Disclaimer: All references to the characters from the Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera belong to their pertinent parties and publishers. I do not claim ownership to the characters, any iteration from a major production of the same material, and / or the original source material.
De petite souris a monsieur chat: Chapter 5
August 1882: The Opera House, Box 5
Christine and Raoul had returned from their short world tour to find the Academy announcing the grand re-opening of the Palais Garnier. She had had to beg Raoul to go. Even though he had been a patron along with his brother Louis-Phillippe, Raoul held little love for the place now. The terrors of the Ghost and his brother's death outweighed his discovery of Christine. To his surprise, Christine had requested Box Five from the new manager, a Monsieur Fornier. Eager to please, the portly fellow with graying hair and a mustache to rival Otto I von Bismarck happily introduced himself upon their arrival.
"Monsieur Vicomte la de Chagny! I am greatly honored that you and your beautiful wife would dare to join us on this great evening," Fornier said shaking Raoul's hand firmly.
"My wife, Christine, loves this place so much she cannot stay away for too long," Raoul said with a courtly smile. He presented Christine who was dressed in the height of fashion.
"My pleasure, Madame. I am sorry to have missed your performances when you were here," he offered after kissing her lace gloved hand. "My dream would be to convince you to sing once more upon our humble stage."
"Monsieur Fornier, that dream depends upon my husband," Christine said sweetly patting Raoul's arm. It was the truth and not some flippant comment.
"We have discussed the matter and come to no conclusion," Raoul offered. "I know how much she loves to sing, but... there are certain fears we both share about this place."
"Understandable from what Firmin has told me. I hope tonight's performance assuages any fears you may have," the large man said with a smile. A conspiratorial glint entered his eye as he leaned closer to them and placed his hand over his lips. "To be honest, Firmin and I have not received any letters. There has been no sign of You Know Who."
Raoul glanced at Christine and she gave a barely visible shrug. Her subtle mask of unconcern contrasted greatly with her husband's expressive features.
"If you'll excuse us, we'd like to take our seats before the performance begins," Christine said.
"Of course! If you wish to speak with me, I'll be in Box Four by the first act," Fornier spoke with a formality befitting a manager of the opera. He gave a short bow. "Monsieur Vicomte and Madame Vicomtesse." With that pleasantry out of the way, the large man approached a tall man with a dark complexion dressed in Middle Eastern clothing. Christine didn't recall seeing any Moorish individuals at the Opera before, but she had never enjoyed a performance from this side of the stage. Raoul patted her hand on his arm drawing her attention to him.
"Shall we, my dear?" he asked. The smile on his lips didn't reach his eyes. Together they made their way to Box Five, but numerous individuals and other patrons crossed their path. Many asked the same questions as Fornier to which the couple gave the same responses. The trite questions added salt into Raoul's wound, or at least, Christine hoped they did. They had argued that morning and again in the carriage ride from their townhouse to the opera. She knew that Raoul firmly believed Erik was not dead, and that to tempt him even to see a performance would be madness. Christine won the argument by pointing out Raoul was still a patron and should show his support by attending. Christine still felt bitter towards Raoul and his proposition from that morning. He deserves it, she thought to herself as they entered the box. Raoul hook a finger underneath his collar and tugged unconsciously.
"Come darling. There is nothing to fear," Christine said quietly. "He's gone, Raoul. He can't hurt us anymore."
Raoul shook his head and took her hands in his. "Christine, I'd rather not assume the man is alive or dead. If I learned anything from that experience, it is to be wary of my enemies."
The young man refused to believe the Phantom of the Opera had died in the lake. The investigators were searching the lake the day after the mob attack and found a body. They had kept it on ice until Raoul returned from his honeymoon with his wife. The face had been bludgeoned beyond recognition, but the man's hands were rough and course from years of hard work. The body on the table seemed tall enough, but when he read the doctor's notes, he noticed the man was shorter than him. Erik, the Angel of Music who wore gloves and towered over him, was not this man in the morgue. Back in the present, Raoul drew Christine into an embrace as he whispered his words.
"I love you and as long as you are here beside me, I have the strength to face him again."
"Oh, Raoul," she murmured with her head on his shoulder. Christine had come to terms with her husband's fear of Erik. He would forever be glancing behind him, looking for the Ghost at the opera house. During their worldly travels through Egypt, Italy, and Greece, Christine had come to her own conclusions about her husband and Erik. Raoul was a realist; he believed in concrete things that could be seen and touched. He marveled at human ability to exceed expectations, but he didn't understand the passion behind it. For Christine, she knew he appreciated her voice and ability to move people with her singing; she also knew he didn't understand that her singing was fueled by her passion for the song, the music, and at one time, the man who inspired her. Raoul had proven himself to be... less. He was a good lover (not that she had experience before him except hearsay and romances), but he didn't romance her. His attempts to make her feel desired were few and weak. Their love making focused on him and his pleasures, which were simple. Between their problems in the bedroom and Raoul's request for her to give up singing, Christine chaffed at the life she had chosen.
Raoul released her and kissed her on the cheek. She gave him a small smile and let him lead her to her seat. She watched him pull the box's curtain aside to reveal the brightly lit stage, its blood red velvet curtain, and the people who wanted to be seen. She sat a little straighter feeling the eyes of ambassadors, noblemen, well-to-do women, and other members of the bourgeoisie look at her without really seeing her. She smiled at the thought, Ah, Paris, we are always performing for each other.
As the Opera began and progressed into the first act, Christine noticed Raoul slowly relax and enjoy himself. By the end of the ballet in the second act, Raoul had let the onstage drama and comedy take him away from his reality. He rose and excused himself from the Box stating he needed to congratulate the managers on the new soprano. She smiled and nodded opting to stay and wait. He obviously had courage to leave the Box and roam the Opera house without her now. Casually she pulled her beautiful satin fan, a gift from Raoul's mother, open and began to fan herself. Trying to hide her nerves, she watched the audience and hoped he would be alive. She had posted an ad to O.G. in the Daily the week she had arrived in Paris, but she had seen no response. Christine hadn't expected a response, but she had hoped for some sign upon returning to Paris. A return post, a letter, a red rose… Something.
Christine sighed inwardly. Then again, how could Erik have gotten anything to her outside the Opera House? A letter could've been found and then surely he would've been caught and executed for his crimes. Posting a response in the Daily signed "O.G." would've drawn attention as well. If Raoul had seen a red rose on their doorstep, he would have whisked her away to England or America. Tonight, at this moment, was her only chance to prove to herself, once and for all, if the music they shared was gone.
"I know you are here, Erik," she said behind her fan. No one from the Opera proper could see her lips move behind her fan. She felt her heart racing as the moments passed by silently. "Please, Erik, say something to let me know you are here."
"I am here, mon ange."
She exhaled the breath she had been holding. Her cheeks burned with a sudden flush. She wanted to cry out with a cheer of joy, but she contented herself with a smile. His deep melodic voice was hushed, confined to the Box so no one else could hear. She whispered, "I... have a small request, but you must make me a promise."
"Anything for you."
She paused and shifted in her seat. Her fan snapped closed and she pretended to lean over to adjust her skirts. "I wish to return... to sing as we once did. My life is lacking in song. Promise me that no harm will come to me or anyone else and that you will not force me to stay if I come to you willingly."
"I promise, Christine." She smiled hearing him speak her name. The thrill of conversing with him and the promise of song overrode her fears of Erik breaking his promise. Hope and joy went hand in hand at his promise; doubt and apprehension would come later in the night. For now, she was glad. She returned to gazing out over the crowd.
"Christine, there is a passageway you may take from the alley behind the opera house. I will send word to you as to how to reach it."
She waved at someone she knew in a box across the theater from her. Rising from her seat, she brushed the curtain beside her. She felt, or she thought she did, the brush of a gloved hand across her own as she walked to the box's door. She paused before the door and whispered.
"Do you forgive me?"
"Yes," Erik lied. Oh, he could forgive her; he did forgive her, but a part of him never would. His heart still ached at the betrayal and loss, at her promise sealed by a kiss and a wedding ring. Simply being near her as he was made his heart sing, but she had pricked him. Like a silver needle under his skin, it pressed in deeper the more he tried to pull it out. To have her here in his Box with her husband was both enraging and comforting. Earlier in the evening, he realized that he could not enjoy any performances from his normal seat in Box Five anymore. The Phantom was dead. He didn't need a box if he didn't exist. Ergo, he would no longer be able to watch the performances in comfort. While the extra money would benefit the Opera, he found the idea of letting go of his box galling. However, he took a small ounce of comfort as finding it occupied by his love this night. She appreciated and adored the same music as him. He was displeased that her husband was breathing the same air as her though. Erik waited on bated breath for Christine to speak.
Instead she breathed a sigh of relief, an angel's sigh in his sensitive ears. "Thank you, Erik."
With that, Christine rose and exited Box 5 to go find her husband. Her heart soared on wings she had thought had been bound. When she found Raoul, she smiled at him and kissed his cheek in a tender gesture. The man with Raoul laughed at the outward sign of affection between the newlyweds. The conversation continued about topics of the day and the man's latest business venture.
Back in the box, Erik reveled in the smell of her jasmine perfume lingering in the air. His beating heart felt near to bursting. Mon dieu... she is really coming back to me. Willingly. She trusts me again. She wants to sing again with me. My sweet, innocent angel... The nagging thought that she may betray him again crept into his ecstatic revelry. As he left the box's hidden spot behind the curtains, he realized he didn't care if she did. To be near her again would satisfy him. Let that... boy play his games. He'll fail once again. He already has lost. She is coming back to me. He dropped through the second trap door and weaved his way through the underground basements.
"Just one last time, that's all I ask, and then I will go willingly to my death," he whispered to himself as he entered the passageway leading down to his lair. He gingerly touched his worn mask unnerved in a moment of doubt. "I deserve that much, don't I?"