VII
.
The moment they entered one of the dormitories belonging to the ballet chorus, the Phantom noticed a lone figure kneeling beside one of many cots in the room.
His heart leapt in foolish joy then immediately plummeted in despair. He held back from walking the rest of the way inside, wishing only to leave.
"Have you not yet learned you have no choice in these matters?" the Spirit asked, not unsympathetically, her hands wrapping around his forearm, pushing him forward with her. Through the thickness of his sleeve her ghostly touch chilled his flesh, the first time she had laid her hand upon him. Conversely the effect produced within him a peculiar sort of warmth he could only describe as peaceful, and he ascertained it was the substance of her being.
They came to stand beside the quiet young woman for whom he would give the world. Her huge brown eyes shone with a gentle innocence that first enslaved his heart. Her thick curls caught the luster of nearby candlelight. Recalling their softness, he wished he could touch her glossy locks, for he was certain she was no diaphanous shadow of the present. He understood she could neither see or hear him, but it failed to matter. His guilt at hurting her prevented him from reaching out.
Christine pulled from beneath her cot a small carved, oak box and lifted its hinged lid. To his amazement she withdrew a rose, withered by time, and cupped the blossom in her small palm, holding the stem with her other hand as though it were made of spun glass. A black ribbon trailed across her fingers, and he watched as she lifted the memento, touching the rose against her lips and inhaling its trace of musky sweetness.
"Where have you gone, my Angel?" she whispered. "I now know you're no true angel as you led me to believe; you are a man. But I don't know what else to call you." She gave a small vulnerable laugh devoid of humor and brushed the darkened petals against her cheek. "Do you now despise me for learning your secret? I was foolish and insensitive. Please forgive my curiosity. Rail at me if you must, tell me how cruel and ungrateful I am, only do not abandon me in this deep well of silence any longer..."
The Phantom's heart ached as he witnessed a tear, as precious as a jewel, slide down her pale cheek.
"And yet … though I've not seen or heard you …" She brought the rose to her heart, cupping it to her breasts. "I sense you here with me." She lifted her face in awe to look at the beamed ceiling. "For the first time since you escorted me from your lair all those weeks ago, I can feel your presence, as if you now stand beside me. Are you there, Angel?"
He looked with alarm toward the Spirit. "She knows that I am here?"
"There exists a bond, so strong, as to remain forever unbroken by the shadows of time or place."
He pulled his brows together, pondering her indistinct words, before returning his attention to Christine. The light shining from her face had faded, her manner now crestfallen.
"But I must be mistaken. It is only another case of wishful thinking. If you were here you would speak to me, I know it. You would not make me suffer so, despite my recent failings. Therefore, you are not here, and I am imagining this moment." She closed her eyes, bowing her head. "Almighty Father, in my childishness I've hurt my angel dearly. Please help him. Open his eyes to the truth of my…"
"There you are!" At the untimely intrusion of Meg's voice, they all turned to watch.
The Phantom felt a bit nonplussed to see and hear two Meg Girys in the room. He looked at the Spirit, who smiled mysteriously. Frowning, he returned his attention to Meg.
"I went to the chapel and found it empty," she continued, "whatever are you doing here? Why aren't you at the party?" She studied Christine's simple linen chemise and navy wool skirt, a bold contrast to Meg's own peacock blue and ivory silk gown. A headpiece of matching feathers adorned her upswept hair. "You're not even dressed yet!" Her confusion gave way to exasperation. "Tell me you're not planning to hide away for yet another gala event, Christine."
"I don't feel much like attending a party, Meg."
"Have you and the Vicomte had a row?"
Christine's lips tipped up in a slight smile. "No. Raoul is as thoughtful as always. I simply don't wish for the company of boisterous crowds at the moment. I prefer the quiet and seclusion found here."
"Hmm." Meg's gaze drifted down to Christine's hands. "What's that you're holding?"
Christine jumped a bit and looked down, as if she'd forgotten she held the rose. "This? It's nothing." With care and great haste she laid the faded blossom into the long box and closed the lid.
"If it were nothing, you wouldn't respond with such unease or guilt," Meg chided. "What are you hiding?"
Christine hesitated, smoothing her hand over the carvings in the wood rather than look at Meg. "If I tell, you must promise not to reveal what I say to a living soul."
Meg quickly crossed her hand over her bosom. "I swear, I'll tell no one."
Christine caught her lower lip between her teeth, still undecided. A short span of time elapsed before she spoke. "Do you recall when I spoke to you of my Angel of Music?"
Meg nodded. "After your operatic debut, when I found you in the chapel."
"I've met him Meg. But he's no angel. He's a man. He came to my dressing room and took me to his home that very evening."
At Christine's low, excited words, Meg's eyes grew round. "I always wondered what happened that night, but you would never speak of it. Nor would Maman, though I felt she knew where you had disappeared to."
"She did, and there's more." Slight furrows of worry marred Christine's smooth brow. "I discovered he's not only my teacher, but also the Opera Ghost who's been the cause of all the trouble here."
"The Phantom of the Opera?" Meg breathed in astonishment. "Oh, Christine … Tell me, is he as fearsome as Monsieur Buquet says? What does he look like? Does he truly have no nose and yellow eyes that glow?"
At the onset of Meg's girlish enthusiasm for the gruesome, Christine grew upset, her brow clouding. "Monsieur Buquet is a fool who speaks of what he doesn't know. Please, Meg. This is important." Meg quieted, questions in her eyes, and Christine continued. "I don't mean to scold, but you see, I've hurt my Angel terribly and can think of little else. I … I did something I shouldn't have, and now I fear he wants nothing more to do with me. Nor do I know how to make amends."
Her words of sorrow twisted the ever-present knife of regret in Erik's heart.
"Perhaps …" Meg began after seconds of difficult silence elapsed. "Perhaps silence is best, Christine. Has he not caused a number of accidents and provoked terror throughout the entire opera house? The managers fear what further mischief he has planned. He's dangerous."
"Don't be so harsh, Meg, that's not like you. There's much you don't understand. Though I confess I've cautioned myself many a time …" Christine grew introspective. "Yet no matter what argument I present, no matter how often I have told myself that I will fare better without him and that I would be wise to just try and forget him, I cannot escape one truth: I miss him. I am lost without him. For almost ten years we've been close. Without his voice to guide me and comfort me, even to scold me, without his company, I-I feel as if a part of myself has vanished…"
The Phantom stared at her in amazement. After all that elapsed between them during that last fateful hour they were together, she still desired his tutelage? After she had seen the curse of his affliction, she did not fear him but wanted him near?
"He touched me. My heart, my soul, my very self …" she continued dreamily, speaking to herself and forgetting Meg's company, "That night, when we were together, my soul ascended to a realm I'd never known before." Her words grew conflicted. "At the same time, I've never been more torn or troubled. And now I feel empty inside, like a ship, adrift, that has no rudder."
At the appalled look on Meg's face, Christine let out a humorless laugh, a faint blush sweeping across her cheekbones and brow. "No, it's nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman, I assure you. My virtue is quite intact."
He felt grateful for her naive ignorance of just how close he had come to making her trustful words yet another lie.
"I'm relieved to hear it. Maman says a woman who doesn't guard her reputation will likely never stand before the altar to be wed - and 'if it happens in her opera house, she'll be dismissed from the ballet corps.'"
"Oh, Meg." Christine's voice came dejected. "I cannot think of such things now, much less nurture hope for any future."
Meg's brow puckered in sympathy as she laid her hand over Christine's. "As time passes, the memories will also fade. You must occupy your hands and mind with activity. Not hide away in a corner and dwell on all that's happened. You do still plan to attend the masquerade ball?"
"I suppose."
"You suppose?" Meg shook her head in disbelief. "You do realize every woman inside this opera house would give their eyeteeth if the Vicomte would look at them in the manner he looks at you? I have no doubt in my mind that he'll ask you. Perhaps tonight!"
Christine gave a soft smile that weighted the Phantom's heart with dread. "Raoul is sweet. He hasn't changed since we were children. He's still as dashing and attentive and considerate as always."
"Well then?"
Christine shook her head, unable to explain. "It is I who has changed, Meg. I'm not the child I was the summer Raoul met me and called me Little Lotte. We were childhood sweethearts, but so much has changed. I was only six years old at that time."
"Marriages have survived on less solid foundations. Some marriages begin with nothing at all."
"You speak rashly, Meg!" Christine's eyes widened with astonished concern. "Raoul has made no such intentions known to me."
"Perhaps not yet, but I'm positive he will in the near future, just as I'm positive he'll invite you to the Bal Masque."
"Do you know something you're not telling me?" Christine asked a bit sharply.
"No. I wouldn't keep such secrets from you. It's just a premonition."
Christine nodded, clearly satisfied with her explanation.
"He'll be here tonight. He might have already arrived," Meg urged. "I overheard him accept the invitation the managers extended..."
Christine dropped her gaze to the wooden box, and Meg studied her friend curiously.
"Christine …? What are you thinking?"
She let out a deep sigh, then looked up after a moment, her smile unexpectedly bright yet seeming forced. "That you're right. It is dull and dreary here. Let us go and attend the celebration."
"That's the spirit!" Meg smiled, holding out her hands to help Christine from the floor. "And I know the perfect gown for you, from the costume room - the rose red with the Battenburg lace …"
Christine nodded as she drifted from the room, arm in arm with Meg. Out of a customary need to guard his protégé, the Phantom took a step after them to follow. The Spirit's hold tightened on his arm.
"You have other places to visit. For now, your time with her is at an end."
In frustration, he watched the gentle young woman who haunted his heart glide down the corridor and giggle with her friend.
"Perhaps it is best," he admitted, though remaining invisible and attending the gala did have its merits. "She wishes to forget me and all that transpired between us. Yet if I were to see that boy go near her, I vow he would not remain standing, half brother or not." The familiar title with regard to his adversary sounded foreign to his ears when spoken aloud, even more so than when he'd only thought it.
"That is the sum total of all you learned from this visitation?" the Spirit asked, her expression incredulous. "Did you not hear from her own lips or see with your eyes the expression of her feelings?"
"She doesn't know what she wants," he summarized quietly. "I've given her nothing but grief since my grueling decision to present myself to her. Would that I never had, that I had remained hidden. She admitted to feeling torn and troubled. Small wonder when so harshly faced with the grotesqueness of my infirmity."
"The only true infirmity resides inside your mind, Monsieur, if that is the extent of your logic. And they call you a genius? Rubbish!"
He cast a startled glance the Spirit's way. She appraised him, unsmiling. "Is that not the term you use to express what you deem nonsense?"
He grimaced. "If you have something to say, speak your piece and be done with it. I weary of these ceaseless puzzles and foolish games."
"No, Monsieur, I cannot. That is not my purpose here. It is for me to reveal, and for you to reason and understand. I dare not trifle with the mind if the heart is not yet in accord." She sighed at his blank expression and pulled him toward the doorway. "Come, We have another destination to visit."
xXx
A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews! :) Hope everyone has a great New Year! Since this was such a short chapter, I'll try and get another up tomorrow.
