouth… she barely even knew this man!

Patrick waved a hand, "My brother and I run the Inn, he won't mind taking over for a while… and as for you and I barely knowing each other? We'll have plenty of time on the boat passage. I guess the question is… do you trust me?"

Christine looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of a lie, but all she saw was honesty. She didn't know why she was willing to put everything on the line for this man, but he had come to her aid when she needed someone the most.

"Yes… I trust you."

It had taken Patrick fifteen minutes to pack everything he would need for the trip, and leave a note for his brother explaining his whereabouts and plans. All the while he hid Christine in the Inn office, where no one could get to her, especially that bastard of a husband of hers. He had seen his type many a time before, always with their money and their titles, and never had he taken as much interest in their wives as he had in this young woman. Usually a nobleman's wife was worse than the nobleman himself, but this woman seemed… different somehow.

Christine sat within the office, completely hidden from view, waiting for Patrick's return. She observed the tiny space to try and get a feel for the man whom she would be spending the next several weeks with. To her surprise she noticed several books scattered around the office, and even more so that they were mostly of poetry. She smiled at this thought, then scolded herself. You've already destroyed two men's' lives… and you barely even know this man. As she continued to peer around to room, her breath hitched in her lungs as she stared out the tiny window of the office door. There was Raoul, standing fully clothed, and yelling Christine's name. Christine shrunk even more into the shadows as she watched her husband's desperate and defeated look before he took off into the streets to widen his search. She allowed herself to breathe again, and felt surprisingly numb.

Patrick returned shortly after with a broad smile. "Ready to go?"

XxXxXxX

Christine allowed herself to smile hesitantly. After handing their boarding passes to the boat's captain, they had taken seats by a window and watched the rest of the cabin slowly fill with passengers. She was thankful to see the storm had dissipated and the ocean had calmed somewhat significantly; the boat now rocked gently from side to side. Patrick sat down next to her and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Are you ok?"

"yes… well at least I'm going to be."

"You're doing the right thing you know. If your husband, the Comte, Raoul can't see what's in front of him, than he doesn't deserve you, or your forgiveness." She smiled a little, albeit in irony; If only you knew the half of it.

"I… I just want to get as far away from Paris as I can, there are too many memories." A silent tear slipped down her cheek, and Patrick reached forward to wipe it away with his thumb.

"Don't cry for him Mademoiselle," he whispered, assuming she shed tears for her husband's betrayal. But Christine mourned not for Raoul, but for the demise of another – her angel. If only you were here… you'd know what to do. 'would he?' A voice niggled in her head. 'After you crushed and betrayed him so, would he come to your rescue, even if he were alive?' Christine shuddered and hastily pushed these thoughts from her mind. She turned to stare mournfully out the window when her heart suddenly plummeted. She watched in horror as Raoul sprinted up the docks toward the boat, then up the boarding bridge and onto the deck.

She turned ashen-faced to Patrick, "it's Raoul!" she hissed.

Patrick's eyes hardened, as a commotion was heard from the passage-way; "… my wife…on board… let go of me!" Christine and Patrick followed the noise out into the passageway, where Raoul stood, apprehended by two rough-looking sea-men, struggling and arguing with the captain.

"Unless you present me with a boarding pass Monsieur, I will have no other option than to turn you off my boat!" Raoul's face was turning red from the struggle. "I will buy a boarding pass right now then!"

"I have already told you that this passage is full!"

"You don't understand, my wife has my boarding pass, she is already on board –" his eyes darted wildly around the passageway, "Christine!" he exclaimed in hope and desperation, spotting her where she leaned cautiously out the door of the compartment.

The captain turned to face Christine, who was standing slightly sheltered from view behind Patrick. "Madame?" he addressed Christine, "do you know this man?"

Christine cast cold eyes on Raoul's pleading and desperate face. Patrick touched her arm reassuringly. "No, Monsieur. I do not know this man; I have not seen him before."

"Christine!"

"He sounds like a madman if you ask my opinion Captain." Patrick wrapped a protective arm around her waist, trying to give the pretense that it was he who was married to Christine.

The captain nodded. "Very well Madame, if you are sure. Boys, get this man off my boat!"

"Christine!" Raoul cried, kicking furiously, trying to break free from the hold the two men had on him. "Christine! Don't do this! Don't leave! Christine!"

She shuddered as she listened to Raoul's desperate pleas fading as he was dragged off the boat. Patrick placed a hand on the small of her back, "Come."

She allowed him to steer her back into the cabin, and took her seat once more by the window. It had taken all her strength not to go back to Raoul, his eyes had been so full of regret and sorrow… but she had forcibly reminded herself of the image of Raoul in bed with another woman, while she was about to be brutally and sexually violated. She stole a glance out the window, but Raoul was no-where to be seen.

"Christine…? Christine?" Patrick nudged her. "It's going to be alright you know."

"How do you know? How do you know anything? You don't even know me!"

"I may not know much, but I know that beneath your title there's a lost girl, who's trapped in a life she doesn't love and who's missing something, something that makes her whole. You're broken Christine!" Patrick replied dejectedly.

Christine looked into his eyes, yet found no deception there. She looked down, fiddling with her handkerchief. "Perhaps you're right." She whispered softly.

"Christine," Patrick placed to fingers under her chin and raised it gently. "What the comte did was not your fault, so do not trouble yourself with blame. Everything will be alright. Soon you shall be amongst your friends, and you will see, but until then I suggest you get some rest, it has been a long night." He gave her a reassuring half-smile. Christine nodded, and took her leave, shutting the door behind her as she left the compartment. Patrick was sure that he heard the sound of muffled sobs only moments later, but almost as soon as they began, they ceased.

When the boat finally docked in, Patrick had fallen asleep against the window pane, his mouth slightly agape and a small pool of drool forming in the corner of his mouth. Christine stood and contemplated him. Who was this man who had willing and readily put his life on hold the help her? What did he want from her? He was handsome in a rugged way, completely opposite to Raouls' boyish good looks enhanced by his aristocratic appearance, and his kind, laughing eyes… no! That was the old Raoul, the one you thought you knew. Christine reprimanded herself. Oh how she longed for her best friend again. Patrick began to stir, opening one bleary eye and peering about. It took him a few moments to register who Christine was and what he was doing before jumping up from his seat hastily, and wiping the drool from his mouth, looking extremely embarrassed. Christine allowed herself a smile which turned into more of a smirk.

"Did you have a nice sleep Monsieur?"

Patrick gave a nervous laugh, "Yes, very. Well, Madame, are you ready to go?"

XxXxXxX

Christine and Patrick stood before an iron gate.

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

Christine looked at the address scrawled upon the faded bit of parchment: remnants from one of Meg's letters. "Yes, this is it."

"Very well then."

Patrick pulled the gate open and allowed Christine to make her way up the cobble-stone path. A cold wind was blowing the leaves about the scraggly bushes of the unkempt garden. Madame Giry never was one for gardening, and besides, living at an Opera House didn't require the services! Christine felt nervous, dreadful and excited all at once. Smoothing out her dress she knocked smartly on the door, once… twice… as she went to knock a third time the door swung abruptly open to reveal a small, petite blonde girl the same age as Christine.

"I already told you we…" The girl looked up. "Christine?" she asked uncertainly.

"Bonjour Meg." There was a pause where neither dare not speak before a loud squeal was issued, and Christine practically collapsed under the bundle of blonde hair and blue eyes that was Meg.

"Oh my Christine, it's so lovely to see you! Why didn't you tell mother and I you were coming? We could have prepared dinner, or at least lunch. Oh my, we have so much to catch up on already, I can't believe you'd surprise us like this. Mother will be so pleased to see you, we're working in a small production company now, nothing like the Opera Populaire, but mother says she suited for the smaller shows now… who's this?"

Whilst Meg was ranting on, Patrick had stood humbly and shyly behind Christine, not wanting to interrupt the reunion, though apparently Christine hadn't gotten a word in. Now, Meg had noticed him, she eyed him suspiciously.

"Ah, Meg, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Patrick, this is Meg, my best friend since we were little ballet rats together, "she smiled fondly, and winked at Meg. "Meg, this is Patrick."

"Good evening Mademoiselle." He nodded politely at her.

"Patrick…" She contemplated him for a moment then turned her attentions back to Christine. "Come inside, Mother is home and I'm sure she's wondering who was at the door. My, she'll be so excited." Meg led the way through the house, not pausing to address certain rooms, but rather dragging Christine down what she thought was the most direct path.

Patrick whispered in Christine's ear, "Your friend is, er, very enthusiastic." Christine nodded, giving him a secretive smile. "You have no idea..."