Chapter 2

The next few weeks passed quickly. Christine and Raoul returned to the opera the next day to find out that the Phantom was declared dead, although no body was ever recovered. Raoul told the police that the Phantom had become fixated on Christine and took her captive and that Raoul had saved her. He left out Erik's desire for marriage, the lasso, and the kiss. Raoul was the hero, Christine the damsel in distress, and Erik the monster. The story made Christine uneasy, but if it meant she was left alone, she didn't mind.

The opera slowly worked its way back to normal. Carlotta returned as the prima donna, and Piangi's place was taken by an understudy. Christine was placed in minor singing roles, which was good enough for her as she dealt with her troubled mind.

Every time Christine opened her mouth to sing a small solo, she felt empty. Something was missing. After shows, she would sit alone in her dressing room, staring at her empty eyes in the mirror. She remembered her lessons with her Angel of Music, his harsh tones when she was close to achieving a higher note and his kindness when she was struggling. She remembered Erik's expression in the lair as he explained that his deformed face earned his mother's fear and loathing. She remembered his lips on hers and the textures of every contour of his face. Raoul would come to her dressing room each night to bring her home, and she would see the red welts slowly healing on his neck, remembering the red lasso tied so tightly around Raoul's neck. Angel. Murderer. Lover. Phantom.

Meg spent a lot of time with Christine. She was understanding, even though Christine had never recounted the events in the lair to her friend. Meg would come to Christine's dressing room and help her get dressed and talk about mundane things. The gossip and simple happenings of the opera cast established some level of normalcy to Christine's life.

Christine was distant from Raoul. At first, he seemed to think it was her recovering from the events of the lair. However, as time went on, Raoul seemed to notice that the hurt was not going away.

One Tuesday evening, Christine and Raoul were having supper at a fancy restaurant. When the appetizers arrived, Christine had yet to say a word. She was far away, remembering Erik teaching her to sing Think of Me.

"Christine?"

The Phantom was telling her she had done well, and she was leaving her dressing room, feeling confidence and joy because her Angel of Music was proud. Her father was proud.

"Christine?"

She looked up to meet her fiancé's gaze. "Yes, dear?"

"Are you alright? You haven't said a word since we arrived."

"Yes, I'm fine." She looked down and started to pull apart a piece of bread.

"Christine, it's been weeks since we escaped, but you are still quiet. What is haunting you? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid, Raoul."

"Then what?" He looked down and took a deep breath. "Are you… Are you in love with him?"

Christine drew in a breath. "What?"

"I was there when you kissed him. Was that really to save us? Or is there something more? Why else would you have been so quiet these past few weeks? It feels as though you are mourning him."

She knew that Raoul was looking at her, but she couldn't meet his gaze. She couldn't be in love with Erik. He tried to murder his fiancé. And yet, she had only thought of Erik over the past three weeks. She had thought of his lips more than she kissed Raoul's. She longed to hear his voice again. But where was Erik? Was he alive? Would he love her like Raoul does? With Raoul she had a life, with Erik what would she have? Prison? Fear? A life in the shadows?

"No, Raoul. I love you. I'm sorry I've been so distant with you over the past weeks. It was terrifying, and I guess I'm still recovering," she said.

He reached out to grasp one of her hands. He peered into her eyes, his own expression full of the kindness and warmth she associated with Raoul most of the time. "It was terrifying. I don't want to minimize that. I love you so much, but I miss my Christine. It feels like she left with the Phantom."

"I'm still here," she assured him. "I'm not going anywhere. I just need some more time to sort this all out. I guess his presence was so connected to my father that I guess losing him feels like losing the final remnant of my father. It's silly, I know." She shook her head, some color raising to her cheeks.

"You know what the true final remnant of your father is?" Raoul whispered.

She shook her head.

"You. You keep him alive with every time you smile and every time you share your breathtaking voice with the world."

A smile broke across Christine's face as a few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "I love you, Raoul," she said, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I love you too," he said, kissing her hand. "Now let's eat before the appetizers get cold!"

"Miss Daaé!" Monsieur Firmin came bustling into her dressing room an hour before the opera was to begin. "Senora Carlotta is ill. She cannot sing today. Will you sing the leading role?"

Monsieur Firmin was panting, his cheeks red and brow damp. Christine almost chuckled at his disheveled appearance.

"Of course, Monsieur Firmin," she said.

"Thank you, my dear. Thank you." He bustled out of the room.

Christine turned to her reflection and sighed. In the hour before she went on for Carlotta the first time, Erik had come to her, telling her that she could do it, that she would be beautiful. And she was that day.

A knock came at the door. Christine jumped. Was it Erik? Had he come for her?

Raoul was standing on the other side of the door, and Christine's heart fell.

"I heard you were performing the lead today," he said as he entered the room. "And I wanted to come and wish you luck." He pulled her into a tight embrace. When he pulled away, he placed his hands on her shoulders and locked eyes with her. "You are the most beautiful opera singer I have ever heard. Every time I hear you sing, I fall deeper in love with you."

Christine's eyes filled with tears.

"Oh Christine, what is it?"

"I don't know if I can do this, Raoul."

"Sing for me, like you used to. Pretend it is just us and you are singing for just me."

Christine remembered the months between the chandelier and the masquerade ball, where she and Raoul would spend blissful hours together, and she would sing for him and he would applaud and kiss her. She remembered the shy, playful smiles they shared and the laughter. It was such an innocent time that now felt so distant it was almost a dream.

"I will always sing for you," she whispered.

Raoul kissed her lips tenderly. "I love you so much."

Christine felt her chest constrict as Raoul left the room. He loved her so dearly it hurt.

Christine turned over her own words, I will always sing for you. That was the reality of her life. Before, she sang for her angel. Now she sang for Raoul. Why was she always singing for someone else?

Before she had time to consider this thought any further, one of the costumers came into her dressing room carrying a huge gown and gaudy wig. It was time to get ready.

The curtain opened before Christine's eyes, revealing the dark theater. Christine always loved staring out over the audience, knowing that hundreds of people were watching her, but not being able to see any of them. She felt as though she was alone, and she reached into her own soul for the energy to begin her first aria.

Christine's voice pierced through the air. She felt energy course through her like a flame bursting from her core. She began to feel emotions bursting from her lips that she hadn't felt in weeks.

I will always sing for you.

No, she realized. She was not singing for him. Not Raoul. Not Erik. Not even her father. She sang for herself. She sang for the pure emotion she was able to create with her voice. She sang for the rush of joy and passion and confidence that each note filled her with. She was alive.

Before Christine knew it, she was singing her final aria of the opera. Though the words to her song were about another woman's life, in her heart, Christine sang of her own life. She sang of the overwhelming grief when her father died and the loneliness that followed. She sang of the gaiety she felt when she and Raoul confessed their love for one another on the rooftop. She sang of the fear she lived with for so many months when she was being watched by Erik. She sang of devastation for her Angel. Most of all, she sang of pride for herself and her art. She was a woman who had been through hell and had caved to the will of others for far too long. She wanted to be free of it.

She returned to her dressing room, an exhilarated smile stretching across her face. She laughed in spite of herself as she unhooked her costume and changed into her simple dress. She was humming when she sat at the vanity to remove her head piece and her makeup.

A knock came at the door and Raoul entered.

He came to her, grinning, and pulled her onto her feet and into his arms. "You were magnificent. Simply magnificent," he cooed into her ear. He squeezed her tighter, lifting her off of her feet. "Everyone is saying how splendid you were. I spoke with Deputy Rémy DuBois and his wife and they were so impressed that they invited the two of us to supper next weekend." Raoul went on, describing all of the important people who had spoken to him because of Christine's performance.

Insolent boy, this slave of fashion

Basking in your glory

Erik's words were so vivid in Christine's mind that for a moment she truly believed he was there.

"Anyways, how are you my darling? Are you ready to leave? I told my chef to prepare a fine supper for us at my home tonight."

"That sounds wonderful, darling," she said distantly. "I'll meet you at the doors in a few minutes."