In the name of our love

7. Shock of the de Chagneys

     Raoul walked down the hall, taking the small pile of mail from one of the servants. He nodded in what the servants knew now was appreciation, not the uncaring gesture that they had originally thought it to be. The wealthy aristrocrat looked over the mail, stopping in his tracks as his eyes caught the words, "Mrs. de Chagney, née Daaé. 

     "Christine, there's a letter here for you...." he stopped after a moment. The count stopped in his tracks. He looked again at the writing. He had only seen that messy handwriting at one time of his life. 

The letters from O.G. Raoul stared at the return address: Rouen. He was here in Rouen, and not far from the house, by the look of it! Christine came striding over to her husband. 

     'What's the matter, darling?" she asked innocently. Raoul handed her the letter robotically. He watched as her expression turned from one of worry to one of shock. 

     "He's back. We need to leave." he whispered to her harshly, trying not to alert Margarite. Raoul glanced over to the girl that was busy with her needlework. 

      "Perhaps he has changed, Raoul." Christine tried to look at the positive side, her voice wobbling a little, as she didn't truly believe it herself. The Countess opened the letter with shaking hands and pulled open the piece of notepaper. Her eyes scanned the message that was written there. 

     "He seems so.... innocent. So... normal." Raoul said, reading over her shoulder. 

     "Perhaps he has changed?" Christine queried, still in disbelief over any such thing having happened to her Angel of Music, "I will write him."

       "No. We have to leave this place. He knows that we are here. What if he tries to take you? Or Margarite? We cannot afford to let that happen. Not again." 

       "What? You are not going to able to save me from the clutches of the man who lives on the House on the Lake?" Christine joked, trying to lighten up the mood. 

     "I am not as young as I was then, my Angel." he answered seriously, dampening her spirits. 

    Christine looked down at the letter with it's red ink. It could easily have been written in blood, yet she could not picture the bone-thin man using his blood as a way of writing. Perhaps at one point he had, but not now. Not when he was as old and dying as he was. She blinked, looking at the letter as she remembered his House on the Lake. The prawns, chicken and Tokay along with his mother's furniture and his coffin. Oh, that coffin. She shuddered at the thought of the horrid object in which he had once said he slept in. 'One has to get used to everything in life, even to eternity.' he had explained morbidly. The organ on which he had played the duet from Othello and then a piece from his Don Juan Triumphant!

    "Horror.... horror....horror." she whispered as she got lost in the terrible memory. She looked up at Raoul's face, tears running down her face. She buried that tear soaked face into her husbands suit, weeping. Raoul stroked her hair comfortingly, trying to calm his wife down.

     "It's alright, Christine." he gently pried the letter from her grasp, "You aren't there anymore. We're far away from that place. And soon we will be away from him as well." Christine shoved herself away from her husband with a force that he didn't think that she still had within her. 

      "No. We won't leave. We have a life here, and so does Erik. He has done nothing. Only written this letter. If he does more then we will go, we will call the police upon him. But for now we will stay where we are and live our lives. With luck, he will do the same." her voice shook slightly with the tears that still coursed down her face, but Raoul could hear in her voice that nothing he said was going to change her mind.

       "Of course, Christine." he nodded. When Christine walked up the stairs to their bedroom to freshen up, Raoul folded the letter and put it in the inside pocket of his jacket. M

      Moments after he did so Margarite came walking up to him. She clasped his hands and asked, "Is Mother well? I heard her crying a minute ago."

    Raoul stared into his daughters eyes, wondering just for an instant whether to tell her. Whether to share with her the truth, however frightening it was. He blinked and in that milli-second, he made up his mind, "Yes, she got a letter from an old friend. It was a bit much for her, but she will be all right soon." The blonde girl looked at her father and studied him a moment. Raoul was frightened for a moment that the girl would see deeper into his answer and try to pry the truth out of him. She had a way of doing that sometimes. Seeing the things that were left out of the answers which she recieved.

     However this time, she simply nodded and turned back to the living room where she sat down and resumed her needle work. Raoul knew that Christine would be questioned by their daughter when he wasn't around. That worried him. He was almost certain that Christine would tell Margarite about Erik. Things that Margarite didn't need to know yet. But things that she would eventually need to learn when she was on her own.

                                                    ***

      Christine looked at herself in the mirror. Her blue eyes looked puffy and her blonde hair was slightly staticy as she had pressed herself into her husband for support just minutes ago. She breathed deeply, trying to get her breathing back to normal. 

      Her Angel had come back. Erik had come back to haunt her. That man whose Scandanavian name was not given at birth but taken by accident. That man whose mask hid a face so horrible that it sometimes haunted her nightmares. Even years after the incident. Christine swallowed hard, trying to force back more tears that threatened to spill over onto her still wet face. 

     Silly, but she still couldn't eat prawns or drink Tokay without his voice in her head, echoing. Then yelling at her. That face haunting her thoughts as she ate. It made her feel ill, much like she was beginning to feel now. She swallowed hard again. She had strictly forbidden the wine to be bought or drunk in the house. She could handle the shrimp. Just looking at it, not eating it. The taste still brought back the memory. 

     She shook her head, trying to think of the good things that had happened at the Palais Garnier. No. She couldn't. Not knowing that he had lurked there in the walls. Not knowing that he had built it. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. 

    It was in this position that her husband found her and told her that he was taking her out on a date to calm her down. 

                                      ***

    Raoul closed the door and Margarite stood up, wandering the empty house. On the counter she found a note. A note written in black ink and messy handwriting. 

Dear Mrs de Chagny, it began.....