This story is rated M for some violence, coarse language, and minor adult themes.
It is not appropriate for readers under the age of 16 and should not be viewed by such.
Disclaimer – same as the other parts.
London, England, UK – 2000
He pushed a curtain aside, and led me through the opening. "Come, my little angel – it is time for your lesson." I felt his hands on mine, leading me farther in – somehow my toe shoes were already on my feet. "Are you ready, little angel?" I nodded slowly. "Then let us begin…"
"Christine Daaé-Chagny!" I opened my eyes as Meg's scream reached my ears. "Damn it, child, next time I'm just dumping a pail of water on you. This is two weeks straight now…"
"Meg," I said, reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist before she could walk away. "My legs hurt." It was true – I could feel a cramp in both calves and for some odd reason, I thought I knew why. And then the silly thought that I'd been dancing all night passed – I remembered going to sleep. "I can't dance today. I really can't."
She looked at me and studied my face for a moment. "Why do I…actually believe you?" She sighed. "Come over to my room in five minutes, all right?" Without another word, she walked away.
Eventually, I was able to pull myself out of bed – rather painfully at that – and I hobbled over into Meg's room. She was sitting in her comfortable chair, and she beckoned me to sit on her bed. "Child," she said getting up and shutting the door. "Tell me what's going on. You're practicing at night and every morning it's 'Meg, I can't dance.' What is going on?"
I sighed. "I'm not practicing at night."
"You've gone through ten pairs of shoes in two weeks. This isn't like you – you usually don't use any. So what's going on?" She cocked her head to one side. "Tell me, Kit."
There was nothing for it. I had to tell her. "I'm having strange dreams. Meg, I…I think they're real." She sighed, and opened her mouth, but I cut her off. "No, hear me out. I keep dancing in my dreams – like I'm being tutored by someone in how to dance. It's a man teaching me – I never see his face, but I can clearly hear his voice, and I've never heard him before. He calls me…" I sighed – this was the part I was sure she would yell at me for. "He calls me 'little angel,' and I know it sounds like something I'd make up, Meg, but I'm not making this up. It's true."
I stared at her for a moment. Her face was pale. Then the color seemed to return to it. "Go back to bed," she said shortly. "You're excused for the day – if the dreams continue, tell me every time you have one." Without another word to me, she raced out of the room, flinging the door wide. "Dance class is cancelled this morning!" she screamed loudly. "Do something productive!" As I hobbled back to bed, I heard the cellar door open, and I turned to look, but as I did, it shut.
There was something she wasn't saying – I was sure of it.
I lay in bed, afraid to sleep, trying to convince myself that they were just dreams. The cramps in my legs said otherwise. But after awhile, the fact that I was in bed started to droop my eyelids, and I had to give in.
When I awoke, Meg was shaking me. She was holding a steaming bowl of soup. "You need to keep your strength up," she said, holding out a spoon to me, dragging over a small table and setting the bowl on it.
"I'm not sick."
She smiled. "As far as the good people at your school are concerned, you are." There was a knock at the dorm door, and I looked over – my only friend from class, Sean Davidson, stood there, clutching a satchel and looking nervous.
"Um…hi," he said, a little jittery. "I brought Kit's work for her – I didn't know if I should just leave it with someone else, or…"
Meg smiled. "Come on in, Sean. I'll let you explain it to her." Sean took Meg's spot on the side of my bed as she got up.
"Hi, Sean."
He grinned at me. "Feeling better?"
"Not really."
He ruffled my hair – though he was in my year at school, he was nearly two years my senior and had been a friend of my brother's until his death. "Well, you have to get better. You have work to do. Including a project with me." He grinned. "Picked you as partner myself, I did."
"Thanks, Sean." I leaned over and hugged him – he smelled faintly of cologne and soap. "You're a saint."
After Sean had gone, Meg came back in. "I need to tell you something," she said.
I folded my hands in my lap. "The dreams I had were just that – dreams – weren't they?"
She nodded. "Yes. Nothing more. They were the same that Lottie had right before she broke down and I don't want the same to happen to you, child – you're too important to me." She took my hand and patted it. "I promised your parents that I would take care of you and I will. But please, Christine – no more Phantom talk. Do you understand me?"
I nodded. I looked at her. "But the fact that Andrew Lloyd Webber talked to my family when he wrote his play has to account for something, doesn't it?"
She sighed, rising from the bed and walking away. "What did I just say?"
