Chapter Text
The moment in which their lips touched was a small eternity – fleeting in all its enormity. Christine felt as though she were under a spell. A strange enchantment both frightening and intoxicating; her fear mingling with that which she could not name – would not name – that heated, forbidden something . Beneath her fingertips, she felt the stark contrast of the Phantom’s face – whole and broken. What could have been, and what is.
Life, and death.
She gasped as he lurched back, suddenly breaking their kiss. And just as quickly, the enchantment evaporated into the chill of the air. Panic encased her.
The Phantom fought to catch his breath as she met his bewildered eyes. Christine hoped that her plea was plain on her face; it was impossible to form words, for she did not know what she wanted , or what he might do . Her moral compass – usually steady in its direction – was spinning too wildly to comprehend. But she could not let anyone die on this night. Of this she was certain.
The Phantom held her stare, face slick with tears. His strange amber eyes had brimmed over, failing to dam an enormous basin of pain. The intensity which usually burned within his gaze had been extinguished. She struggled to read his expression. Had his madness been extinguished too?
She tensed as the Phantom clasped her hands in his own trembling ones. But his touch was gentle and brief. He squeezed her hands – or perhaps it had only been a spasm – then let them fall back to her sides, empty.
He stepped away from her, his attention drifting over to Raoul. Her fiance – his toes barely making purchase with the ground as he struggled with the lasso strung around his neck. As he approached Raoul, the Phantom dragged his fingertips over his unmasked face, leaving behind angry streaks of red. He neared him slowly, movements encumbered.
At last, he came to a stop in front of Raoul.
The Phantom glanced back at Christine, and she was petrified. Her mind raced through every horrible scenario. Terror engulfed time itself, slowing it. The air hung silent.
Christine felt her lips tremble with an unspoken prayer. He had answered her prayers once before, long ago…
With a shout tearing loose from his lips, the Phantom severed the noose which held Raoul captive. Her fiance dropped safely to the ground. Then, the Phantom grasped Raoul’s arm and pushed him in Christine’s direction.
“Take her. Forget me. Forget all of this!” The Phantom’s voice heightened with urgency.
Numbly, Christine reached out her arms, and Raoul collided into her. Amidst their frantic embrace, she let out a sob of relief. He was unharmed. Alive.
Very faintly, Christine could hear people shouting. The mob was approaching.
“Forget all you’ve seen,” the Phantom cried. “Go now, don’t let them find you!”
Just then, an expression of anger crossed onto Raoul’s face like Christine had never seen before. With a snarl, he lunged towards the Phantom. Christine snatched his arm in a vice and held him back. He pulled against her, furiously inching forward, but she yanked back with all her strength.
“Raoul, Raoul. Please,” she begged. Raoul’s face was red, his teeth bared in an ugly grimace. She pushed him towards the exit, to where the boat was waiting for them.
“Please, let’s go.”
With a last murderous glare in the Phantom’s direction, he finally complied, and they made their escape from the lair.
Christine did not allow herself to look back. Her shoes slipped on the damp stone in her haste, her feet tangling with the billowing skirts which encircled her.
You try my patience. Make your choice.
The Phantom’s words echo in her ears, as Raoul led her through the dark bowels of the Opera. Her hand grasped his tightly; she feared she may be pulled away without him to tether her to the earth. Her only corporeal sensation was the hammering of her heart.
The choice she had been given was cruel, and crueler still that it had been ripped away from her after she had made it with a kiss – two kisses. The first, to supplicate him , and to save her fiance’s life. And the second…
She brought her free hand to her mouth, fingers probing the skin where only moments ago, his lips had also touched. The sensation still lingered – a question which would forever be perched upon her lips.
Forget me. Forget all of this.
Christine’s breath caught as his voice reverberated in her mind. Her tears, which had been turning cold, fell freshly hot against her cheeks. As if she could . As if forgetting him were easy. If the six months leading to Don Juan had been any sort of preamble, she knew that the Opera Ghost would for years haunt her.
“Christine!” Raoul impatiently gestured with his arm, indicating towards the waiting gondola. “We must go.”
At sight of the boat – his boat – Christine’s tears blurred her vision, the candlelight shimmering around her as though in a dream. For a moment, she was transported back, all those months ago, to the first time she had been ferried across the underground lake.
Suddenly, a cry of pure anguish bounded through the tunnels, shattering her memories. She’d know that voice anywhere. In an instant, she was snapped out of her dream-like stupor.
“Raoul….”
“Christine, we must hurry. Board the boat.” He pulled at her arm, guiding her towards the water.
“Wait,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Wait?” Raoul, frustrated, grit his teeth. “We don’t have time to –”
“ He is the one who has no time! We are safe.” Christine took a few steps back, blinking her eyes clear.
Another scream barreled down the passageway.
“I must go back! Only to ensure…” Christine stumbled over her words, unable to form cohesive sentences – her mind tangled, her chest tight.
“By God, to ensure what exactly?!” Raoul was tugging at her arm insistently.
“I…. I…” She looked down. Her finger still bore that unfamiliar weight. “I still have his ring.” She slipped it off, and held it up for her fiancé to see.
“Blast the ring, we have only just escaped!”
“There is nothing for us to escape. The threat has passed! Can’t you see?” She gestured towards the depths of the dark passage, back in the direction of the Phantom’s home.
“Please… please Raoul. He will not harm me. Let me return him his ring. I will be only a moment.” Desperate, she stepped forward, and planted a soft kiss on his lips. She looked up at him through her wet lashes. “Please understand, I must do this.”
In response he was silent, seemingly incredulous.
“You must?”
“I must,” she affirmed.
His mouth set in a firm line.
Christine found she could not bear to hear his next words. She turned on her heel, unwilling to wait another second. She began to run.
“Call for me, if he so much as lays a hand on you!”
Christine barely registered Raoul’s words, as her feet splashed along the flooded corridor.
Another cry pierced the air around her, and Christine nearly called out in response. The Phantom's shouts gave voice to her own pain, which threatened to split her chest in two.
She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him all alone, be he angel or devil. No one deserved such cruelty. The sounds of his cries were unlike anything she’d heard uttered by a living man.
She slowed as she rounded the final corner, suddenly fearful of what she may discover. She whispered a prayer for him, hoping that he had not harmed himself, or, God , that the mob had not reached him first.
Christine found the Phantom crumbled on the floor, facing away from her. His sparse hair stood up at odd angles, reminding her of the downy feathers on a newborn bird. How vulnerable and small he looked, this man who had once loomed over the entire Opera, throwing her life into shadow.
She heard him sobbing, a muffled, choking sound. He clutched at a music box, which cranked out a tune reminiscent of a lullaby. The tinkling notes fell around them like drops of rain.
The Phantom sensed her and turned, though she made no sound. Standing all too suddenly, he lacked his usual grace. He staggered towards her, his mouth parted, his eyes oddly bright.
Her throat constricted, and her mind was wiped blank of speech. She held out the ring to him, and pleaded only with her eyes.
He glanced down at it for only a moment, then again held her gaze. She could see her own desperation reflected in the pools of his eyes.
“Christine, I love you.” He spoke in that same soft, melodic voice she knew so well.
Everything around her seemed to fade at his declaration. She sank to her knees, silent tears sliding down her face. Of course. Of course. She closed her eyes.
If only…
Her fists clenched into her skirts, trembling.
The Phantom knelt down opposite to her, searching her face. A sense of dread blossomed in her stomach then, as she felt an unspoken choice weighing the air. But what choice was there for her to make? It seemed all options had been stolen from her.
The ring felt cold in her fist. With unsteady hands, she reached out and slipped the ring back onto his small finger. The Phantom froze at the contact. One of his tears dripped onto her skin as he stared down at their brief moment of connection. Christine pulled her hands back, feeling the tear glide into her palm.
Her ears then perked at the sounds of approaching voices.
“We’re close!”
“The monster’s lair.”
“Be alert!”
Christine’s heart was staked by ice at the sound of the mob nearing his home.
“Where will you go?” she asked the Phantom. He was still staring down at the ring. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
“No!” Christine startled herself by yelling, fear and frustration having broken to the surface. “You must run. You must!”
Still, the Phantom remained where he was, sadly shaking his head at her words.
“They will kill you!”
He did not react.
“Angel, please.” Would she have to beg?
“ Don’t. Christine, don’t.” His voice broke when he uttered her name.
“Look at me. Look at me. ”
Startled by the command in her voice, he obeyed.
“You must save yourself. You cannot let them find you.”
He was silent for a moment.
“You must leave, Christine. I don’t want you here when they do.” His voice was barely a whisper.
Christine felt the heavy impact of his words, and felt suddenly winded. “No. No. No . You must escape. Don’t you know what they’ll do to you?”
“Has it occurred to you… that perhaps I deserve what is to come?” he said after a pause. “A fitting end for a man as monstrous as I. Most would call it justice.” He twisted the ring around his finger as he spoke.
Unexpectedly, Christine felt so consumed by anger that she nearly saw red. She rose to her feet.
“No. That is no justice . You let me go.”
“And I must let you go again.”
“No.” Christine shook her head adamantly. “I will not leave.”
The words came out before she could properly consider them. But she was certain that it wasn’t right to leave him here alone – to the violence of the mob. To leave him to die.
The Phantom looked up at her in disbelief, but still did not move from the floor. His lips trembled, his body crumbled with despair. Again, she was struck by how different he appeared from the man she had grown to fear. Her angel and tormentor, tall and dark and elusive. At that moment, he was a stranger to her.
The shouting was closing in; she could hear the pounding footfalls of the mob’s approach. She ran across the room, and fumbled through The Phantom’s scattered belongings. Her shaking fingers raked through forgotten sheets of music and empty bottles, abandoned quills and cracked china. She wasn’t certain what she searched for, until at last she came across a discarded wig and mask.
Holding up the cool porcelain of the mask, she looked upon its indifferent stare. Right now she needed the Phantom of the Opera, the ruthless and cunning specter who could disappear without a trace. She hurried back to him, offering the items she had scavenged.
“I will not leave without you,” she reaffirmed.
“I do not –”
“Quickly.” She cut him off. “Unless you want them to find me here, too.” She felt cruel being so forceful, but they were running short on time.
The Phantom hesitantly took the items from her hands. He turned away from her, slicking the wig over his head, and pulling the mask securely over his face. Then, he stilled. Christine held her breath.
Finally, in one decisive, fluid motion, he rose and crossed the room. He threw open a wardrobe and donned his brimmed hat and cloak, the dark fabric billowing down from his shoulders. He turned, and Christine saw the glint of a sword by his hip.
He strode towards her with urgency, and now stood at his full, imposing height. The Opera Ghost once again. She shuddered slightly.
“He’s this way! Across the lake! Hurry!” Raoul’s voice crested over the shouting of the mob, and Christine’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach.
She looked up at the Phantom, eyes wide. “Where will we go?”
“Come,” he said flatly, all traces of emotion erased from his voice. “This way.”
She followed him to a tall piece of furniture, covered by a dust sheet. He ripped it down, unveiling an ornate standing mirror. Triggering a hidden latch, the mirror swung inwards, revealing a secret passage.
Stepping through, Christine held out her hand for guidance. The Phantom glanced down at it, then turned away, leaving her grasping at cold air.
“Follow me,” he said.