Where Night is Blind
I own nothing
Opening night, playing the role she'd dreamed of for what seemed her entire life, and now she, Sarah Christine Williams, was about to be Christine Daae, her great several times over grandmother, but that fact was a secret. It was also more of a reason for her to aspire to be an actress than her mother's career, despite what Karen and most everyone else thought.
Why would she want to emulate the woman who abandoned her, Linda Katherine Williams? But Christine, with her she could empathize. When Sarah auditioned for the role, the star, "Erik" had read lines with her from the final scene they shared, the one in which she rescued Raoul by allowing herself to love Erik for just one precious moment, but it was not the Phantom she saw or even Sean, the man playing him.
Her mind and heart had seen HIM-
Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave- look I offer you your dreams..
There were few days she didn't hate the fact that she had left him, and every one of those moments had coalesced into her performance, winning for her at least one dream. Just as he promised.
Her "mother" wasn't even there for her on the most important night to date in her short life, but Linda had sent a gift, one she was dying to open, wishing she'd had it before now. Christine's journal. The messenger brought it just before she had to leave to go to the theatre, leaving her no time to read it at all.
When the performance ended and the applause faded, Sarah felt both totally drained and higher than a kite. Yet, something, someone was missing..
At the earliest possible moment, she fled both the cast party and her dad and Karen's mini celebration, pleading tiredness, loss of adrenaline, or whatever.
When she reached her apartment, a florist's box was on the doorstep, that seemed unusual- didn't they require something to be signed before leaving the flowers? Shrugging, she picked up the thin box and went in to open it.
A single blood red rose lay among white paper; unlike most florists' packaged offerings, it had no wire and the vauge scent of that awful preservative spray was not clinging to it. The note inside, written in an elegant hand unfamiliar to her eyes, was spectacularly unhelpful. "Bravissima," was the single word scrawled upon it.
Shrugging it off, Sarah decided to just put the flower in water, pausing to sniff it as she did so. It was unlike any rose she'd ever smelled, but the difference was undefinable.
Who sent it? nagged at her mind, but no answers were forthcoming, then the mystery was dismissed when her eyes fell on the diary laying beside her bed, waiting for her.
Too hyped still to sleep, Sarah made a cup of gingermint tea, scrubbed the last remnants of make up off her face, then curled up under her downy comforter, tea in one hand, book in the other. Her rose was in a vase beside the bed, yet the aroma reached her. It was a most unusual flower in all respects.
Ever since the hero of a favorite book had turned out to be the killer in a mystery, Sarah had taken to checking the last pages of a book before the first. She did so now, even though there should be no risk of a recurrance. The words were in French, fortunately, she had opted for that over Spanish.
I will not be here much longer. Raoul tells me I am being foolish - again- oh, he does not say again, but I hear it under his words. Poor man, he does not want to admit it, but I do not fear.
I hear the opera house is re-opening soon, and Raoul has asked if I should like to go when it does- I wonder if he hopes I will say yes or no? Little matter, I won't be here when it does- but the rumors have begun again, even though months lie between now and then. Everyone is remembering Erik. But, of course, I never forgot him.
The rumors are so ugly, much more so than whatever was beneath his mask - I dare not contradict them, it would hurt Raoul so- and I do love him. But they are only that, rumors, ugly words. I will use my vanity to hope that someday someone will wish to read the words of the once great Christine Daae de Chagny, read and learn the truth about Erik, the Phantom of the Opera.
Cowardly, yes, yes. I know. It is the best I can do, coward though I be.
Years before I came into Maman Giry's home, she had taken in another lost soul, a man she found lying stunned near the entrance to the tunnels beneath the opera populare. He would not give her his name- he said the scars he had would heal someday, and he did not want his name tied to such a horror. Perhaps his claim was true- when I knew him, he wore a half mask, Maman said that it covered his face in the beginning. Of all those who ever knew the wandering soul she named Erik for some private reason of her own, perhaps, giving an Englishman a French name would irritate him to reveal the right one?- only she saw his true face- but once, when Meggie and I pestered her, she told me that he appeared to be half bird and half man under the masque. He even confirmed this- asking if I knew the story of the princess who saved her brothers from being swans forever- or ravens. Of course I did, one of them was forced to take a shirt lacking one sleeve, so had a wing. He said some such thing had happened to his face, but la, he should have known better than to try and change forms when injured.
He was, a proud man, despite his scars whatever they might be. A silly tale was his way of explaining why his face must be hidden. Poor soul.
Poor- ha. He was wealthy- he bought the opera house- so why ever would he burn it as the gossip mongers say. He said it was with fey gold- so I asked, - are you Lancelot then- the Fairy Knight Morgaine Le Fey wanted- did she mark you?
Perhaps he was, Erik grew angry with me and sent me away- but then, the next day when I did not come for my lesson, he sent for me and scolded me for not coming.
I was pleased he was not angry any longer. But oh, not much of what went on between the Girys, Erik and I is worth noting. Not at all. Boring lessons to any but myself surely. And to him. They amused Erik, saved him from boredom.
Then, the pitiful fools who ran the opera house for him, good accountants but no ear at all for music, brought in Mistress Katerina, a diva to be their star. I wonder who did she sleep with to get the job. After one opera- Erik declared that if she continued to be the star- he would take her and throw her in an oubliette under the deepest, dankest marsh with an echo so she would be tortured by her own voice forever, and that would not be long enough.
Sarah stopped reading, her breath caught in her throat.
It's an oubliette- -- I knew that- oh- don't sound so smart, you don't even know what an oubliette is- it's a place you put folks to forget about them...
Oubliette- that word had convinced her of the reality of her "dream". She'd never heard that word until Hoggle had used it. She still recalled the look of surprise on her teacher's face, when Sarah, and apathetic student for the blander topics, had known the word a month later when going over vocabulary words.
It was- merely an unusual coincidence.
Back to reading.
When Katerina came down with laryngitis, the Opera Ghost was most delighted. I wonder, was he an alchemist- could he have affected her throat? In any case, he arranged for me to perform in her stead, the very night the new patron, no, not Raoul, but yes, his father, attended, bringing with him his son, Raoul. He did arrange to meet me afterwards, and from that moment, my heart was divided between my phantom and the man whose face was now dear to me. No, we were not childhood sweethearts, and his father was rather scandalized, his son and an actress? The Count was more angry than Erik over the romance, but that is less of a story. Erik merely pointed out that I would have to choose which wish I desired, both was not even in his power to grant.
Perhaps that lead to his manipulation of the managers, who truly were frightened of him, silly idiots, into having a masqued ball to celebrate the new diva, not Katerina- me. Erik did not kill her, but her career did die at his hand. I doubt anyone forced to hear her screeching would call it an untimely death.
I had not desire to go- knowing that it would be a long affair, with me as the prized cow on display. To be seen and stared at, touched when possible. Oh, he could be so cruel.
Unbidden Sarah's mind dragged her thoughts away yet again.
I CAN BE CRUEL.
A ballroom, filled with masked dancers, except she was not hidden behind one, and he was not either, once their eyes met.
Erik assured me that everyone was not who they really were at one of those things- even if I was recognized- and how could I fail to be- those silly costumes were not much disguise- it was not the thing to acknowledge seeing through a masque- rude. When, I wondered, had that stopped anyone?
It was the simplest of things to know who was who amid the revellers- half masks, even full ones did little to hide who one was. Yet, Erik did seem right, as always, damn him. No one called anyone else by name. But it was not very interesting. I did so hope Raoul would arrive soon, and looked for him diligently. Then, I saw him- no - not Raoul. I'm sure it was Erik, a cloaked man moving among the dancers, somehow apart from them. Like a few there, his face was hidden under a full mask, but he had a sense of purpose to his gait that none of the others did. I could not look for anyone else once my eyes fell on him, the world ceased to exist when he came to me and our dance began. Then, he moved away, suddenly, and Raoul was there, asking me who I danced with, recalling a bit too late that he was not supposed to know who I was, nor was I supposed to know him, much less my prior dance partner.
Look as I might, the cloaked man did not reappear, and when I asked, Erik dismissed my question. He had no desire to mingle with the madding crowd. Maddening crowd, rather.
The friction began soon after. Raoul demanded that his bride quit the opera- when our marriage was still over a year away! He thought doing so would remove the taint of my profession. That angered the opera ghost. No one, and he repeated, no one, dictated how he was to run HIS opera house. His desire was that I remain singing until my wedding. But- he would allow me to attend to the necessities of the preparation- if I must.
How generous, I seethed aloud.
"I am noted for my generousity," he agreed.
Memories of her own arose once more
I warn you- up until now I have been generous- but I can be cruel... I have reordered time, I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you. I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations, isn't that generous?
No. No.
Those fools who managed his opera had given Katerina a contract, so she remained in the chorus and as first understudy to me. Not that she was given the opportunity to perform, but still, she held court quite often as if she were a star yet. Her diminished status did not lessen the number of young and less than young men swarming around her. One of them began to be most persistant, making such dramatic declarations of his love, violently protesting that without her he would die, that I - and many of the other girls, were rather afraid of him. Erik's banning him, through a letter to the management, did not help matters any. If anything, worsened them.
That last night of the opera populare, it was a horrible, horrible one. The gossip does not exaggerate that. Raoul had demanded, again, that I quit. Erik was equally insistent that I not. Katerina had had the poor grace to have a roue with her suitors, she was in a snit over being passed by once again for the prima dona role in the next performance for which rehearsals would begin the next week, and took it out on them.
Her yelling and their moaning echoed throughout, even to the underground tunnels. It was maddening to Erik. In an effort to scatter them like insects, he snapped a cord so that one of the props would fall, near them, but not in a way that actually endangered them. Madame Giry scolded him for that- he would only make the gossip worse!
The ardent young man declared after that that Katerina must come away with him, to which she shrieked that she would prefer death to being around his smarmy self one minute more. On that note, she flounced away.
It all appeared to be at an end.
Until, during an aria, the young man tossed himself from the rafters- he had gotten up there by knocking the man who managed the ropes and whatnot out. He, of course, died on impact, and I will not describe the - how it all looked. Shrieks of the 'opera ghost' and "the phantom" filled the audience. A stampede began. Someone knocked over a candle, perhaps more than one. The fires began then. Raoul was in the audience- he could see me, until Erik left his shadows, and grabbed me, intending to take not only me, but Meg and our mother to safety. He was afraid for us, and pursued us, naturally, even to the secret tunnels.
We were some distance ahead, and Meg was rather hysterical. Her screams resounded, surely panicking Raoul a bit. Madame knew how sensitive Erik's ears were better than any of us, how her child's shrieks would pain him, so, as she knew the tunnels well as he, she took Meg ahead.
Leaving me alone with the Phantom for Raoul to find. Raoul found the way rough going, this I heard much later. He fell often in the darkness, and nearly drowned in the subterranian river. Erik heard his pursuit and lead me back to Raoul, who had inhaled smoke as well as water, and was a bit out of his head by this point. I was nearly as hysterical as Meg, I do admit,and begged Erik to save him. He agreed, reluctantly, it seemed, since I loved him, and lead us out of there. When we were near safety, he told me to go and leave him.
"But, what of you?" I wondered. "Please, come with us."
"Do you think that you love me? Foolish little girl. Someday, long after you are gone, in another you will live on, someone of your bloodline. She will I love, and no other. But, I do love you, Christine, just not as you wish. Go, now, and forget."
I had no choice, Raoul was hurt, and needed a doctor. So, I did as he asked, and left.
But - I did not forget. I never forgot.
By this time, he must be dead. I never saw his face enough to judge his age, but he was older than I, and my end is near. Yet, if it is possible- perhaps he is from the undying lands and lives to keep his word. He would live for no other reason if that was the only one.
There was no more. Christine must have died shortly afterwards.
It was not the story that was popular, but it held a ring of truth, and enough of the fantasy was near to the reality that it was not hard to make the jump between the two.
On that note, Sarah went to sleep.
Her mind rushed to another place and time, where she was both herself and another. At first, it seemed she was in the masquerade scene of her play, but it was more like the one in her great great and more great grandmother's tale. She looked for someone, but not Raoul, and not Ben- the young man playing him.
Then, she was sixteen, and moving through a room of masked dancers, laughing, it seemed at her. Looking for... for...
The man in the cloak.
She dared to push it back, to see his face, it was not supposed to be concealed...
For a half second, she saw, it was him. It was him, though she could not say his name, could not think it...
Music whirled around her..
Remember me, remember me...I'll be there for you, when your world falls down...
And the dream ended, breaking her heart.