Guilt
Chapter 1: Impressions
"I suppose you're looking for me," an ancient voice rang out from within the darkened room. A sharp line of light cut across, illuminating the figure on the bed, soon cut off by the young girl's head.
"Madame de Chagny?"
Only the figure's head turned to see her intruder's outline, backlit by the hallway. The figure sighed and sunk further into her pillow, turning her face away.
"I should have known you'd find me eventually, Mademoiselle."
Stepping into the room fully and closing the door behind her, the girl responded, "I don't know what you mean, Madame."
"Don't play coy with me, all of society has heard of the little American heiress playing at reporter, even the disgracing wife of a disgraced vicomte."
The girl sat down at the little bedside table, lighting the lamp. Soundlessly, she pulled out her worn leather notebook and licked the point of the pencil in her hand. "So then I don't suppose you'd mind if I asked you a few questions."
Christine de Chagny winced at the new blinding light. She had been quite comfortable lying in this hole she'd created for herself, and now this little upshot of an American was here to demand answers. Christine turned back towards the offending light to examine this girl.
She saw the polar opposite of herself. True, Christine was still young, but she knew The Ordeal had cost her much of the youth and warmth she had when she was a ballerina in the chorus. The girl in front of her was a year or two younger than herself, but where Christine had been innocent, this girl was disbelieving. The lamplight shone across the bun of old gold that swept away any sense of whimsy from the girl. Christine thought vainly of the contrast it would cast with her own now dull dark brown curls if it were ever pulled down. She had begun to intensely dislike this young woman.
"Why would you suppose I'd answer any of your questions?" At least she's freckled, she thought, childishly.
The girl leaned in conspiratorially. "Because we are the same."
"And what would make you think that?"
"We both care about him."
Christine narrowed her eyes at the girl, pursing her lips to make a bitter response, but instead put on the cold socialite face she had developed in the past year.
"And who would you be referring to, Mademoiselle?"
"Why, I thought that would be obvious, Madame de Chagny. I was referring to your former… instructor …your Angel of Music, wasn't it?
Christine gripped the sheets with hands she now regretted having allowed to become feeble. If she'd kept out of her hole, using her hands properly, it would have been the insolent girl's shoulders she now gripped. "He has a name," she stated, her teeth gripped in anger.
"Yes, he does. It was Erik, was it not?"
"If you know all the answers to your questions, why won't you leave me in peace?"
"Because you're the only one with the true answers. I've talked to everyone I could think of; your husband, the Persian fellow, people who were there the night of the disaster. I even had an associate of mine speak with the managers and performers of the opera. But no one can tell me how to find him, how to get him to speak to me when I do, except for you!"
The passion the girl had brought fire to her cheeks, and her clear eyes shone. Again, Christine thought sourly on the contrast between her now deadened self and this girl. "Why would you care to speak to him? Clearly you've heard that he's a calculating murderer?"
"I am completely aware of that, Madame. That is what makes him fascinating. A killer, capable of harming anyone in his path, decides to let his larges obstacle go free. Go free, and take the prize as well! What went wrong could lead to the most captivating story."
"If it is a captivating story you're looking for, I suggest you read the newspapers here."
"But-"
"Mademoiselle, you have taken up quite enough of my time. You said before that you cared for this phantom. If that's true, I suggest you give up your ghost hunt."
Christine rolled over to face the dark side of the room. She saw the light from the lamp disappear, expecting the girl to be gone. But she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
"All I wanted was to understand. I wanted to help the both of you and myself by telling the human side of what happened, not the monstrous side. An angle never before explored."
"I won't tell you his story, it's not mine to tell."
Christine felt the hand leave her shoulder and heard the rustle of the girl's skirts as she made her way to the door.
"But I won't deprive him of the chance to tell it. He deserves that much." He deserves some care, even from this creature.
She could almost feel the girl glowing as she turned back to Christine. "That's wonderful! When can I speak-"
"Ginny! Ginny, Monsieur le Vicomte is requesting our departure."
The girl bit her lip at both the rudeness of her partner and the question left hanging in the air. Christine caught her wrist, pulling her out of discomfort.
"I'm not so fool as to introduce you. But if you return tomorrow, I can teach you to catch his attention, God save you." God save me "The actual introduction will be left to you."
The girl smiled confidently at her. "I can be satisfied with that."
After briefly placing a hand on Christine's, she swiftly exited the room, leading her partner to the exit. She murmured a quick thanks to the vicomte, and exited the de Chagny's townhouse.
Christine sat in her room, mulling over the promise she had just made. A great fear settled over her as she lay. Fear that the girl would end up running from Erik like everyone else in his poor existence. Fear that the girl was really like any other reporter, simply looking for a good story. Fear that, even with all the training Christine would give her, the girl would slip up and find herself at the end of a lasso. She could only hope the girl was as brave as she thought herself.