Earlier that day, after Christian had ran out of the office, he made his way through the abandoned Moulin Rouge, finding comfort in the air in it. He budged the door open, now hanging a gigantic "NO TRESSPASSING" sign from it. Inside the rooms, were dark, with hazy dust hanging in dismal shadows from light that had been able to creep through. The Moulin Rouge had lost all of its former glory to everyone else but Christian, who could see the old Moulin Rouge come alive again before his eyes. He walked out through the garden, and stared at the elephant, whose paint had begun to dry and fade away. The garden's plants were overtaken by wiry weeds, chairs tipped and turned from the cafe. Christian's heart ached deeply.
He made his way to the dance hall, still transformed into the theater. Even with everything else in ruins, the theater had remained untouched. When opening the doors, the pain of memories flew at him with incredible force, striking him like knifes, causing him to sit on the floor as he felt immense exhaustion overrule him. When his strength had somewhat returned, he made his way up to the stage, Satine's deathbed. From the many of times he had visited, he had pinpointed exactly on the floor where Satine had said her final and sudden good-bye. He lowered himself to the floor face-first, stretching his arms out onto the cool floorboards. He rested his head, wanting to hug the floor beneath him, just to see if he could feel any of the warm embrace of Satine. He closed his eyes.
Soon enough, the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing through the room. Two voices could be distinguished.
"Who's that up there?" the one asked.
"It's that d*mned writer guy again!" the other said, angered.
Christian was too weak to open his eyes. He closed them tighter, to shut himself away and numb his mind from the outside world. He didn't see the men pace towards him quickly. He didn't hear them scream at him for not paying attention to the sign. He didn't feel the blows he obtained in the stomach and face. He didn't notice the texture of the stony rocks as they dragged him out onto the road, a place he had lied before. He had given up. He let the rock-cool comfort of the pavement take him away.
Bridgette ran out into the street with worry etched on her face. She felt a raindrop pelt her warm forehead. She felt like she was swirling in a paused time, where everything around her had stopped. No one had seen the man, or if they did, no one had cared. She came closer towards him, and then in shock realized the man was Christian. She picked up her speed. He lied there silently; Bridgette bent down and felt his neck, praying she could feel the drum-like pulse that went through his veins. Relieved, she did.
"Christian," she said.
No reply.
"Christian." she said louder.
No reply.
She rubbed her hand on his back, then began to pat it in and effort to wake him up. A crowd had gathered around this seemingly strange girl and this man lying asleep on the road. Panic overruled her, the background drowned out.
"CHRISTIAN!!" she yelled, her voice echoing of the nearby buildings, everyone's activities coming to a halt at the sound of her bellow.
An eyelid fluttered open, and then the other did the same. His greenish eyes stared out into the world around him, still a dream-like haze. Miraculously, Bridgette was able to get him to his feet, and they walked slowly back to the shop, his arm around her neck, she acting like a crutch. In those moments, Bridgette had developed even more curiosity for this man, and now by the luck of chance, some of her nosy and putruding questions could be answered. Bridgette did not realize it at the moment, but there was MORE than curiosity she had for him.
