I'm going to be pretty busy soon with testing in school coming up, so I'll post this now.
Here's chapter four!
For nearly the third night a row, Christine found herself unable to sleep. As opposed to sharing a bed with Raoul, she found herself reclining in the small settee by the window, watching out mournfully.
Running her hands through her chestnut curls, she reminisced silently.
Her and Raoul's marriage had been crumbling for years, it had surprised her when suddenly, on the day after Gustave went missing, that he had encouraged her to sleep in the same bed as him. "Just for comfort," he told her. Raoul and Christine hadn't been sleeping together oft as of late (sleeping was all they did, either way. They hadn't engaged in any more intimate acts for nearly half a decade, and if things were going the way Christine wished them to, the number would only continue to grow,) so his sudden keenness for them to share a bed struck her as odd.
Still, she couldn't summon the energy to turn him down, however much she wanted to.
Instead she had taken to not sleeping at all. Dark bags were set beneath her eyes, and she hadn't found the time to bath. Well aware of how repulsive she must appear, she found herself unable to care less. Her thoughts were only of Gustave, and occasionally, when her guard slipped, her former Angel of Music. The masked man had appeared in her dreams many times for years, she only saw it depressingly fit that when she saw him again, they increased.
"Mon Dieu," she whispered, inhaling sharply. "I've made a mess of my life-of all our lives."
She didn't love Raoul, not anymore. Perhaps at one point she had felt something akin to the warm, strong feeling, but it had quickly dissolved into nothing after he had begun drinking. Raoul had never laid a hand on her, yet his harsh words that he slurred at her when intoxicated were painful enough. How many nights had she lain awake in bed, sobbing over the happiness she could have had.
Again, it was all her fault.
With a shaky breath, up came all the repressed memories of what had seemed like so long ago. She had tried her hardest to forget her Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera, or whatever his real name was-he'd never told her. God, how could she have been so blind? It was too late now, her son was missing and his true father was to blame.
Not that either of them knew.
Turning her face away in shame, Christine balled her hands into fists, pressing them against her eyes, willing the tears to stop from flowing. I will not cry, I will not cry-!
Her thoughts went back to Gustave. Where was he now? She hoped dearly that he was safe, above all else. It had been only three days, but she still was filled with anxiety and terror. Raoul and the policemen sent to search for her son had all assured her he was fine, yet she knew better to hope.
Sick of pacing, Christine stood and stealthily slipped back into her now-shared room with Raoul. The Vicomte was still snoring away, his face shoved into the pillow, taking up all the sheets. He didn't stir even as she slipped out of her nightgown and into a more socially-acceptable outfit. Taking a few moments with the corset, she found herself prepared to go within an hour. The dress she had picked was dark green with white lacing-simple and nothing fancy. She found herself increasingly glad that her husband was not awake, knowing he would have snorted at her choice of attire. Christine could almost imagine him rolling his eyes and exclaiming something about appropriate wear, considering now she apparently was a de Chagny. No, she was, and always would be, a Daaé.
Skipping the task of pinning her hair up, she set out on a search of her own. Furrowing her brow as she slipped into the still-dark streets, Christine mentally prepared herself for the task at hand.
"Attention, mon fantôme," she murmured. "J'arrive!"
XXxxXX
It was freezing outside. Indeed, the air had been chilly the past few days, but nothing of this magnitude. Christine rubbed her cheeks in an effort to warm them up, her breath forming little billows in the air. She stuck to the sides of the streets, hands falling from her face to be fisted beneath her armpits. Still, she barely felt the nipping cold with her plan set in mind.
Barely anyone else was out, making her business all the while easier. A lone woman striding outside at an obscene hour in the morning would most definitely raise some eyebrows.
She found herself standing in the middle of a some sort of park, grass settled on both sides of the path underfoot. The pavement reached forwards a couple of paces before ending, surrounding the large fountain in the very center. Christine sighed. Great, was she lost?
Circling the fountain she saw a much less trodden path. It had no pavement, and was only discernible from the trampled grass and more frequent patches of mud, where no greenery grew. Tilting her head in curiosity, she followed.
It steepened down subtly, and she found herself suddenly grateful for the rising sun. While it was still cold, at least the growing warmth of the sun made it somewhat bearable.
At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.
Her fingers were slightly less colder as she pushed through a gate to a beach, the waves overlapping on the shoreline. Sighing, Christine gazed around. It wouldn't hurt, she thought miserable, raising her hands to her mouth. "Gustave!" she called out, then froze.
Gustave couldn't swim.
Her mouth felt suddenly dry as she leaned against a nearby bench that she had failed to notice previously. It was still wet from rain and the sprays from the ocean, yet she barely felt it. What if he drowned? All because of me.
"No," she whimpered plainly, jerking up from the seat in an instead and pacing down the shore. "I won't think about that. Gustave's fine. He's with the Phantom, or the old Phantom, I suppose. He-he's safe."
She was too buried in her thoughts to notice herself running into a person, only noticing as hands wrapped around her forearms, wide blue eyes meeting hers.
"Christine!" Came a shrill gasp, and suddenly arms enveloped her, hugging her tightly. Christine stayed stiff.
"Meg?" she murmured after a moment. As her friend drew back, she felt her eyes burn. No, she told herself. You will not cry again.
This time she was successful, fighting off the tears as she managed a watery smile. "It's nice to see you."
"Indeed! I've missed you SO much. But still-how are you doing? With Gustave missing and all."
Dammit, she thought, clenching her eyes shut. The tears surged up again at the mention of his name. "Okay, I guess," she lied. "I just hope he's safe."
"No wonder," Meg sighed, giving her a sympathetic look. "I assume you came here to look for him?"
Christine was about to agree when she stopped, clenching and unclenching her fists as she thought to herself.
"No, actually," she murmured. "I was wondering-do you know where Mr. Y lives?"
"Of course, everyone does," Meg replied, looking a little anxious. "Why?"
"I-I have some business to conduct with him. Could you lead me to him, please?"
"Well," her friend glanced back towards the shoreline. "Maybe we should talk to Maman first, it's not as if we can just waltz into his office without an invitation."
"Of course."
Partially annoyed by the delay while also excited at the prospect of meeting Mme Giry again, Christine trailed after her old friend, twirling her wedding ring nervously. She felt an ominous feeling creep over her, her eyes narrowing slightly at the familiar aura. Stopping in her tracks, she turned to glare up at a dark, seemingly empty building.
Just as they had appeared, the two yellow eyes had disappeared.
"Coward," she sniffed beneath her breath.
XXxxXX
After the obligatory hugs, tears and brief tour, Christine found herself seated across from Madame Giry and Meg, holding a small teacup in her hands.
She shivered underneath the Madame's intense gaze, feeling very much like a young ballet rat once again. "Christine," the older woman lectured. "While I am flattered you came to pay us a visit, it is incredibly early. Is there a particular reason you decided to say hello at five?"
"Madame Giry," she grinned. "I'm sorry for my abruptness, but actually, yes, I do have a reason."
She leaned forward, setting the teacup down on a coaster, glancing back up. Christine got straight to the point. "Do you know where Mr. Y's office is?"
For a split second Mme Giry looked nervous, but it possibly could only have been Christine's imagination. "Why, my dear, would you want to go there?" she inquired, taking a sip of her own tea.
"It's...personal."
"I see. Does it perhaps have to do with the disappearance of your son?" she pressed softly. Christine nodded, sighing.
"Madame Giry, I've already spoken with him once, and I know Gustave is with him. He...he gave me an ultimatum a few days previous, and I suppose I didn't truly believe he would go through with what he said-"
Midway through Madame Giry let out a gasp. "He didn't!" she hissed. Christine flinched, never recalling seeing the ballet instructor getting so angered before. Meg looked equally startled, glancing nervously from her mother to friend.
The older woman's hands clenched into fists as she stood. "Don't worry, Christine. We'll get your son back as soon as possible, and I can guarantee that Erik will very well pay for his actions."
Christine tilted her head. "Erik? Is that his name?"
She was slightly embarrassed that despite knowing him her entire life, Erik had never actually told her what his real name was.
Now that she thought about it, she had really only known Erik for around a year as a man, other than her Angel of Music.
Madame Giry nodded. "Indeed, child. Hadn't he ever told you?"
Slightly embarrassed, Christine shook her head. "No, I always called him my Angel of Music, even after I learned her was a real person. I mean, I suspected for a long time but I never really had time to-you know, ask him."
"Of course," the older woman patted her hand. "You were rather preoccupied, I suppose."
"Yes, I was, but Madame, we are straying away from the topic at hand. You know where he...Erik lives, right? I really need to find him, and he never gave me his address."
The former ballet instructor flexed her hands. "Where did you meet with him before? His office at the theater?" Christine nodded.
Exhaling, Mme Giry beckoned for Meg to fetch some paper and a pen, before writing down an address quickly on the small sheet. She handed it to the young woman, her hand clasped over hers. "Take care, child. He is unpredictable."
Christine gave her a small smile. "I know, Madame. Thank you very, very much."
Finishing off the remainder of her tea, Christine bid the two women goodbye, making her way back out into the street. The slip of paper was clutched firmly in her hand, glancing down at it every so often as if she half-expected it to disappear. She would be lying through her teeth if she said she weren't afraid. Christine was terrified by the prospect of confronting Erik and demanding her child back (a small part of her wanted to correct to their child,) but it had to be done.
She swallowed up her apprehension. Gustave was more important than her own, silly feelings. She had learned that lesson long ago. Pressing a hand to her brow, the young woman exhaled slowly, before glancing down at the address. She knew where it was.
She knew where he was.
And this time, she would not let him run, not without a fight.
No Meg and Mme Giry butchering in this fanfic. I'm writing them as they deserved, unlike the twisted mess they became in LND.