A Dangerous Thing

Christine didn't slow until they reached the grand staircase. Leaning heavily against the wall, she slid down until she was sitting on the steps. Her heart was still thundering in her chest, and she could feel her fingers shaking as she pressed her palms to her eyes.

"Christine, are you okay?" Meg said softly, plopping down beside her.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She took a deep breath, but it didn't stop the slight waver in her voice. "I guess I'm just a little shaken up."

"You have to believe me; I didn't know! The new managers never leave their office, and even if they had I didn't think they would-"

"Meg, it's okay," she interjected, lowering her hands. "I don't blame you. You couldn't have known, and frankly, it shouldn't have thrown me off so much. I'll be better in a minute, I just... I just need a minute." Meg seemed to understand and stopped talking, giving Christine a minute to clear her head.

She tried to calm down, to quell her unease, but something still felt wrong. She knew it was crazy, letting her nerves get the best of her like this, but she couldn't seem to help it. They sat in silence a moment longer until Christine, at last, started to get up. Meg followed her lead, but they were both stiff from sitting on the marble and it took a few seconds to right themselves.

"I think I'm going to go home," she said softly, smoothing her skirts. Meg's hopeful smile fell at this.

"Oh, but Mama and I were going to invite you to stay for tea... Won't you stay just a little while longer?"

"Thank you, but maybe another time. I've had more than enough excitement for one day, and I should be heading home soon anyways." Christine felt bad for not accepting Meg's offer, but she didn't think she had another hour in her.

"If you're sure," she finally relented, the disappointment in her voice clear.

"Thank you," Christine said with a smile, squeezing her friend's hand. "Goodbye, Meg." As she turned to descend the staircase, her friend called out to her.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

"We'll see," she said with a small laugh.

"Rehearsal ends at three... just so you know!"

"Goodbye, Meg," she said, this time emphasizing the word 'goodbye.' Shaking her head, she made her way towards the doors, unaware of the second pair of eyes watching her from above.

...

The wind whipped wildly at her hair as she made her way down the streets; colder than she would've thought possible for a spring day. The warm sun from earlier had vanished and left a gloomy echo of winter in its stead. For once, though, Christine didn't mind the harsh weather. She longed for the icy chill, and for the reality check it might bring with it. She'd been afraid before to tell Meg what was really bothering her; afraid to admit that her unease had nothing to do with being discovered, and everything to do with the moments before. Singing on that stage had made a mountain out of her pipe dream, and as much as she tried to think realistically, she could feel that hope clawing away at her heart. Planning this trip, she hadn't thought this would happen. Seeing the city was supposed to quell this dream once and for all, not leave her less satisfied than ever. Feeling drained and generally annoyed with herself, Christine remained ignorant to the fact she was being followed. Unable to hear his footsteps over the roar of the wind, she could not have known how long he had been trailing her, nor how quickly he was approaching.

As she, at last, reached the long drive up to Brookside, Christine sighed with relief. Bernard had explained which roads to take back from the opera house several times on their way over, but even so she couldn't seem to keep the street names from muddling together in her head. It was a miracle she had made it back at all. This relief, though, was short-lived. A hand on her shoulder stopped her midstep.

"Mademoiselle Daae." She whirled around without thinking, coming face to face with the very last person she wanted to see.

It took no more than a glance to return a memory from the night before. That book... she had been searching for a book. She remembered now the shadow, the piano, the music... How many hours had she listened to him play? Sitting by that door she had been content never to move again. How could she have so easily forgotten? Staring into his eyes now, though, the sweet memory quickly vanished as realization hit her like a brick wall. Frantically searching her thoughts she found with horror she could not remember leaving the music room. Christine could feel the panic thundering in her chest, but there was no more time to think. She couldn't remember, but she was here, and the silence demanded to be broken. "Monsieur Dupont," she said breathlessly, unable to form anything further than his name. There was another stretch of silence, but she did not speak again.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, it was not my intention," he said at last. He spoke so softly that she could barely hear him over the wind. She wondered briefly if he was waiting for her to respond, but she had no idea what she was supposed to say. The silence was long and awkward. M. Dupont seemed to be struggling to say something, but with the mask blocking all expression, Christine had no indicator of what. More than a little uncomfortable, she hesitantly spoke up.

"Are you looking for Bernard?" It was the only thing she could think of. Why else would he be at Brookside? "I know he had some kind of business with you. I'm sure he's just insi-"

"No, no," he interjected, cutting her off. Their eyes met for a moment but he quickly dropped his gaze to his hands. "Forgive me, I'm not quite sure how to begin." M. Dupont gave a shaky laugh but at length continued. "You see," he said, "I'm not here for Bernard, I'm here for you."

Words could not express both her confusion and discomfort with this statement. She took a small step back, a frown settling on her face. She didn't now what was happening and she didn't want to find out. "I think I should be getting back." Not waiting for a response Christine turned and began to head up the long drive.

"Please, if you'll just hear me out, I have a proposition for you," he called. She didn't turn back and instead only walked faster. "Mlle. Daae, wait!" She could hear desperation in his voice, and at the echoing crunch of gravel behind her, she considered running the rest of the way up.

"Just leave me alone!" Her voice came out higher than she would've liked, but it seemed to work. The sound of his footsteps behind her ceased and a quick glance behind her confirmed that he had stopped following. There was a fair amount of distance between them by the time he called out to her again.

"I heard you sing." She stopped dead in her tracks. "Today at the Opera, before you were interrupted." Christine could hear him approaching, but she did not run. "Please, all I ask is that you listen. After that, I will not bother you again if you do not wish it."

Curiosity is a dangerous thing. It makes the wise foolish and the cowardly brave. It was curiosity that led him to her that day, and it was curiosity that convinced her to stay. "Alright, I'm listening," she said after a minute, turning around. Meeting his eyes, she was overwhelmed by an intense feeling of vulnerability. Not only was he almost a foot taller than her, but his black mask gave the impression that his eyes glowed. Still, he seemed as nervous as she was as he removed his black felt hat.

"I was shocked when I heard your voice today, mademoiselle. While it is, forgive me, untrained, the clarity and tone you possess are so rare for someone your age. I have heard few voices with the potential that yours has." Christine's confusion only grew with each word, but she waited for him to explain. "I say potential because you are not at this moment a great singer, nor will you ever be without proper instruction. If you ever wish your singing to be more than a simple accomplishment for dinner parties; if you ever want to sing on that stage beyond a fantasy, you need a teacher." Everything he said was true, but why was he saying any of it? Why did he care?

"I am a musician, as I'm sure you are aware. And I can assure you that I am as good a singer as I am a pianist." She felt her cheeks redden at this. Had he known she was outside the door last night? Christine could feel her face burning with embarrassment, but he if he noticed he made no comment. "I do not have much experience in teaching, but I am sure that under my instruction you can master your voice."

"Wait, you want to be my teacher?" She had thought he was just suggesting she find a teacher, not volunteering to be one himself.

"Yes." As good of a musician as he was, the whole situation made her nervous.

"That's a very kind offer, but I don't think this will work. I doubt I could even pay you for these lessons. I could write my father, but I don't know what good it would do. Money's a bit tight right now." It was an excuse, but it was true. Between her mother's death and the fact that her father's profession didn't exactly provide a steady income, they were having to watch their spending more closely with every year. M. Dupont didn't seem to be phased by this at all, though.

"If that's your only reservation, then this conversation has gone better than I hoped." She was about to interrupt, but he didn't give her the chance. "Mlle. Daae, I know I am a stranger to you, that this situation is perhaps not the most conventional. However, I promise you my offer is sincere. And you need not worry about payment; I have no interest in it."

"If you're not looking for money, then what do you want? No one gives music lessons for free."

"I suppose no one does anything for free. How about this, then. I will give you a lesson so that you can see that I'm neither incompetent nor a liar. If my teaching is to your satisfaction, we can then discuss payment." As much as she hated it, Christine could feel herself coming around.

"Let's say I agree," she said, beginning to pace the width of the trail. "Where would we even have these lessons? The piano at Brookside isn't exactly in tune." She left out the part that Jeanette would be livid about him teaching her at Brookside. That was another thing; there was no way Jeanette would be okay with this in the first place. What was she thinking? Had her aunt not warned her just the other day that Monsieur Dupont was dangerous?

"We could not have them here. For now, the Opera House would work if the distance doesn't bother you. There are enough practice rooms that we wouldn't be disturbed. Besides, I doubt you'd be willing to have them anywhere more private than that." He wasn't wrong. While this whole idea was becoming less frightening by the minute, she still didn't know anything about him. But a lesson at the opera house didn't sound so bad, and her curiosity was killing her.

"I suppose that would work..."

"Good," he said definitively. "Does tomorrow work for you?"

"Tomorrow? Isn't that a little soon? I mean, I haven't even accepted yet."

"Mademoiselle, I have no interest in wasting time, whether yours or mine. This is the offer: I can give you a lesson at the Palais Garnier tomorrow at a time that is convenient for you. If you cannot commit to music in even this capacity, I have no reason to teach you." His bluntness was more than a little intimidating, as was his tone shift. Though still quiet, his voice had become severe and unrelenting.

Still, she began to panic. She could feel the offer slipping through her fingers, daring her to agree. Surely one lesson wouldn't do any harm, right? He was an incredible musician from what she could tell, and the lesson was free... Wasn't it better to take a risk than regret not taking it later? And if she said no now, could she ever hope that he would make the offer again? Christing wanted to agree; the words were on the tip of her tongue, but there were still so many doubts, so many red flags popping up. At her silence, M. Dupont spoke up.

"It appears I have my answer." She looked up to find him putting his hat on and adjusting his gloves. "I will not bother you again." He hadn't even taken two steps when she called out.

"Wait, please!" He stopped. "I-I should be free tomorrow morning; earlier is probably better. Would 8 a.m. be alright?" He turned back to face her, this time with a small smile.

"Of course, I will see you then." Christine felt a rush of relief, but it did not last. "There is, however, one condition. Should this condition ever be broken, our lessons will cease and you shall never hear from me again." It certainly got her attention. "I am a private man, and as such I must insist that these lessons remain private."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You may not tell anyone that I am giving you lessons. For all purposes, I will remain anonymous."

"I can't tell anyone? Not even my family?"

"Mlle. Daae, I doubt we would even be having these lessons in the first place if your aunt knew," he said a little bitterly.

"Well that I can understand, but what about my father or my brother? They don't even live in Paris-"

"No. They could live in America for all I care. The lessons remain a secret or they do not happen at all."

"Why didn't you tell me this before," she asked, feeling more than a little cheated. "This changes everything."

"It would be a shame if it does. A shame that such a small thing would deter you."

"I just don't understand why this privacy is so important you." She hated the way he spoke to her as if she was a child; as if her argument was trivial.

"And you don't need to understand. All I'm asking you to do is agree." She was ready to keep arguing, but he stopped her. "I don't need an answer tonight. I cannot force you to accept my conditions, but whatever you decide I will be waiting at the Opera House at 8 a.m. tomorrow. I urge you to think carefully before refusing." It was infuriating, but despite her outrage, she held her tongue. "Goodbye, Mlle. Daae. I hope to see you tomorrow," he said tersely before turning to leave.

With no small amount of indignation, she returned the farewell.


Erik walked away from the girl with no small amount of relief. The situation had ended so badly, but he couldn't help it. Her resistance was frustrating beyond belief. Despite his all his convincing and coercion, she remained at arms length. He was afraid 8 a.m. would come and go, and she would be nowhere to be found. If she didn't come tomorrow, he didn't know what he would do. He had promised to leave her be, but how could he? She could have everything. He could give her everything. And there would be no shadows for her, no hiding. For her he would pave a path that only went up. Her voice, the voice he would create, could be immortalized in history. If only she could see what he offered her. If only he could defeat the part of her that still resisted. No matter the cost, one way or another, he would lay this city at her feet.