Puzzle Pieces

Life is like a puzzle - full of tiny pieces that we must fit together to create the life we live. Unfortunately, as with any puzzle, there will always be the little pieces that fall off the table and are lost. They are the little pieces we often wish we could do without - fear, doubt, anger, regret, any and all of the negative emotions that pull us down, sabotaging our better instincts. These are the lost pieces for which we search and search until we find them, twisting and turning them until they fit into our lives. We must make these pieces fit into the puzzles of our own lives for we would be incomplete without them for there cannot be light without dark, sad without happy, joy without sorrow.

This is a story about the puzzle pieces that make up the lives of characters from "Phantom of the Opera". This is a story about fear and longing, insecurity and mistrust, love and regret, betrayal and misplaced loyalties, violence, torture, damp dungeons and explosions. It is a story about how the past, present and future all affect each other. And finally it is a story of chances lost and chances found - the puzzle pieces under the table that are found and lifted up, twisted and turned, fitting together to make a life complete. There will be chapters of this story that contain exceedingly graphic violence and I will give warning for those chapters so you can avert your eyes; I have learned from my own past writing that not everyone can deal with such things. There will also be the "hankie" chapters - warnings given for those, too!

I am playing with the history of this story and keeping Philippe alive; it is important for the story that he remains breathing. The character of Henri has been borrowed with permission from my LiveJournal friend, musiquephan; there are not enough words to thank her for letting me have him for this story as his role will be pivotal. All other original characters belong to me and my sick mind and warped sense of imagination. All "Phantom" characters belong to Gaston Leroux. This story is a mixture of Leroux and Weber (mix and match) and both of those nice gentleman have my thanks for their imaginations ... in other words, I own nothing.

Literally.

And - finally - the inspiration for this story came from another LJ person (shirehobbit2002) on the LJ Community - vicomtelove - who wanted "a story where Raoul is tortured".

I thought ... "Hey, I can do that!"

God help us all ...

Chapter Summary: It has been over two years since the events at the opera house and problems are beginning to surface in Raoul and Christine's marriage. Just what is it she is hiding?

CHAPTER ONE

The elegant coach drove through the gas-lit streets of nighttime Paris ferrying its occupants home after an evening of gourmet food, fine wine and pleasant conversation. The two chestnut brown thoroughbreds moved easily through the still crowded streets, their hooves easily dancing across the cobblestones underfoot. So graceful were their movements that the well-sprung coach almost seemed to be floating through the star-filled evening. The driver sitting atop the coach, reins held lightly in his hands, hummed a lullaby drawn from the far reaches of childhood memories, his dreamy expression illuminated by the two lanterns swaying lightly on either side of the coach. It was a pleasant picture, a picture familiar to cities all across Europe, as the wealthy made their way to their beds after an evening of idle amusement.

None of those thoughts, though, crossed the mind of the driver as he slowed the horses, parking the coach in front of an elegant town home. His gaze was drawn to the side as a man in formal black dress exited the well-lit home, coming down the stairs, opening the coach door. An arm clad in soft grey was held out and the man helped a young woman to exit the coach, not releasing her hand until satin-clad feet had negotiated the curb and were standing firmly on the sidewalk. The woman gave a brief glance over her shoulder as a young man also exited the coach. She did not wait for him to take her arm but moved quickly up the stairs and into the foyer of the town home. The young man released a silent sigh, shaking his head and following the woman into the house.

The young couple stood in the lighted foyer as the butler closed the door behind them. Her maid stood nearby, waiting until the door was closed before removing the long, satin opera cloak the woman wore. The young woman turned, pulling off her gloves, handing them to her maid.

"Is there anything else, madame?" the young maid wanted to know.

"No," the woman replied with a shake of her head. "If you would just be so kind as to put those away and prepare a bath." She turned to look at the man standing next to her. "I shall be up shortly."

The maid dropped a small curtsey. "Certainly, madame, it shall be done as you wish." The young woman disappeared down a long hall, heading toward the back of the town home and the back stairs; she would not have thought of climbing the elegant, marble staircase in the front of the house. That was only for the Vicomte, his wife, their family and friends.

"There is brandy in the parlor," the butler was saying as he removed the young man's cloak, taking the top hat into which soft, kidskin gloves had been deposited. He turned to look at the young woman. "I did not wish to have tea sent for in case it should be cold when you returned. Shall I do that now?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, thank you," she said.

"Shall there be anything else?" the butler asked returning his attention to the young man in front of him.

"I do not believe so," Raoul told him. "Just close up for the evening and we shall see you in the morning."

The butler bowed. "Very well, sir." And disappeared down the same hall as the maid.

Raoul turned to look at his wife. "Shall we?" he wondered and held his breath for the answer.

"Why not?" Christine replied softly, once again not waiting for her husband but walking off ahead of him.

Raoul stood for a moment and watched his wife's back and wondered what he had done wrong.

It had been more than two years since that night at the Opera Populaire - the night when Christine had been forced into a playing out a role he had thought would free her from the nightmare into which she had been bound. Then everything he had planned had gone wrong. He had grossly underestimated his rival. He had watched as the woman he loved disappeared into the underbelly of the opera house. He had watched as the chandelier crashed, setting the opera house on fire. He had done the only thing he knew how to do, he had followed Christine into the depths of that place, into the very domain of his rival. It was a foolish thing to do; he knew that; yet he also knew that he would never abandon Christine to the darkness. It had been a foolish thing to do for - once again - his well-intentioned actions had forced the woman he loved into an untenable position - to choose between her freedom and his life. And she had chosen, miraculously earning both freedom and life.

They had left the opera house that night, with a backward glance from Christine. Raoul had known she had looked back but he buried that knowledge in a dark recess of his own mind. She had not had to leave with him, he thought at that moment, she could have stayed with her Phantom. Christine could have just told him to leave and he would have. He would not have liked it but he would have done as she asked for - ultimately - all he had ever wanted was her happiness. And they had been happy. They had just celebrated their second wedding anniversary but two months previously and those two years had been good years. They were years in which the newlyweds had discovered each other, learning about the mind, heart and soul of the person with whom they would be spending the rest of their life. Raoul knew he would never have all of his wife yet in those most private moments when she clung to him, whispering his name as she quivered in his arms, he was the most content, happiest man in the world.

Now, watching as his wife opened the door to the parlor without even a backward glance to see if he followed, Raoul wondered what had gone so wrong in the last two weeks to change his bright, sunny wife into a distant stranger. He searched his mind trying to remember something, anything, that he might have done to cause Christine to distance herself and could find no answer. There had been nothing Raoul could remember doing that would upset Christine to the point where she would not even speak to him of it. He had always given her everything she had wanted, denying her nothing - not even the occasional stop in front of the ruined opera house. He knew she grieved the loss of the man who had been her teacher, her friend, the other love of her life. But even those visits had grown further and further apart just as her nightmares had grown further and further apart. Raoul thought Christine had finally put the past behind herself and then he wondered if he had thought wrongly. Raoul shook his head to clear it of depressing thoughts and followed his wife into the parlor.

Christine stood in front of the fireplace, her hands reaching toward the warmth of the small fire that burned within. Raoul watched as she took her hands back, wrapping them about her waist. Her head turned to look out the window as a sound from the early April evening floated past the glass draped in pink brocade. The look on her face was distant and concerned but she quickly covered it as he entered the room. She moved to sit on the edge of an overstuffed chaise, her back held stiff and straight.

Raoul moved to the hutch where a decanter of amber liquid and two snifters sat upon a silver tray. He unstoppered the decanter, lifting it up before turning to look at his wife. "Would you ..." He started to ask.

"Just water," Christine quickly interjected.

"I could send for tea," Raoul tried.

"Water, Raoul, just water," Christine replied as she placed two fingers to rub the skin between finely arched eyebrows.

"You have a headache," Raoul said as he handed her the snifter full of water. "I should not have kept you out so late. I am sorry."

"Thank you," Christine said as she took the glass and sipped from it. "I had a very nice time tonight. You know how much I love to see Meg and Valery." She managed a small smile. "And for once there was no backstabbing or vicious gossip as we sat having tea in the parlor while you men smoked your cigars and drank port."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "With Sylvie Denoix in attendance? Meg must have the strength of her mother if she managed to get that woman from saying anything wicked about another person."

"Meg has always had Madame's strength," Christine replied. "I just do not think she fully realized it until she married Valery and took her place in Society."

Raoul sat down next to Christine, careful to keep a distance between them. "You set the example for her, you know. You never backed down from the gossip surrounding you. Now Meg is happily married to a Baron and facing the old lions of Parisian society with an open, no-nonsense style." Raoul gave his wife a gentle smile. "You and Meg shall teach them all in the end, I believe."

"Perhaps," Christine whispered. She stood, walking across the room, placing the glass back on the silver tray before turning to face Raoul. "I am going upstairs and have a quick bath."

There was something in her manner that left Raoul seated where he was. "I shall be up shortly," he told her.

There was not even a nod of acknowledgment from Christine as she exited the room.

Raoul stood up, draining the last of his brandy in one swallow, feeling it burn its way down his throat and into the empty pit of his stomach. He walked around the room, turning off the gas jets to the lamps, so that the only light in the room came from the bright moon outside and the remnants of the fire. Raoul walked to the windows, loosening the braided silk that held the drapes open, allowing the heavy brocade to fall, covering the windows and further plunging the room into a darkness that matched the darkness in his soul. He walked over to the front of the fireplace, sitting down on the rug in front of the hearth like he would do as a child. Raoul moved the fire screen aside and reached for the poker. He drew his knees up, sending the poker into the fire to stir the embers, not caring if small ashes flew out to land on his expensive clothing.

He sat in front of the fireplace, stirring what remained of the logs until they were embers. He then stirred the glowing embers until they were grey ash. Raoul thought it was a perfect metaphor for what had been happening in his marriage over the last weeks - a bright fire that was slowly burning itself out, leaving only cold, grey ash in its place - in his heart. He sat there for a long time, trying to find answers to questions he did not know to ask. His childhood had gone up in flames with the death of his mother, his father growing distant and cold. If it had not been for the indulgences of his older brother and sisters, Raoul would have never known the carefree happiness of childhood. Then just as he had thought his adulthood settled, that, too, had gone up in the flames of the opera house. Now his future seemed to be going up in flames, as well and he did not know what to do.

Raoul sighed and stood, replacing the poker, closing the fire screen. He walked out of the room, closing the door behind himself and climbed up the marble stairs to the second floor. His hands gripped the ornate wrought iron stair railing and Raoul gave a bitter, silent laugh - another cold thing in his life. Everything was turning cold and grey. He undid his tie as he walked down the second floor hallway to the double doors at the end. Raoul paused for a moment before opening the doors, quietly stepping inside and closing them. He looked at the huge bed and saw Christine tightly curled on the far side, her small figure illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the window. Raoul stood silently for a moment, watching his wife sleep, before slipping out of their bedroom, walking down the hall and entering one of the many guest rooms where he would spend the night.

He did not know that Christine had been awake. He did not know that she had heard the door open and close, only to open and close again. Raoul had not seen her roll over, looking toward the closed door, placing an arm over her head, the tears flowing freely.

"Raoul," Christine had whispered through her tears.

The long night saw little sleep for either Raoul or Christine. Both had slept alone, tossing and turning, one hiding a possibility too frightening to think upon for long, one struggling to understand where he had failed. The sunrise had found them both up early, mourning the cold side of the bed in which they had slept. They had mourned alone, behind closed doors, knowing that their servants would not have the morning meal ready till after seven of the clock. Christine had sat on the edge of the bed she normally shared with Raoul, feeling sick to her stomach, knowing she could not say anything for fear of the reaction her words would provoke. Raoul had paced the hand-knotted rug in the guest room, feeling empty and truly alone for the first time in his life. As the great clock on the upstairs landing finally chimed seven, Christine opened the door of the bedroom and walked into the hallway. She heard the click of another door and sadly shook her head, wondering if there was a way to tell what she knew. And knowing there was not. Christine walked down the stairs and into the first floor dining room, knowing her husband would eventually follow.

Raoul had heard Christine open the door at the same moment as he opened his and he had carefully closed the door onto which he held. He was not quite ready to see her for he did not want to her to see any emotion on his face but the love he had always felt for her. Raoul counted to fifty, drew a deep breath and opened the door, walking down the stairs and following his wife into their dining room.

Christine was already seated in her usual spot to the right of the head of the table. She was pushing her food around the plate, occasionally slipping a small bit onto her fork before placing it into her mouth. She looked up at the sound of the door opening and gave her husband a smile that was as forced as the one on his face. Christine watched as Raoul moved across the room, gathering bits of food on his plate from the chafing dishes atop the buffet before coming to sit next to her. He dismissed the servant who appeared at his elbow with the teapot.

"Just place it on the table," Raoul told the girl and waited until she had left the room. He looked at Christine. "Did you sleep well?"

"I was exhausted after my bath," Christine told him. At least it was a half-truth. "I fell asleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. I awoke in the night, though, and you were not there."

"I knew you were tired and when I finally came upstairs to find you asleep, I had not wished to disturb you." Raoul could tell half-truths, as well. "I slept in one of the guest rooms."

"Raoul," Christine tried.

"Do not," Raoul interrupted her with a shake of his head. He pushed his seat back from the table, placing his napkin over the plate of food he could not taste. "I am surprised you even noticed I was not in the bed last night for you have been sleeping on the far side of our bed, completely away from me." He lowered his eyes. "From my touch. If I am to sleep alone, I would prefer it to be alone."

"Please try to understand," Christine tried again.

"Understand what?" Raoul nearly exploded. "Understand that for the last two weeks, you have distanced yourself from me? You have grown frigidly polite in public and completely removed from me when we are alone. I sometimes wonder if we even live in the same city, much less the same house. You barely tolerate my touch in public and it is worse in private. You will not allow me to hug you or to hold you and as far as our marital bed - I fear that is becoming a pleasant, distant memory."

Christine had nothing to say and lowered her head.

"I wish you would just tell me what I have done wrong!" Raoul's exasperation was getting the better of him. "I have been wracking my brain trying to find one thing that I have done that would displease you so, that would upset you to the point where you despise me enough to turn from me." He let out an angry breath. "Tell me what I have done that is so wrong!" Raoul nearly shouted.

"You have done nothing wrong," Christine tried reassuring him. She raised her head. "Have you ever thought that this is not about you but is about me? That, perhaps, I have something which I must understand before I can tell you what it is."

"I am your husband," Raoul replied in a stern tone and then more softly. "I also thought I was your friend. If you cannot turn to me, than perhaps I am neither."

Christine opened her mouth and closed it quickly. She stood up, wringing her hands, as she walked toward the windows that overlooked the street. The morning hustle and bustle that was Paris was beginning to make itself known in the milk trucks and carriages and people that were passing outside the window. Christine, though, could only make it out as moving water-colored blur through the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

"Perhaps we should leave Paris," Raoul said as he crossed his arms over his chest, pouting almost like a small child.

"What?" Christine asked without looking back at him.

"Philippe sent a letter the other day saying that now that the winter social season is over, that we may like to go down to Chagny and spend some time in the country with him." Raoul was silent for a moment. "I think we ought to do so."

Christine turned to face her husband, a look of deep apprehension on her face. "I do not think that long of a coach ride ..."

Raoul stood. "So, it is not just me? It is my entire family you are displeased with?"

"That is not what I meant," Christine tried.

"Then what it is you meant, Christine?" Raoul wondered. "Tell me for I find I cannot understand you any longer."

Christine studied the hurt expression on her husband's face and her heart broke knowing she was the reason it was there. And knowing she could not tell him why she had put it there. "Write to Philippe and tell him we shall come," Christine relented. "Perhaps some time in the country would do us both good."

"I shall write him immediately," Raoul said as he turned toward the door. He paused for a moment. "Can you be ready to leave in a week's time?"

"Yes," Christine replied.

"That should give the letter time enough to arrive in Chagny and give Philippe enough time to ready for our arrival." Raoul opened the door and left the room without looking back.

"Oh God," Christine whispered to herself. "What am I going to do now?"