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Chapter 2: Letters
Caressa awoke the next morning in her bed in the dormitory. Thank goodness, it had only been a dream, she thought. She sat up and noticed everyone else had gone to morning lessons. As quickly as she could she dressed in her leotard and skirt, and bounded out to the stage. She halted when she saw something white falling through the air. She grabbed at it, but it was oddly weighted and difficult to catch. When it was finally in her hand, she turned it over and was surprised—it was addressed to her.
She did not want to waste anymore time so she stuffed the skull-sealed envelope in her skirt, and emerged onto the stage. Everyone's eyes turned toward her.
"Mademoiselle Bucher, you should be in bed," Madame Giry ordered, quite shocked to see her awake.
"No, truly, I'm fine. Please don't exclude me for being lazy just one morning. I've worked so hard, forgive me," she pleaded quietly so she would not embarrass herself in front of her peers, and for some reason Madame looked very worried.
"Child, I could not wake you. You slept like the dead. Have you seen yourself this morning?" Madame Giry led her to a mirror just off the side of the stage. Her appearance was indeed ghastly, her normally pale complexion was tinted green, and her eyes were sunken and seemed to be a darker shade of brown than usual.
"What happened?" Caressa asked more to herself than anyone else.
Jacqueline answered her, "A little while after we got back from—The stage, you said you forgot something, and you left to retrieve it. You were gone for quite a while." Always fibbing, Caressa thought. "Then a stagehand carried you in, he said he found you sleeping on the stage, and that you were holding a rose. You must have had one of your fainting spells. But the boy was worried and told me that when he tried to wake you, you wouldn't open your eyes. He also said you were shivering, and kept muttering nonsense over and over."
Caressa swayed, but kept her balance. Had it not been a dream? "I think I'll sit for a while."
"Perhaps you should rest," Madame Giry suggested, she was pained to see the girl in such a state.
"No, I do not wish to be alone," Caressa replied. The Madame understood her worry, and knew that something had deeply frightened her.
"... Erik..." She whispered the name of Caressa's night terror. "Of course, sit, and if you wish to assist me: watch their legs. If one bends out of place I give you permission to announce it." She smiled at the innocent, young girl when she grinned.
"I'll dedicate it to my heart and soul, ma'am," Caressa replied, feigning sincerity.
She scanned the girls as they warmed themselves up for starting the next production. It was not long before she became bored and began comically pointing her toes at Jacqueline and Reinette. They giggled at her antics, and watched as Caressa placed her ankle behind her head and cocked her head at them. Her friends burst out into fits of laughter, and Madame Giry checked Caressa for interrupting. She slowly brought her leg back from behind her body and whispered an apology before becoming silent.
Her imagination started to run away with her as she closed her eyes to remember the dream of last night... Or was it the reality of last night? She questioned herself. At first, she could only recall the mask, but suddenly darker features grew brighter. Soon the mask was not the only form she remembered that had been visible in the mirror. She recalled the man's eyes, they were a pale colour that she could not discern, but she could remember that they were almost glowing as he glared at her reflection. Once she had remembered his eyes she started to recognize his mouth, which had sneered at her in a primal fashion.
Reality came flooding back around her just as she remembered the cloth he held tightly over her mouth.
A girl had tripped and fell violently into another dancer.
"Giselle, really, what name could be more inappropriate?" Madame Giry scolded.
"What about 'Grace?'" Jacqueline whispered quietly to Caressa. She was about to laugh when she saw something up in one of the balconies.
Her breath caught in her throat. It was the man from the night before. He was simply watching her as if she was amusing him greatly, he wasn't glaring, nor was he sneering. But he was still watching, very closely.
Madame Giry declared that rehearsals were postponed after Giselle broke her ankle, because the stage needed to be cleaned of blood. Caressa quickly got away, glancing up timidly to find an empty Box 5.
"What's this?" Asked Jacqueline, tugging the letter from Caressa skirt, "Oh, what a peculiar seal, like the ones from the Opera Ghost stories!" Her brows rose in excitement.
"I just picked it up on my way to the stage this morning, it's addressed to me," Caressa told her friends, and pointed at the fine script bearing her name for emphasis.
"It could be from the staff boy who brought you in last night, or maybe it's from Jacqueline," Reinette suggested, jabbing her Jacqueline lightly in the ribs.
"Well, I never!" Jacqueline huffed in a joking manner, and jabbed back.
"I'm fairly certain it's neither of them, Reinette. Listen, can I tell you what happened after you left—in complete confidence that you will never tell another soul?" She decided to inform them of the previous night's events.
"It will die with us," they agreed.
"All right. Last night, once you were gone, I lit the lamp I'd found. Then I'd noticed a rose on the ground. After I'd picked it up—" She paused and did not know whether she should go on, "—A man grabbed me from behind, forced a cloth over my mouth, chloroform I think, and the last thing I remembered was his white mask." Both girls were silent, "What do the both of you think?"
"Did he hurt you? I mean—did he do anything with you—to you?" Jacqueline asked, dreading the answer.
"No, I don't think he had the time even if he would have. Some one probably came down the hall so he got spooked off, and left me on the stage afterward." Hearing this from her own lips, Caressa believed it to be a sound explanation.
"Oh, I'm sorry we left you alone. Think of the awful things he could have done to you!" Reinette whimpered.
"I would really, rather not," she replied, though she had already thought of a dozen things.
"Open the letter, it's probably from . . . Him," this frightening suggestion came from Jacqueline.
"You mean the Phantom? Who else could it have been?" This thought was constantly running through Caressa's mind, and Reinette had finally voiced it.
"Oh, any filthy man in the opera house," Jacqueline supplied with a flick of her wrist, and Caressa realized that could also be true.
"No, not any man," Caressa corrected suddenly, "A tall man, almost half a foot above me. He had pale eyes, and his lips were—well, I only saw them in a sneer. And his body was thin, but fit, a bit like a dancer, because I could feel how strong he was when he clamped his arms around me. I can't tell you how he smelled, because all I remember was the overwhelmingly sweet smell of chloroform."
"Wow, he sounds intriguing," gasped Jacqueline with sarcasm. "Now, open the letter, and solve all the mysteries."
"Here goes." Caressa broke the skull-seal, and carefully placed what was left on her bedside table. Then she removed the black lined stationery, ('How morbid', Jacqueline had giggled) and she read aloud quietly so that only her two friends could hear:
"Dear Mademoiselle Bucher,
It has become apparent to me that you possess a truly singular voice. In your best interests I advise that you immediately seek growth of your knowledge in that particular discipline. I would gladly take you on as a pupil.
Your hopeful instructor,
The Angel of music
Post Scriptum- My sincerest apologies for frightening you the previous night. An affliction momentarily came over me. I saw to it that you were found safely."
Caressa swore she could hear her heart thudding rapidly against her breast.
"It's only someone playing a trick on you," Jacqueline assured her.
Is it? She wondered.
"The Phantom of the Opera wants you. What will you do?" Reinette asked, knowing Caressa suspected it was the Opera Ghost as well.
"I will respectfully decline this Phantom impostor's generous offer. For I am currently pursuing a career as a ballet dancer under the tutelage of Madame Giry," Caressa spoke as she wrote down a reply on her own, plain stationery.
"Where will you put the letter to see if it's received?" Reinette questioned.
"I shall put it where I found his letter," she explained leading them behind a curtain backstage. Once she found the spot approximately where the first letter had fallen she set her reply on the ground.
"What now?" The girls looked at each other.
"Well, maybe we should wait for him," Caressa suggested.
"My God! It's gone!" Reinette was the first to look back, and the reply was nowhere in sight.
"He's watching us, right now," Caressa whispered. "Come out! Come out of the shadows, coward! Is there no better way for you to pass time than preying on little ballet girls! " She shouted into the air. When she received no reply, she looked to her friends and spoke in a haughty air, "Coward indeed." With a rude flick of her tongue into the darkness, the three girls left the stage.
A reply was delivered after the girls had gone back to their dormitory. It was in the form of a dismembered note from Mademoiselle Bucher, torn into a hundred shredded pieces.
The Phantom seethed, and snarled in a carnivorous growl, "GIRY!"
It was very late that night, midnight had come and gone, and Caressa lie in her bed, staring at the rafters. Oh, God, if it is him—if he is real, which he can't be—please say that I haven't angered him. I beg you, she silently prayed. If it were the Phantom, would he accept her rejection, and move on to another girl? From all of the stories Caressa had been told growing up, it seemed highly unlikely, but perhaps he would take pity on her.
No, a Phantom has no pity, she thought ruefully. She immediately scolded herself for thinking that, for emotion had always been the attribute she believed the Phantom was blessed with in the stories. Everyone claimed he became a cold and unfeeling character, but she thought that perhaps his madness intensified his love for Christine. It had caused his love to become more of an obsession to possess her, than a quest for her returning his sentiments.
Whenever she had mentioned this in conversation, the older girls had laughed and said, "Possesion wasn't the only thing that Ghost was after." She had never understood what they meant.
Once she had replied, "The only thing? Of course not, he wanted her to sing with him as well." The older girls nearly split theirs sides laughing.
"Oh, yes, he wanted to sing with her all through the night—," "—And in the morning—," "—And in the afternoon." They would say in a chorus. Caressa had never mentioned the singing again, because although she didn't know what they meant, she knew they were naughty girls.
One thing had struck her as more odd than anything else. If all of the stories were true, why would he suddenly be ready to teach again? He surely could not have forgiven or forgotten Christine, it had only been six or seven years. The Phantom had lived alone beneath the opera house nearly through to his prime years when Christine had finally arrived. If he had waited a lifetime for one person, how on earth could six years quell his pain from losing them? Could it be that he realized that since she left him for the Vicomte he was bound to love another as well? Or perhaps it was something entirely different.
Caressa realized that it was more likely that the Phantom would be searching for some one to momentarily take the place of his Christine. If he were to teach her, he would imagine Christine always in front of him. It was true that Caressa could mimic Christine's voice, but it was only a cheap, uneducated imitation at that. There were countless differences, but perhaps he meant to change her. It was doubtless that he planned to improve and manipulate her until she met his angel's voice.
This angered her, and she slammed her fist down upon the cot beneath her. I am not Christine Daae, she thought bitterly. I am Carolina Caressa Bucher, and this is nonsense. There is no Phantom. There will be no deviation from my dreams of being a Prima Ballerina, and God will bless and keep me in his grace, this protest turned prayer was her last thought before her exhausted body hauled her mind into perilous darkness.
She had known that sleep would either be an escape from the anxious feeling coursing through her body, or it would only enhance that feeling. Unfortunately, it was the latter.
At first she was completely encompassed in darkness. Then she lifted something from her face, and her vision was flooded with light. The black domino mask was the first thing that she saw as the new light nearly blinded her. She looked down at herself, and saw that she was wearing a black gown to match her domino. It was the annual masquerade ball at the opera house; those in attendance wore black, and were dancing with their partners. Everyone except for Caressa had a counterpart, for she was in the middle of all of the hidden faces alone. No one acknowledged her as they danced passed, but she felt strangely relieved that they paid her no mind. They acted as if she belonged there with them as a centerpiece.
She had never been a cast member invited to the masquerade before. That privilege was reserved for the principals. That was one of the reasons she longed to be cast as the female principal dancer. It was a dream she'd had since before she had ever become a student of Madame Giry's. Her father had often taken her to the Opera Populaire when she was a young girl, and the ballerinas had entranced her.
As she grew accustomed to the people dancing around her, she noticed that the music had become louder and faster, and that the guests had as well. Everyone was rushing in quickly passed her, shoving her and nearly causing her to stumble to the ground. When suddenly, someone tripped her. Holding her arms over her head to protect herself on the floor, she tried to make the noise go away. It was slamming into her eardrums, no longer music, but a wretched, repetitive screeching.
Her head was going to implode, she could feel it caving in. Then someone's hands touched her arms gently, taking hold of them.
The screeching stopped. "Rise, girl, it's all right." She looked to the speaker's face and gasped.
"Don Juan?" It was the character that the Phantom had created, and for some reason she knew it not to be the Phantom himself. It was his eyes; they were dark surrounded by the domino mask he wore, which was the twin to the mask upon her face.
He nodded.
"No, stay away!" Caressa started to scream at him, "Stay back!" She started to run as the screeching noises came back full-force, Don Juan strode behind her, and everything in the room turned red as he passed. As soon as she ran out of the ballroom she found herself running into it from the other side.
"My lust shall be gorged upon you! I shall have you this night!" Don Juan called after her, though he didn't have to call for she heard him in her mind. After running for what seemed like forever passed the reoccurring scenery he had caught her by the arm and whipped her around to face him. His eyes had fire blazing in them. He had not lied, he was to have her that night.
She closed her eyes and did the last thing she could think of—she prayed, "Please, God, please not this—" She pleaded as Don Juan dragged her towards another room, "I'll do anything, just stop this." He was about to take her through a doorway when she'd reached her last resort, "MY ANGEL! Come to me, My Angel!" Don Juan and Caressa exited through the left side of the ballroom.
The Phantom and Caressa entered through the right side. It had worked, it was the Phantom in his white porcelain mask.
"Thank you, you truly are an angel," she told him as he offered her his arm, which she accepted. Everything in the room was then turned to white, with the exception of Caressa and her angel. They had begun to dance slowly with the music. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder.
"It feels like we're the only people in the room," she said, speaking hardly above a whisper.
"We are, child." Her head raised and her eyes reopened. The other guests began to disappear. The light closed in around Caressa and the Phantom, leaving only darkness in its wake, until the only light was cast upon them.
She thought she heard him say something, "Excuse me?"
"Why?" She stared into his eyes that were full of sadness, "Why did you reject your angel? Why did you not give him even a moment's compassion of silence when he needed to speak with you? Why did you come to him only as a last resort? Why, Caressa... Why?" She reached to his face to wipe the tears from him eyes.
But her hand was drenched in thick, dark blood. She cast her gaze at him as she backed away a step. His chest was covered in blood, she could see it clearly on his cravat. His hand went to his mask as a drop of blood ran down it. When his hand stole under the mask and ripped it away he was swallowed by the all-consuming darkness.
Caressa was alone, without her angel. But she could hear him screaming her name in pain.
"CARESSA! CARESSA! Caressa!"
"Caressa, wake up, you lazy girl!" Jacqueline shook her violently.
