OOO
1889
The birth of Christopher, named for his mother, was a relief to Raoul which not even the difficulty of the birth - and subsequent pronouncement of the doctor that further children would be a danger - could taint.. Here at last was a child whose parentage he need not fret over. Christopher was a de Chagny, through and through, with Raoul's delicate complexion and wispy blond hair. Christine and the child had just fallen asleep after the delivery and cleanup, however, when Raoul's world was unsettled once more with a crash.
He ran down the hall and found the maids gathering outside the door of his daughter's room. Pushing through them, he found Phillippa sitting in the center of the room with the full length looking glass that was normally next to her closet shattered about her. Her hands were bloody and she was holding two broken pieces of the mirror, looking at them curiously and exhibiting no signs of distress, despite the spatter over her clothes and the carpet.
Two of the maids were frantically trying to bandage her hands, but she neither cooperated or resisted. Despite a vague drive telling him that he ought to be consoling his daughter, Raoul couldn't stop himself from shuddering as he looked down upon the scene. He stood there frozen in place until the girl looked up at him with a placid gaze.
"I was curious to see what reflections could be made with the pieces," she said, as if it explained everything.
After another beat, the silence filled only by the murmurings of the maids, Raoul came to himself. He knelt beside his daughter and gave her a quick embrace.
"You'll be alright," he whispered. "Just let them take care of you." He drew back a bit and smiled at her. "Your mother delivered a boy, Phillippa. Christopher. You have a brother! Aren't you happy?"
Phillippa made no verbal reply, but nodded after a moment, as if she was aware that it was what was expected over her. At a loss, Raoul patted her head then rushed back to his wife's side, trying desperately to rid his mind of what he'd just seen. Paranoia gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Such things did not just happen. Phillippa would not experiment so on her own, without provocation. It puzzled Raoul deeply, as he considered himself as vigilant as it was possible to be. Nevertheless, given the proof of what he had just seen, his designs were apparently to no avail.
Erik had to be in contact with her. He had to be, there was no other explanation. But what could he do about it, Raoul wondered. He tried to steer Phillippa aware from pursuits that might lead in such a direction, did not tell her the stories of old that had so engaged Christine's imagination and primed her mind for Erik's faux-supernatural approach. He got her tutors to show her painting and drawing, quietly discouraging musical pursuits and absolutely never taking her to the theater. He made sure Phillippa was outside regularly, that she might love the light too much to ever be persuaded to follow a honey-tongued Orpheus into the bowels of Hades.
Raoul had truly tried; but Phillippa's long fingers caressing the broken shards, turning them, fascinated; the glint she had in her eyes when she peered into darkness; the solitude she almost always preferred to indulge in, all persistently and unpleasantly reminded him that perhaps humans were shaped by something deeper than education could alter.
OOO
1897
Charlotte wet the towel in the basin, scrubbed her face and then looked it over carefully in the mirror. There was still residual makeup from the rehearsal, so she reapplied soap and scoured her face a second time. Finally satisfied, she rinsed once more than began to dab her face dry. A whisper of rustling cloth told her that someone was approaching and when she opened her eyes, she found a brown parcel in front of her and the man who'd helped her earlier standing next to her.
"I had change left and I thought you would enjoy it."
She undid the twine then ripped the paper off of the volume, revealing a copy of Matthew Lewis' The Monk. Her lips curved into a smile and she looked up at him.
"You do know me," she laughed, setting it aside.
"I should like to flatter myself that I do."
"You were quite right, by the way - though this does not surprise me. The other act is all he talks about. I fear we shall have to do something soon, else I will go quite mad from hearing endless rants about the Transported Man trick."
"Borden ended the performance that I saw with it."
"And?" She started to apply the normal, everyday cosmetics she wore.
"It is simpler than I had feared. He has a twin and uses him, that is all. I admit, I am rather surprised that his engineer did not spot it directly."
"Angier speaks of him as if he were one person."
"I would not expect him to know; nor many others to suspect. But do you think I am the only person who could or has spent most of his life under a mask? Do you think I, of all people, could not recognize a disguise or the countenance of a man used to hiding himself from the world?"
"Quite an ordeal they've undertaken, then."
"Yes, and I have no doubt it will be exploitable in the future. For now, however, we do not tell either of ours. We watch. I admit, though, I am a bit disappointed in the engineer if he did not at least suspect it."
"Perhaps he did at one point but discovered something to contradict it."
"If he has, that will be up to you to discover. I trust you to gauge his intelligence well."
"I'll have a better idea of it once he tells me what he thinks of the diagrams and his ability to execute them."
"Did you give them to Cutter directly?"
"No. I gave them to Angier. He will be easier to impress, particularly if he feels he can gain an edge over Borden - or perhaps I should say Bordens - with it. We run less risk of refusal. Cutter might not be able or he might resist interference with what is technically his duty; if Angier insists, however, he will have no recourse."
"Well done. Shall I leave you to your reading then?"
"You may if you wish. However, if you stay, it would be a good opportunity to see what happens during an actual show instead of merely skulking about an empty theater."
"Perhaps. Regardless, even if I do it would be much better for me to remain unobtrusive. Therefore, I shall bid you adieu."
"Au revoir."
OOO
"You can say what you like, but I don't trust her," Cutter voiced his opinion bluntly.
"Why ever not? She is familiar with what we do, young, pretty, comes with her own costume - I will admit she lacks recommendations but she more than makes up for that with her dexter-"
"She might come from Borden!" Cutter interrupted. "Did you ever think of that? And her being quite that young is a downside as far as I'm concerned."
"These diagrams are fascinating - we just might be able to work this! To finally be rid of that abominable Root - to finally be able to receive my applause!"
"You aren't listening. And that's another thing - those diagrams. Do you really think she drew those up herself? Who made them? And they're designed to this theater. Not just any theater, this theater. She, or someone she's been paying, has been here, prepared for coming to meet you. This is deliberate - not a day and already she's drawing you in! This is foolishness!"
Angier regarded Cutter from his chair.
"Can you build it?"
"Sir, I really don't think..."
"Can you!" He demanded.
"Yes," Cutter grumbled with a sigh. "But I don't like this."
"So you let me know when you can start and finish by. I want this completed as quickly as possible."
"Fine then. But I will again say - I don't trust her. Something feels wrong. I feel like I recognize her, that costume, that look she has - I just can't quite place it. And when I do, well sir, I can't say I think anything good will come of it."
"You are acting nonsensical, Cutter. Falling to pieces due to nothing more than a little deja vu. Time will pass and you'll see that she is the same as any of the others, maybe even better if this sketch is her work and any indication of her mind."
"Well I sincerely doubt that sir. I'll follow you, even into trouble, as long as I can. But there are roads even I won't go down; keep that in mind."
With that, Cutter walked away from Angier to go and check on the props to be used for that evening. Angier looked the papers over once more before shoving them into a drawer and going to practice his legerdemain once more. As he walked across the floor to his prop cabinet he caught sight of Charlotte sitting atop her trunk, back against the wall, reading.
"You did quite a good job today," he said as she flipped a page. She looked up with a smile.
"I have the job then?"
"Definitely. I appreciate the diagrams as well. You've no idea how desperately I've been looking for something like that. You are hired, then, at the advertised price."
"Wonderful! I must tell you though - I do come with a partner. Do not be distressed! I do not ask that you pay him or hire him in any sort of fashion. Merely, he is my companion and helps me out with a great many things; I would be loathe to have him entirely separated from me before shows. All I ask is that he has permission, the same as Cutter, to be backstage."
"I think that could be allowed..." He answered hesitantly. Was Cutter right to be reluctant? Could she be a spy? Could the partner be someone working in collusion with her to steal his secrets? It was bad enough, harboring doubts about Olivia; he did not need another possibly faithless employee. He wondered briefly if he ought not revoke his offer that instant; then he recalled the diagrams and wondered what else she - or perhaps the companion as it were - could think up for him.
"Excellent. I will tell him so. And I intend to introduce you two as soon as I may; his name is Erik and I daresay that you two will become close companions." She closed the book and walked up to him, close enough that he could appreciate how young she really was beneath the makeup she wore. "You will not regret this," she told him firmly.
She then turned, placed the book in her trunk, grabbed her coat and left. "I will be back this evening," she promised, "to see the show."
He watched her leave and it wasn't until she was completely out of sight that he realized just how still he had been standing.
OOO
In the darkness beneath the stage, a shadow watched Root practicing his acting - if it could be called that - with contempt. He was decent, to be sure, but with an arrogance not unlike Carlotta's that made his presence offstage nearly insupportable. If he continued to make demands it would become even worse; he was rapidly developing from annoyance to threat. And, of course, he was persistently inebriated.
From somewhere in the darkness there came a sound.
"You are not a stagehand," the figure said without preamble, without even turning around. "Do not protest to me otherwise, it shall irritate me more." Root, who had leapt unsteadily to his feet, was motioned away by a white gloved hand. "Get out of here and get to your place. As for you - whichever one of you it is - Professor, I do suggest you leave now. Particularly since you have been so good and so foolish as to bring rope with you, about your person."
"'Ere now! I dunno what yer on about!"
"Too late."
Borden scarcely had time to move before a lank figure was upon him. The fingers felt skeletal but gripped him like a vice and though he tried to struggle free a damp glove was pressed over his face. His muscles went slack and the gag and rope he'd been holding slipped from his hands.
"Charlotte!"
"I replaced the pad he'd taken away. Angier is going to perform it in another couple of minutes.
"I know. Run up to the catwalk and see if the other one is up there. There is another rope with a hook here; he was probably planning to hang and lower him."
"Drop a man's body down from a catwalk in the middle of a performance? Who would ever do such a thing?" She teased.
"Go!"
When Charlotte returned, the applause was audible; Root had gone out as ever and Angier was fuming, not knowing what he narrowly missed. She had with her a board, advertising Borden's show across the street.
"Nobody was there," she whispered. "And he could have planted this beforehand."
"Perhaps. Regardless, it did not work. We cannot have Angier's reputation damaged - he is too valuable to us. Remain vigilant during future performances and I shall as well."
"And what do you intend to do with him?" She inquired, motioning towards the gagged and bound Borden.
"It is not time for me to meet Angier just yet. I need to prepare. Give him to Angier, but see that he does no more than rough him up slightly. He could be even more useful, if followed."
"As you say." She propped the body up against a wall and went to take care of the situation. Erik slid out of the back door and into the adjoining alley, tossing a pair of drug-damp kid gloves in the trash and slipping into the darkness to wait.
OOO