Entries 26-28

Entry 26

I am under the belief that my husband is borderline insane with jealousy. My desire of to quell Raoul's advances have backfired and now I see him almost every day during rehearsals. The more he is around, the more I catch the sight of glowing gold eyes from almost every dark corner imaginable. I want to believe that this is some trick of Erik's to make me believe he has eyes everywhere when he surely does not…but if I were to say that its effect was not working I would surely be lying. We have moved into dress rehearsals for Faust and it is harder to move in the skimpy slippers I am required to wear. Before, I could move about the halls and quickly proceed to my dressing room without being caught by Raoul. Now, I am caught at every break.

Dear Raoul! Your advances are only making things worse! Don't you see this? Don't you understand that? Raoul comes to me with words of devotion, quiet words of desperation and love. He whispers into my ear that all I need to do is say the word and he will take me anywhere. Once he smiled and said that he wishes to go to Sweden and I nearly began to cry. He must have seen my falter, for he let a wink of a smile cross his features. Just behind him in the distance of the hall, I was sure I saw Erik's ever watchful eyes. I gasped in fear, told Raoul to get away from me rather forcefully and fled to my dressing room. I had expected Erik to be waiting there to reproach my smallest of dreams, but he was not.

To make matters worse, all of Carlotta's followers have turned against me. She has made it quite clear that she is not fearful of the Opera Ghost and will not abide by his wishes to catch a cough on the opening day of Faust. As I am the understudy for hr role, she has spread the theory that I am in relations with the Opera Ghost and should be held accountable for his threats. She has a way of saying these things so brashly and in just the right location for her words to be shot around the house of the theatre as if she were performing a dramatic play. All the while, all I can do is stand at my place in the chorus, hands clenched into fists with head down to hide my shame. What am I to say to her? There is no reasoning with a diva. Once Raoul heard of these accusations he wrote to the managers of my poor treatment. I wish he had not. He had no idea what his actions would do.

I understand that I cannot force Erik away from my career or personal life, but I can, at least, try and push Raoul away. As if my day-to-day existence in rehearsals were not unbearable enough, Erik hasn't been any sort of comfort to return home to. Every day he presses me with questions. All of them are about Raoul. What's worse, is they are questions that are steeped in falsehoods that he has created for himself. It's been awful and exhausting.

"That boy is filled with empty promises, Christine."

"He promises nothing, Erik," I replied.

Hardly an hour later after a long silence, he spoke again, "You must like looking at that boy's face. I know you do. He is rather pretty for a man. How fitting. He is a child who has been gifted money."

I gulped and tried to continue my cross-stitching, "You assume too far, husband."

Before I went to bed he sneered, "He meets you at your dressing room because he wants to be alone with you. All men want the same thing when they're alone with a woman."

"Erik, enough!" I cried as my body shook, "As if it were not hard enough being rumored for treachery at the opera now I must come home to your dishonorable accusations. I have done nothing to deserve this!"

"You must be thinking of these things." he said through his teeth, "How could you not? I see the way you look at him when you think you're alone."

My words were hollow, "I am never alone. You've seen to that."

"Your thoughts speak for you."

I finally snapped, "I had no perverse thoughts until you put them into my head. Your distrust me in is from your own insecurity, not mine!"

Once the words were released, I clapped my hand over my mouth. How had I been so forward? I wondered if he would strike me. I wondered if he would yell. I even wondered if he would bed me…this caused a flash of heat across my neck…My god, where would that thought ever come from? What's happened to me?

After a very long silence, I mumbled something about going to bed. He still said nothing. That night, my confused tired brain began to wander around my small bedroom. My thoughts drifted to my womanhood. How strange it is. How could something that I once only attributed to pain and embarrassment also be the base of such feelings I find myself unable to properly describe? One of my hands slowly traveled to the spot that only Erik had ever touched. What had he done that night at the inn? Was that something all men were capable of? Was that something I was capable of?

My hand retreated as if suddenly burned. No. No, that was not something I wanted to know. As much I had - dare I say - enjoyed our last private encounter, I do not fully understand if that is acceptable. Erik is not a religious man. I know him to have done things that are not respectable. I know I am to submit to my husband, but am I to do such things that may be a sin? I cannot begin to express the depths of my confusion. Do all couples engage in such acts? Does Erik know something that they don't? Has he…done this sort of thing before?

I blush at the thought.

I would die if I ever had to say such things aloud! I shouldn't even be writing them! Oh, the shame I would have if someone were to ever discover this book!

I can't even think about that.


Entry 27

Today is the opening of Faust and Carlotta is more a tyrant now than every before. I feel like an outcast in the only place I felt I ever connected with in this city. The only person who even talks to me in passing is my dresser and even she seems to be hiding her true feelings about me. The one person who genuinely seems to be wanting to connect with me is Raoul and I'm not allowed to talk to him. I finally had to send him a note telling him to never speak to me again. I said that if he loved me even a little, that he'll do this. I told him quite frankly that both our lives depending on him leaving me alone and that I would never forget him.

It was all I could do to not smear the ink with my tears! Even now I am focusing on my breath to steady my hand. It's hard to describe just how lonely I've been recently. For over half of my life I've either been with my father or had some kind of family surrounding me. There has never been a time I've truly felt alone until now. Even my husband is someone I find myself estranged from now. I cannot stand his mean words and it seems that we no longer can share a conversation without him bringing Raoul into it. What's worse is that I cannot seem to get away from the opera as Erik has been very strict on me staying under his domain.

Only two days ago, le Comte de Changy wrote me a letter requesting my presence. He told me that Raoul had been inconsolable since his return from Perros and that he wanted to speak with me concerning my behavior towards his brother. I found out about this letter through Erik who waved it in front of my face like a flag. I wanted to stand up to him, to tell him that he should not be so forward with my personal correspondence. I wanted to tell him that if he would only let me handle the letter on my own that I would calmly tell le Comte that I did not want to be held responsible for Raoul's feelings. I have been as forward with him as I ever could be and his feelings were his own…Sure, I could write that, but if I am being honest with myself, I know that not to be true.

Erik had me respond to le Comte de Changy, but with his words. I wrote as he spoke over my shoulder, "Your brother's feelings are one sided and I wish to be left alone. I will not discuss this matter with you or anyone else. - Mademoiselle Daae"

After the paper had dried, Erik snatched it from me and left the house with a bang. It was hardly past supper time and with an empty stomach, I cried myself to sleep.

My final tipping point was yesterday. I have slept more than anything this week and yet I always seem to be tired. Every morning, Erik and I review the entire part of Margarita in Faust. After this, I am sent to rehearsal where I watch Carlotta perform the part. Ever time she has a chance to see me, and it doesn't matter if it's on stage or off, she narrows her eyes in threat. I wonder, what is the point of all of this work? She is clearly very confident in her role. Why does Erik even try? It's only making everything worse for me. I feel it very unfair that everyone around me wants to make even the smallest of matters so difficult for me.

During the last intermission break, I was walking back to my dressing room and was doing everything in my power to push the lump in my throat down. If I were to start crying, my voice would become weak for the final act. I didn't need anyone around me noticing any further weakness than I already exposed. Raoul stopped me at the door of my dressing room.

"Do you love him?"

"What?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Your husband. Do you love him?"

"Please do not ask such a thing."

I tried to push past him, but he did not move.

"If you do not love him could you possibly love me, Christine?" he pleaded.

"Do not ask me this!" I cried as all of my pent up tears shot from my eyes. I heaved past him, locked the door and collapsed in my dressing room. I stayed on the floor until an assistant manager tapped on my door calling for places. I had no time to repair my makeup as I was scrambling to change into another costume. By the time I reached the stage, I was out of breath, my eyes were swollen, my makeup was all disheveled, and it felt like everyone was staring at me. I wanted to run away from everything. It was impossible to sing for the final act and my voice tapered and was flat until I finally resulted in mouthing the words rather than sing. I couldn't escape the awful glances from those around me.

The last thing I did before leaving my dressing room that evening was written Raoul the note. I handed it to my dresser and asked she deliver the message personally. She was not thrilled at the extra task, but I gave her all the coins in my purse to do it. It's not like I would be able to do anything with the money anyway. I was not allowed to leave.

Places have been called. I must go. It's opening night and I am not Margarita. I am not anyone anymore. My voice is broken and so am I. If I could have given my solos to someone else I would have, but Erik would surely not allow that. He told me to be ready this evening for something big. He was strangely excited about it. Almost to the point of madness. I want to be afraid, but I am too weak to feel anything besides sadness now.


Entry 28

I am a prisoner. And I'm afraid it's all my fault. A state of chaos has erupted from the Opera Garnier. For that, I cannot be held accountable for…or perhaps I can. Is it truly my fault that Erik's love reaches out to embrace lunacy? Perhaps if I had not agreed to marry him things would be different. Perhaps if I had stowed away in some poor boarding house while the repairs were being done rather than jump at the first man to offer me a bed to sleep in none of this would have happened. Erik once told me that there are some philosophers that believe in alternate universes. If I were to have held out longer if I hadn't been so weak, would things have turned out better?

People are dead. I am certain of it. How does one survive a falling chandelier? Erik denies my beliefs, but he has lied to me before. Why wouldn't he lie about this? He believes that if he can keep making up pretty tales from far off places that somehow everything will be alright between us, but it's not so simple. Why would he ever believe otherwise? How can I forgive him when he has blood on his hands? What's worse, he shows no remorse at all! If he were saddened or would repent, I might be able to forgive him, but he is anything but!

I…I should write the entire story. Maybe that would make me feel better. No. I don't believe anything could really make me feel better at this point. I'm trapped down here forever and I believe him when he says he'll never set me free. If there are any words I can believe from him now, it is that I will rot down here with him.

The opening night of Faust was horrific. I was tired, and hungry but couldn't eat, no one would talk to me, and oh, oh those terrible glances I would receive from people. It is an unfair juxtaposition to be a performer. How easy it could be to dissolve into nothing sitting behind a desk as a clerk might, but no, as a woman, I am made to be seen and as a performer, there is never an escape if I want to earn any income. I suppose monetary needs are no longer present for me, but still…

As I stepped on the stage with the chorus, I was painfully aware of Raoul in his brother's box. Raoul looked awful. He was thin and pale and had the most terrible look of utter sadness over his once carefree features. I wondered why he would even be there as no one would hold it against him if he had claimed to be ill. As if the glares from the chorus were not bad enough, le Comte's eyes went from his brother's to mine in a sincere sort of distaste. How was this my fault that I could not return Raoul's advances? Even without being married, doesn't Comte de Changy understand that love is not enough for society to accept us? Did he simply expect that I would fall to his brother's advances as other women have done for him at the opera? I am sure I have done nothing to solicit Raoul's feelings and yet I am seen as the one to blame.

My solo in Margarita's garden was retched. I sounded no better if not worse than I did before Erik began to teach me. He must have been furious with me. He must have known what I was thinking and why I was so awful. Raoul was weeping in the box and le Comte looked stiff and merciless as he gave his brother a swift pat on the back. It was not a friendly or comforting gesture.

I was grateful to hear the applause as Carlotta made her way to the stage. Finally, everyone would be expected to see her and let me disappear into the chorus. While Margarita is understood to be good and modest, Carlotta stomped onto the stage as if she were a soprano version of Carmen. I looked away from the indignity she was cast upon a character I had always loved. The crowd, however, exploded into praise and I felt even more alone.

Faust was on a knee and they were singing to one another when all of a sudden Carlotta opened her mouth only to admit the sound of a toad! The sound shocked me into reality and I looked up. Was it my imagination? I looked up to Raoul and he too seemed to no longer be in his own thoughts. Whispers swam through the crowd. If it had been me, a new singer without Carlotta's reputation, I'm sure I would have been booed off the stage. But no, this was Carlotta. She is known far and wide for her good talent. She would be given the chance to recover if she took it.

One of the managers could easily be seen leaning over his box with a program held tightly in his hand. He waved it at her and whispered, "Well, go on!" at a volume easily heard by all. Carlotta steadied herself and took a shaking uneasy breath. Four words in and CROAK. Four words more, CROAK. Four and a half and her final CROAK. The audience was in an uproar as people had begun to stand and throw down their programs. And then…laughter.

It seemed to be coming from the manager's box, but when looking up to them, their mouths were wide in shock and they looked around as if trying to catch the sound. The laughter grew and grew until it was so loud the entire theatre was drowned out by it. It was awful and unsettling and I knew - I knew - it was Erik. The only thing to break his terrible laughter were his own powerful words that shook the stage.

"SHE IS SINGING TONIGHT TO BRING THE CHANDELIER DOWN!"

Everyone raised their eyes to see what horror awaited them in the painted sky of the arched ceiling. The large hanging structure swayed back and forth and the lights were flickering around the stage with each sway. The chain holding the mass gave a jolt. The breath of everyone stopped. The world froze and one moment seemed to last an hour, but even that long breathless hour was too short and the once glorified talking piece that hung beautifully over the house was smashed to pieces.

Terror took hold and everyone was running. I too was running, but I did not know where. Where could I go? I couldn't possibly meet Erik in my dressing room. I was too afraid of him! Such anger and violence! What if he were still in such a state when I saw him? I would be trapped and he could hurt me! I had to run and run I did. So many people were pushing past each other. I saw as some of the older chorus members were shoved into walls. I saw as one woman with a bad knee tipped and was stepped on. I began to slip into hysterics as I ran with the masses towards the doors.

For a fleeting moment, I thought that was my chance. I seriously thought I could run away with everyone else and run away from everything I had trapped myself in. I could see the stage door down the hall. It called to me. It had flown open and I could feel the cold night air. I wanted to run and run to the see, do whatever I had to in order to receive passage on a boat, and go straight to Sweden. I was ready. I was desperate. And somewhere in my poor mind, I was sure anything was possible.

But then the door closed. There was a collision of people as the flow had been disrupted. I felt crushed as those behind me shoved me into those before me. The wind was knocked out of me. More terrified shrieks erupted around us. Someone was saying the door had been locked. Panic rose as people were trying to move from the front through the rest of the people to the back. People were running backward and I was caught in a whirlpool of bodies until I was pushed back out onto the stage just behind a backdrop. I could hear the cries of agony from the house.

I didn't know what to do. It was clear that no one knew what to do. People were still running all around me. I was being pushed every time I tried to move. My poor mind couldn't think and I slowly made my way to the opposite side of the stage. Sometime during my cross, I began to sob. My makeup streaked down my face and I blindly used my sleeve to wipe it away. What different did it make if I turned the light fabric to the lost colors of my face? What was left for me at the opera?

The feeling of being trapped was overwhelming. Where was I to go? Was any place safe for me anymore? I wanted to empty my stomach even as I had not eaten all day. I stumbled over my feet and finally led up against the brick wall of the backstage area. I couldn't think clearly. Where was the nearest door? Where were all of these people running to if the doors were shut? Were we all damned in here together? I wandered back from where I came until gravity fell on me as the floor was slipped open from beneath me.

I fell for at least the length of my body if not farther and was caught roughly at the hips. I believe I screamed when I feel. My eyes turned to see the square hole above me close on itself. Surely, I had fallen through a trap door. Turning my tear-fogged vision around in the dimly lit underground, I was met by my masked husband. He righted me on the floor and kept his hands squarely on my hips. I was dazed from the chaos and shock, but his voice woke me.

"Are you hurt?"

Realization struck. My husband was a murderer and this murderer was holding me. I tensed and tried to step away, but he refused to let me go.

"Christine," he reprimanded.

"Unhand me!" I barked as I tried to shove his hands away from me. He looked hurt, as he moved his head to one side, but he was not the one who deserved to feel such a way. He murdered people! I spoke again, "You will let me go!"

He clutched my shoulders and brought me closer to him.

"You are in shock. That is understandable, but we must move from here."

He tried to take my hand and lead me on, but I rebuffed.

"I will not move! Those people…can't you hear them? You hurt them!"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand. Come along."

He tugged again and I went with him a step before regaining my footing. I worked to pry his firm grasp from me.

"Do not test me, Christine. Come." He said quietly and I saw him reach into his coat with his other hand. I froze. What was he reaching for? What was he going to do to me? The next time he spoke, his voice was kind and wistful, "Come, my girl."

I stood still with limp arms. What did he have in his coat? In a flash of black, he was behind me, holding my arms to my sides, as he pulled a folded white cloth to my face. I tensed and began to struggle, but he held on and whispered, "You'll be fine, my love. You need to unwind yourself." The cloth was pushed onto my face over my nose and mouth. I tried to scream as he held my face still. "We're going home, love. You'll feel better once we're home."

The effect of the bitter smelling dampness of the cloth began to have its effect. My body lost its tense and my vision turned to clouds. He dragged me along, this time he walked directly by my side and I could feel his arm around my shoulders holding me up. My feet moved, but I couldn't feel them. Then I couldn't feel much of anything, but I knew I was moving. Somewhere deep below the stage, I finally passed out.

That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is that once I was awake and thinking again, I tried to run away. I tried and I failed. He is expecting me for breakfast soon. I hope to write again soon. I fear for my sanity.


A/N: As always, thank you for your favorites, follows, and reviews from the last chapter. I have the rest of this story planned out, but it's your encouragement that keeps me writing. Thank you! Your feedback is the only payment I receive for my written imagination haha