A Discovery of Angels
Erik was weary. He rose from the organ bench and slowly made his way to the divan before the fire. Reaching for the brandy decanter on the small tiled table beside him, he poured a substantial helping into the glass that rested beside it.
His mind was a jumble of architectural plans, musical scores and… longing. Longing for something to shake up his life, or rather, someone, yes, someone who would keep him company, who he could chat amiably with, who would smile and laugh and love him. Love, he sighed. What did he know of love? He had his cat, Shadow, and he had the friendship of the Daroga, though he never let on that he considered him his one true friend. They'd been through a lot together. The Persian had saved his life, had rescued him from those Rosy Hours and the Shah who wanted him executed. Persia, where he had gone from favorite architect and designer of the Shah's Palace and palace magician and…executioner to someone who might give away the secrets of his designs and needed to be done away with.
But this stirring in his heart, this longing or whatever it was… was taking its toll. He decided to get some air. He finished his brandy and made his way from the lair through the tunnels to his passageways behind the dressing rooms. His thought was to go up to the rooftop and gaze over the late night Paris many stories below. A world far removed where couples dined and went to the theatre and…some of them to the Opera.
As he made his way towards the door to the stairs that lead to the roof… something caught his attention. A sound. What was it? It sounded like weeping.
Someone was crying their heart out and the sound touched Erik's curiosity and he quietly crept towards it. It was coming from a disused storage room. One filled with old costumes and trunks and dust and spiders. Who would hide themselves away here to express their sorrow alone? He reached up and pressed a panel in the wall beside the door and a secret door opened. One of the many he had designed for himself over the years, and he entered a passageway that would allow him to view the room without being seen. Through an opening in the wall beneath a large framed portrait of a long deceased Diva he saw what was making the sound. A child. A little girl. Not more than 8 or 9 years old. She was sobbing. Suddenly, she paused to whisper "Oh, Papa, how I miss you. Madame Giry and Meg have been so kind, and Mama Valerius, too. But they are not you. I am still waiting, Papa. Don't you remember? You promised me the Angel of Music to watch over me while you were in heaven."
Without thinking, Erik blurted out "Don't cry, child. I am here". What have I done! He clamped his hand over his mouth. He'd never done anything like that in his life. "What's come over me?" he wondered.
But the child looked up, she wiped her eyes, and her nose, on the hem of her dress. She looked around the dim room lit only by a bit of stuttering candle in a holder where she had left it on the floor beside her. "Angel?" she asked. He could see that she was beautiful. That she had an aura around her that shone even in the dark. "Angel, is that you?" she queried. "Have you finally come to me to watch over me and train my voice as Papa used to? He said I sang like the angels and that the Angel of Music would improve my voice and help me to sing on the stage some day." Her voice was still hoarse with tears. Did she really possess a voice that good? Erik smiled to himself,
"Yes, my child. I am here to watch over you… and to teach you to sing. Calm yourself. Go to bed. And tomorrow night, I shall find you, and we shall begin our lessons."
"Will I see you, Angel?"
"No. Perhaps one day, many years from now I may make myself visible to you. But for now, rest assured that I will be here for you. I will watch over and protect you and someday, make you the star of Paris."
She smiled, gazing around the room to find the source of the Angel's voice. "To bed" he commanded, and snatching up her candle she left the storage room and made her way to the dormitories.
Erik, feeling lighter and more optimistic about life than he had, well, maybe than he ever had, headed up to the roof. Instead of dwelling on the unfairness of his life so far, he gazed out over the sleeping city and smiled. For here was someone who needed him, and whom he could look after albeit from a distance, and that might just give him some purpose besides his solitary composing and designing, might give him a reason to go on. He looked up at the stars above and thought, someday, they will name one for her. He didn't know it yet… but that name would be Christine.