Second Chances

The new moon gives the black velvet of the summer sky over to the profusion of stars sparkling above the Palais Garnier. The rooftop is empty save for a couple dancing to music they create.

"Once there was a night, beneath a moonless sky," Christine sings, an arm cast above her head, hand fingering a graceful Flamenco movement to accentuate her words.

"And I held you," Erik intones, an element of mockery in his voice as one hand pulls her sharply toward him, the other dramatically placed behind his back, following her lead.

"And I touched you." Her face lifts to his, eyes half-closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks. Jutting out her chin as she stamps her heel, then kicks her train, singing, "And embraced you."

"With a need to urgent to deny." Erik bends to capture her bottom lip in his teeth. The gentle bite becomes a kiss, deepening as mouths conjoin, tongue brushing tongue – reaffirming the wholeness they both feel when their bodies meld.

Breathless as they break apart, Christine whispers, "Again and then again," touching his cheek with the back of her hand.

"Beneath a moonless sky," They finish together, eyes locked – then break into laughter at their parody of Erik's opera.

"I still believe is it quite a lovely song," Erik says.

Christine turns around, pressing her back against him, pulling his arms around her to rest on her swollen belly. "You killed me off – however lovely the song may be."

A warm breeze stirs the air, toying with the chiffon dolman sleeves and train of Christine's aqua gown. Removing one of his hands from the embrace, his long fingers of run through the chestnut curls that flow down her back and over her shoulders.

"You are Venus rising from the sea in that color – with your hair free from pins and combs," he says. His own garb another perfectly tailored black tailcoat – the only variation, a waistcoat of teal and grey embroidered satin. The touch of color a concession to Christine.

"You are an artiste and must dress accordingly."

"Next you will have me in yellow feathers."

"No – your skin is already sallow – yellow would only make it seem more so – reds and blues favor you."

As with most of her new costumes, the dress is empire waisted and drapes to flow down and away from the body. Having been advised by the doctor that Erik's deformity may have been a result of his mother's tight-laced corseting, Christine eschewed the encumbrances since then.

Erik sways back and forth, both looking out at the city below.

"I feel Apollo looking down on us – wondering who the loving couple could possibly be," she says. "Our last ventures up here were so angry and violent – almost disrespectful to his mission."

"This used to be the only place outside the building where I felt safe to feel the sun and be free from the cellar and not have to travel in the world of human beings."

"Someday you must take me all the way up to the top."

"Never. I could only climb up there because it did not matter how I might descend."

"Erik." She jabs him with her elbow.

"You sang beautifully tonight, despite the silliness of the plot I created for the original story – the songs adapted well to the staging. The opening appears to be a success, judging from the applause."

"Do not change the subject."

"The subject was changed when you chose me to be your husband," he says, kissing the top of her head. "Come let us go back down – you must celebrate your success."


"Monsieur, please, it is all a mistake – I gave you the wrong pouch." Reynald shrinks back from the man with the pearl handled Châtellerault knife. A flick of the switch reveals the blade, catching the light of one of the dim electric bulbs lighting the alleyway behind the Opera House. Reynald flinches when the blade nicks his nostril.

The shadows conceal much of the dark figure dressed all in black – a cloak of fine wool and a cavalier hat pulled down over his face. The lack of light works to his advantage – a masked demon prancing around the terrified stage manager. "A mistake," he hisses. "It does not pay to make mistakes when dealing with me. I thought you knew that, little man."

"Yes, monsieur." The balding man, with a beard hardly worth maintaining, sparse and gray, is wet with the tears and blood dripping from his face. Pulling a pouch from his pocket, he throws it at the feet of the man. "M-may I have the other? I must pay the winners."

"That is your problem. Consider this a lesson." With an abrupt turn the man is gone.

Reynald touches his off-kilter nose, broken as the result of a run-in with a different enforcer. Standing up, he pulls a rag from his pocket to stem the bleeding, feeling the wet fabric of his breeches. "Damn."

Darius enters the alleyway from the stage door, calling, "Reynald? Where are you?"

"Here," the stage manager says, stepping into the light, stumbling to the door over the cobblestone.

"What happened to you?"

"I had a set to with a robber, but I ran him off."

"A robber?"

"Indeed, he robbed me of my profits from the races."

"You are gambling again?"

"No, monsieur, not me – others, I just hold the money – pay them off when they win. Take a piece for my services."

"So this robber?"

"It was the Opera Ghost. I told you he was still around."

"And what did this Ghost look like?

"Dressed all in black – same black hat – black mask covering his face. He has a knife now – a switchblade." Turning his face to Darius, he shows the cut, now dripping blood despite the cloth.

"Goodness – that needs to be tended to." Darius grabs him and drags him in the theater. "That was not the Opera Ghost."

"Oh, but it was, he was taking his share of the money – just like the OG did before from the managers."

"Reynald, I will not have you spreading these unfounded rumors. Someone found out what a fool you are and is taking advantage of your naivete."

"You saying I am stupid?"

"I am saying that you are easily fooled."


"Ah, La Daae, I was concerned that you might not be in attendance at the Gala – I myself was late and I should have so regretted not meeting you," The gangly young man says, taking Christine's hand, touching it to his lips, before clicking his heels and straightening his back to nod at Erik. "Monsieur Saint-Rien, I presume? I am Monique's terrible twin, Alexandre du Boisschut– Alex."

Erik's amber eyes assess the young nobleman. Same height as he, but thinner, thanks to Erik's new regimen of regular meals – Alexandre appears to be a boy barely out of adolescence. The rust of his hair mirrors that of his sister, Monique, who stands at his side. Deep pride flushes her normally pale face, and there is little doubt of the joy she feels being in the presence of her brother.

The special bond of children born at the same time. He read that they often shared the same thoughts and feelings. His experiences with astrology could attest to the similarities to an extent. Even so, people are still individuals – he wonders how much this pair has in common. Monique's recent life has been full of strife – has it been the same for Alex?

"Baron," Erik nods his greeting, a smirk crosses his face at the garb if the young man – black tail coat and trousers, but with a waistcoat of bright yellow and black plaid satin in contrast to the otherwise traditional attire – a posy of yellow feathers pinned to his lapel. Discernment in apparel is one thing they obviously do not share. Monique demure in her favorite pale blue, silk and lace.

Exchanging looks with Erik, Christine chuckles, covering her mouth with her hand. "Monique, I am so pleased that you have family here – a twin brother, no less," she says. "Will you be staying in the city for an indefinite time?"

"It is a consideration," he says, "Our father felt it was time for me to strike out on my own – he was also concerned about our wayward family member." He places an arm around Monique that she welcomes and returns.

"And what it is you do, M. Baron?" Erik asks, taking a glass of champagne for Monique and Alexandre from the waiter's tray, handing it to them. "Christine – cider?"

"Thank you, yes."

The waiter turns the tray, offering the cider to Erik – who takes a glass for both Christine and himself.

"Finance – I am in finance," he snickers.

Monique is confused at the laugh. "Alex – finance is hardly a laughable endeavor."

"No, no, of course it is not," he says. "The idea that I am actually working at all is laughable. You know how father always called me a spendthrift and profligate."

"Oh, he never did. He just felt you did not treat money with the same respect he has for it," she responds.

"What is it you wish to be doing?" Erik asks, but the conversation is interrupted with the arrival of Raoul, Phillippe and Giselle – her gown rust colored taffeta with black lace bouffant sleeves and matching lace trim around the neckline and hem. Both men adopt the conservative tail coats with grey pin-striped waistcoats. Their faces solemn as they approach.

"Why so grim, le Comte?" Erik asks.

"Just an annoyance – the mistress in the cloakroom seems to have misplaced Raoul's cape. He forgot something in a pocket that he wished to show us, but when we presented the ticket, it could not be located."

"That will not do – of course, we will reimburse you," Erik says.

"Unfortunately, you cannot replace the gift for Monique," Raoul says.

"That is true, but we will be happy to provide recompense."

"Never mind – the only value would be to us," he says, moving to Monique, drawing her away from her brother's arm onto his own.

A furrowed brow suggests displeasure, yet she takes his arm, content to stand next to him. "You must not let the loss ruin the evening, my love," she whispers in his ear. "Please try to enjoy yourself."

Alex sniffs. "Really, Raoul, bringing a gift to a public theater is hardly the wisest endeavor. One never knows who might be looking for a bit of finery to pilfer."

"Someone such as yourself?" Raoul says. "It was a photograph – hardly anything someone would wish to pilfer, as you put it."

"Even more foolhardy, you already haunt my sister with your presence – yet you bring her a photograph as a gift to a stage show – when would you have her look at it – during her personal duties?"

"You are perhaps the most grotesque example of a human being I have ever met. Have you no decorum?" Raoul growls, taking a few steps toward Alex before Phillippe grabs his arm.

"Alex, Raoul, enough. I love you, but am seriously considering leaving you both to take up with young Andre at this point. I am quite tired of this bickering," Monique says.

Christine interjects, "Was Andre not wonderful?

"Pie Jesu was perfection and the scene you did together was quite moving," Giselle says, tugging Phillippe back to her side. "It is quite something to watch rehearsals and view the show from the wings or the flies – but the thrill of watching from a box is something I could grow fond of."

"Another point in my favor, Mademoiselle – I sense I am becoming irresistible to you," Phillippe says, squeezing her hand.

"You watch from up there?" Alex asks – pointing to the apex of the proscenium arch.

"Yes, Baron, Giselle is quite talented – she is carpenter, artist, detective…" Phillippe says, smiling down at her uplifted face.

"Yet you allow her to accompany you in public?" Alex smirks.

"Pardon me?" Phillippe pales.

"The nobility thing? I suspect had Monique not revealed her noble status, you and your brother would not be quite so welcoming of her – she would be just another ballet rat."

"I told you he was a salaud." Raoul says, raising his fist.

Monique grabs Raoul by the arm before he can throw a punch at her brother. "I apologize to all of you. Alex is joking – he thinks he is a comedian. Is that not correct, Alex?"

"I am an actor at heart," he says. "Perhaps you have a role I could fill in this review – it seems loosely constructed – another scene could be added quite easily."

"Baron, with the exception of my wife, you have managed to insult everyone standing here at the moment. I suspect, were you to continue talking, she would also taste your venom. Is that a reasonable assumption?"

Alex does a little tap shuffle. "I am truly a performer, M. Saint-Rien," he says, his face morphing from the soft illusion of childhood, to chiseled cheekbones and jaw. The humor in his pale blue eyes hardens to focus on Erik. "As with Monique, our father did not approve of my aspiration to the arts, but I should like to audition for you – since this attempt has been a massive failure."

Monique's eyes, another symbol of their familial relationship, join his plea. "You see, he is quite agile in appearance and thought. Brilliant, some have said."

"Impressive. Come to my office tomorrow," Erik grunts. "For now, however, I suggest you be civil to our friends and find your humor in mocking the other guests."

"Erik – why is that any different?" Christine asks.

"Because I might agree with him and find some pleasure in having to attend this event."

Alex laughs. "So you do have a sense of humor."

"No – just a sense of reality and how foolish most people are – especially those who take their positions seriously. I may point out that le Comte and le Vicomte are not of that ilk."

"Ah, here is an interesting couple – the jacket looks to have been attacked by an angry child with a pallet of oil paints."

"Yes, my partner, Nadir Khan," Erik says. "On second thought, you should hold your tongue entirely for the rest of the evening."

"Christine, my dear, you were brilliant tonight," Nadir says as he joins their party, Adele following close behind. His mood is reflected in the abundance of color in his new Persian jacket and blue astrakhan hat. Adele takes a break from her newfound love of red, donning a midnight blue velvet gown.

"Your wedding garments," Christine exclaims, casting a side eye toward Alex. "You both look so festive tonight."

"I see your brother was able to attend the performance after all, Monique," Adele says, offering her hand to Alex. "Adele Giry – my husband Nadir Khan – you were to have joined us at my apartment."

"Madame, Monsieur. I apologize if I disturbed your timing – a matter of business arose."

"Financial business?" Erik asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"In a manner of speaking" is Alex's cool response.

"I fear I am weary and crave my bed," Christine says, resting against Erik's side, her head on his shoulder.

"Of course, I should have been paying better attention," Erik says. "M. le Baron, let us just say it was an experience meeting you. We shall be in our office at eleven tomorrow morning – feel free to stop by at your convenience."

"Thank you, M. Saint-Rien, I promise I shall not disappoint you," Alex says.

"Cousins, Giselle, Monique – enjoy the party."

"Cousins?" Alex asks.

"Monique will explain," Erik says, tossing her a grin. "He should find that story entertaining."

"Adele could you accompany us – I have some questions about the production tonight – there seemed to be some timing issues with the dancers during "Love Changes Everything" – I found myself in their path during the choral sequence. I want to be certain I am doing the routine properly," Christine says.

"Of course," she replies, looking at Nadir. "Do you wish to stay?"

"Decidedly not, I think Erik is the only one who despises these events more than I," Nadir says. "A pleasure, Alex. Good night, all."


"What did we miss and what is this about the boy coming to our office tomorrow?" Nadir asks as the two couples make their way through the Salon du Glacier, to the quieter hallways leading to the offices and dressing rooms.

"He claims to be an actor and Monique backs him up. At his request, I agreed to audition him."

"For what?" Adele asks. "He is not a leading man and he does not appear to be a dancer."

"Actually, he does appear to have some dancing skills, Madame," Christine says. "Although not ballet. Monique says he wishes to be a comedian."

"Is he?" Nadir asks.

"His humor is that of insult – and he does seem able to find the weak spots of character that might embarrass the victim, but an audience might find amusing. He is, most definitely, an actor."

"Like Erik," Christine says, chuckling.

Erik pats her hand. "You had to notice how his face completely changed during our conversation."

"True – he wanted us to see him as a silly boy, but the steel was in his eyes when you challenged him."

"Exactly," Erik says.

"Where would he fit in?" Adele asks. "This production is themed and follows a pattern despite the fact that it is not a constructed opera."

"I do not know – when he comes, I shall alert you and all of us can do the interview."


"Can we give you a lift to your hotel, Alex?" Phillippe asks.

"That will not be necessary. I am enjoying walking the streets – finding my way about, but I thank you."

"You shall come to Madame's apartment tomorrow morning for breakfast, please?" Monique asks. "We have had so little time to visit and I often have the apartment to myself after breakfast – then you can go to your meeting."

"I thought we were going to share breakfast," Raoul says.

"Ah, you see, I would be interfering."

"Raoul, I have not seen my brother for months – I see you every day."

"Of course. Perhaps I should take your joke to heart, Alex."

"Perhaps you should."

"Tomorrow, then?" Monique says.

"Tomorrow." With a click of his heels and a sharp bow, Alex walks away in a brisk clip away from them.

"Your brother is quite mercurial," Giselle comments. "I can see how he would like to be an actor on the stage."

"Yes – he is quite talented," Monique watches the figure of her twin recede. "He seems brittle somehow – angrier. I am sorry for the insults. That is not the boy I grew up with."

"When did he arrive?" Giselle asks.

"I do not know – he simply showed up at our rehearsal yesterday. Said he had been looking for me."

"Your parents were aware you were performing here – is that not so?" Raoul asks, taking her shoulders to face him.

"Yes." Shrugging him off.

"Then why would Alex not know where you were – if your father sent him?" Raoul takes her hands, searching her face.

"My father can be unkind. Alex used to defend me, but he left – a year before – to save himself. I do not know where he has been."


"You are the devil's spawn."

"Then you must be Beelzebub himself, since I sprang from your loins."

"Do not mock me."

"Father, please – he was only wrestling with his friend."

"Naked, in bed, with the door locked?"

"Precisely – the door was locked."

"I shall not have that behavior in my house."

"But you will lie with whores – despite our mother's feelings?"

"Alex and Jacob are romantic friends, father. No one cares."

"Friendship is one thing – this…this is quite another."

"Then I suppose I must leave."

"As you wish."


"So the story about striking out…?" Raoul asks.

"Many of us play roles," Phillippe responds for her. "He put on an offense, I am not sure was necessary – the truth would have been more endearing. You love him, thus we shall give him every opportunity."

"Thank you," she says. "The day has been quite full – I do not know about the rest of you, but I am exhausted."

"Of course, Monique. Here is our carriage," Raoul says. "We shall drop you both off – the night is young, but I can see both of our young ladies are ready for sleep."


Nadir frowns – the door to the security office is ajar.

Erik puts his arm out, blocking Adele and Christine as he removes the Punjab lasso from his pocket. He tilts his head to Nadir to stand away from the door. Secure that everyone is out of harm's way, he kicks the door open, prepared to release the wire against whomever has intruded into their private space.

Darius jumps up from his kneeling position in front of Reynald, where he is treating his wound.

"Darius, what are you doing here?" Erik asks, returning the lasso to his pocket, calling out to the others in the hallway, "It is safe, come in."

Nadir precedes Adele and Christine into the office. "What happened to him?"

"Mugged, or so he claims."

Adele goes to the armoire to fetch the medical kit. "I will tend to him – thank you, Darius." Moving the water bowl that Darius has been using to clean the wound, she sets the box on the desk, pulling out alcohol to clean the wound and a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding. After threading the needle, she dips it in the alcohol and stitches the cut.

"Ouch, go easy there, I can hardly breathe as it is."

"The cartilage is thick, you are lucky it is only a nick," she says. "If you wish to avoid first aid in the future, then stop putting yourself in a position to get beaten up – I am weary of tending to your wounds."

"It was the Opera Ghost attacked me. He had the black cape and hat and a black mask. He stole my money."

"Reynald, I am…was the Opera Ghost," Erik says. "Most of the staff here are aware of that. How could you not hear the gossip?"

"I heard it – but things are still happening," he says, "Maybe you just do not want anyone to know you are still about playing tricks."

Erik rolls his eyes.

"I gave him some brandy to calm him down," Darius says. "He is blathering."

"You think I am slow and do not know what I am talking about," Reynald protests. "I am not a drunkard either."

"Tell us why you believe the Opera Ghost still exists, Reynald," Christine says, "we will listen to you."

"Thank you, Madame." A pained smile crosses his face. "It all started during HANNIBAL– props were moved around. I would try to find something and it would be gone. Then the keys got mixed up and some went missing. There were times I would take a drink of my coffee and fall asleep. Who falls asleep after drinking coffee?"

"We believe those to be the actions of Isabella Laurence – she is under doctor's care now and no longer a threat," Erik says.

"Well, tonight I saw him and he was real," he says, pointing at his nose. "He had a black cape, hat and a black mask covered his whole face."

"You have seen him before?" Nadir asks.

Reynald hesitates, his eyes darting from face to face observing him.

"Well – either you have or you have not."

"Not exactly."


"You will pick up my messages in the letter box." There was no body connected to the voice.

Reynald's breath caught in his throat. "Who are you?"

"The Opera Ghost."

"No – the OG is gone, he owns the theater now."

"Are you sure?"

"What do you want from me? I am just a worker."

"I told you. You will find my messages in your box. They will instruct you where to pick up the funds and where to deliver them."

"What if I cannot get away from my job?"

"I will make it easy – just follow the instructions."

"Why me?"

"You need money?"

"Yes."

"You may take one franc for every ten francs you collect."

"For fact?"

"For fact."


"You have been taking bets again, that is how you know him," Adele says. "What did I tell you about that?"

"Nothing wrong with running the money – I just pick it up and deliver – and run other errands."

"And you deliver the money to this masked man?"

"I do not know who picks the money up."

"Then why did you see him tonight?

"I left the wrong bag – I put my take in the hiding place instead of his."

"Did you think you would get away with it?" Adele asks. "That is how your nose got broken."

"I have a family – I need the money."

"Your family needs you alive, you old fool," Erik says. "Keep getting your face cut up and you will be wearing a mask. We will review your salary."

"Yes, monsieur."


Darius escorts a stitched and bandaged Reynald from the office. "I shall make certain he gets home safely."

"He tends to have more problems here at work than on the streets."

When the door closes behind them, Christine is the first to burst out laughing, tears falling from her eyes. "That poor man."

"Do you find it odd that two different men are wearing black capes on a warm July night?"

"Who else was wearing a black cape?" Nadir asks.

"Raoul," Christine says. "Said it was missing from the cloakroom when he went to pick it up."

"I shall check with the mistress – as you say, how many men would be wearing capes on summer night?"

"Maybe it was one cape being worn by two different men," Erik says. "In any event, it does appear that someone is interested in reawakening the Opera Ghost." He smirks.

"You are not thinking of taking part in the charade – are you?" Christine says. "I hope you are joking – being a comedian like our new friend, Alex."

"I should not be adverse to a bit of role playing if it becomes necessary," he says. "After months of trying to build a new reputation for myself, I am not willing to have all those old issues resurrected."


"I think I shall get out here as well, Phillippe," Raoul says, once Monique and Giselle are safely escorted to their apartments.

"You do not wish to talk?" Phillippe asks. "Tonight was difficult for you."

Raoul smiles at his brother, closing the door of the carriage. "Yes, it was – perhaps tomorrow. I should like to have some time to muddle through everything – walking has always helped in the past."


"Do you think you can find your way home all right, Reynald?" Darius asks. "Henri would be happy to drive you."

"I can manage," he says. "Wife would wonder what I've been up to arriving home in a coach."

"She would not wonder about the cut nose?"

"Nah – I am prone to mishaps. You think tonight was bad," he chuckles.

"You seem to enjoy it."

"I like messing it up a bit – not like tonight, though. Scared the piss out of me, for sure."

"Well, then I shall bid you goodnight. Be on time tomorrow, second night is always harder than the opening for some reason."

"I shall be here fresh as a daisy – have no fear," he says, tipping his carpenter's hat and stumbles down the alley to the Rue Scribe.

Darius shakes his head and returns to the theater.


"Past the Point of No Return, no backward glances," Erik sings as he guides Christine through the short passage from the Rue Scribe entrance to their home after disarming the traps.

"You are being so silly tonight," she laughs.

"You mock my singing and my compositions, woman?" he says, sweeping her into his arms, walking through the kitchen into the sitting room, placing her onto the scarlet settee.

"Never would I do that." She pulls him down next to her – removing his mask, and kissing him lightly on the lips. "This was a good idea, continuing to use this apartment for performance nights."

"Something about returning here to spend the night, rather than in our new apartment, finds me, how shall I say it…"

"Horny," she giggles.

"Christine – wherever did you learn that expression?"

"You keep acting as though I was raised in a convent," she responds. "Look at yourself, it is more than obvious." Her hand strokes his member indeed having the appearance of a horn attempting to poke through his trousers.

Sitting up straight, she turns her back to him so he can undo her dress, pulling it from her shoulders, over arms. Nibbling on her ear, he caresses her breasts, grown fuller, in rhythm with the growth of their baby, as they are freed from the fabric.

Drawing her hair to one side, she tilts her head, exposing her neck, inviting the attention of his mouth and tongue.

Gliding a hand over her tummy to her mons, his long fingers spread the layers of soft flesh of her labia, feeling her wetness. "It would seem your little bud has become a horn itself, my dear. You have the advantage over me. I cannot hide my desire – but you…what warm unspoken secrets have I learned?"

"More than I ever imagined," she says, relaxing against him, spreading her legs, as he pleasures her. "Yes, there. Ah, wait, not yet." She rises from the sofa to unbutton his trousers, pulling them down along with his drawers. "Very, very horny." Kneeling on the couch straddling him, she lowers herself onto his member, "I've decided."

"We are one."