Chapter 1 - The Rest of Us Are
A collector's piece indeed... Every detail exactly as she said... Will you still play... When all the rest of us are dead...
She had been dreaming again. That same dream.
The mist was curling around the gravestones of the cemetery and her eyes were straining, searching for her father's grave.
Passing the mausoleum lacking its rolled copper roof and stained glass windows. Passing a headless angel. Small, poor tombstones, partly hidden, with their crosses just above the level of the ground. Amongst the weeds and broken stone, looking for the fresh grave.
She stopped.
They were marvelous red roses. Thrown across the ground - leading a path - each rose disintegrating. All the way towards a magnificent tombstone.
Kneeling in front of a pile of pulverized petals, she saw the glittering ancient ring resting at the base. And her eyes rose to the name on the grave.
It was hers.
Every time she had the dream, a hand touched her shoulder. And each night, as she turned to see its owner, she woke up.
"You ok?" The voice behind her barely startled her out of her thought.
She smiled, looking over her shoulder, "Yes. I'm fine." She watched as his eyes narrowed and he crossed the room to where she was looking out the window.
Turning, she spoke softly, "It's funny being here at Christmas. Dad always said there was no other time to visit Paris but the winter," she laughed, "It's odd he never brought me."
"He would have," voice soft, arms wrapping around her.
She was stiff, cold to his embrace and her eyes were focused on a tree across the courtyard.
"You had the dream again, didn't you?"
Shrugging, she slowly nodded, "Yeah...I did."
"Why don't you take those pills the doctor prescribed? They used to help, didn't they?"
She hated those blue pills. The ones that made her head fuzzy. The ones they gave her after that fire last year...
She had thrown the best of parties for her father. For his birthday. There had been a storm, a terrible storm. Lightning had struck the building and cause a fire. A horrible fire. Arthur Daaé had been caught in the rush of the crowd. The firefighters had said it was smoke inhalation when they found him. The only casualty.
Christine had almost suffered the same fate. Yet Raoul had pulled her from the fire. Saved her by carrying her out through an old tunnel beneath the building despite having a severe cut in his foot.
It wasn't just that fire and horrible memories that made Christine despise the need for those pills.
She had another good reason...if she could only remember it.
"It's just...it's so real." Mind racing, finding holes.
"It's just dream, Christine. Let's go back to bed, ok? Tomorrow we'll meet Meg for lunch."
Christine turned and smiled at Raoul. Nodding and agreeing, "Ok."
She took his hand, looking once more out the doors of that balcony towards the sky.
The sky dotted with two yellow stars.
Meg was on the phone when they arrived at the university building. Students were carrying large bags down the steps, standing near the doors, watching the drizzle coat the pavement until their taxis showed and whisked them away.
Christine thought she remembered the last time she was here in this building. It was all a bit of a blur, but looking up at the balconies of each story, a piece of her studies, while she had been here, popped in her head.
"The floors are of square tiles, the chairs and tables of black-looking wood with thin crooked legs and puppy feet."
"What?" Raoul asked, leaning against the door frame to the offices.
"Poe, of course," Christine replied walking towards him, "The Devil in the Belfry."
"Sorry! Sorry!" Meg's voice rose up as she trotted towards them from her desk, "The phone has been nonstop since Bontecue left."
"Ah, where's he off to this time?" Raoul asked.
"Probably Rome, again." Meg shrugged. She stood there a moment, eyes wandering over the couple in front of her. "How are you two?"
"Fine," Raoul replied, "Just getting used to the climate change."
"We seem to be having an unnaturally warm winter back home." Christine smiled, then jumped a bit forward, hugging Meg, "I missed you, sweetie!"
"Me, too!" Meg laughed.
"It's been too long!" She stated in a long drawn out moan.
Raoul rolled his eyes and pushed the girls apart, "Lunch?"
"I'm starving." Meg groaned.
"Ok, mademoiselles?"
"Yes!" Christine yelled. "But first - I must take a quick pitstop."
Raoul groaned and looked at his watch, "Two minutes, Little Lotte."
"Remember where to go?" Meg spoke up.
"But of course," Christine smiled and rushed up the stairs, turning back once, "I'll be right back!"
Turning the corner from the stairs, she made her way passed Bontecue's office. The door was slightly open and she found herself backtracking to look inside.
She remembered how the room was always musty, and cracking the door even more, that familiar scent wafted through the air. Stepping inside, the floor yelled out in a creak and she glanced around. The desk was still piled with papers, unsorted, mess. The bookcase was still full of trinkets.
At least there were bits of time like this that she could reflect on the past. Bits of time with memories.
Crossing the office to close the door, her eyes caught it. That curious little papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals.
The floor screamed loudly again as she advanced towards it. Hand outstretched. A hand that never touched the figurine as the floor beneath her groaned loudly, opening.
There was the sound of giggling. Little hollow thumps of pointe shoes. The plinking of piano keys. A stinging voice ripping apart an aria...
And the sound of a scenery tarp dropping.
Plummeting towards her. Devouring her from above.