A/N Sorry - zero time. Too much to do, too little time! Cracking right on!
The rehearsals started and continued swimmingly. Carlotta remained silent throughout the entirety of it so far, but a contented silence. Not one scowl cast toward anyone about anything. Though things stayed as they had originally been, people stayed out of her way and if they did not, she still had the words to have them shake in their boots. But nobody spoke behind her back anymore.
It seemed that her ordeal with Christine Daae had earned her more respect. The fear harnessed by many, now dwindling.
Nadir grinned at Angier as he all but bounced in his seat in pleasure.
"It's come together well," Nadir commented easily in a moment when Angier had stilled, "You've been rescued from Carlotta's wrath."
Angier chuckled, having the decency to not shy away from reality – Carlotta rattled him too.
"This is true! I am content."
"Hmm…don't let yourself relax too much, my friend, this madness isn't quite over yet."
"Whatever do you mean?" Angier stopped his clapping at one of the act's performances, frowning.
Nadir swivelled in his seat a little more to look at Angier,
"Don't tell me you've forgotten about the Opera Ghost and Christine Daae."
"Ah."
It was regrettable to see the young Manager's face sour so quickly after having been so care-free mere moments before.
"We shall continue to keep a whither eye out." He nodded resolutely, contented with his own answer and prepared to forget the chat.
But Nadir shook his head, stealing a glance at a rather attractive act who had appeared on stage. Olive skin, emerald green eyes.
"The situation is changing, Monsieur," Nadir informed him, pulling Angier from his resolve. When Angier gave him a baffled stare, Nadir jerked his head toward a couple of rows back to where the Comte sat, deep in thought and not entirely happy.
"What of him? So he's in love with a woman who won't love him back. C'est la vie!"
"No, no…I don't think it is so simple. The De Chagny's are a brave few. If he thinks Christine is in danger then he will not hesitate to take action without us."
"Well is she in danger?" Angier asked cautiously.
"I don't know. Erik is mad, always has been. The De Chagny's are brash. Both men, Raoul and this one have always had a tendency to believe Christine to be still a child, incapable of making logical and independent choices. It is a fair thought…"
"But not when you have only just met her again after 3 years, hmm? I presume you now see what no one else can see." Angier answered with a half-smile.
Nadir tapped his nose.
"There you go. If he does choose to meddle, then I'm not sure Monsieur le Fantom will continue to be so sane."
"You think he is sane?"
Nadir was given pause, ignoring the imploring look upon the manager's face,
"So, you see my worry, yes?"
"I see your worry, yes." Angier clapped his hands together but once, a sign of his determination, "So! What do we do?"
Nadir stifled a chuckle,
"We don't let the Comte out of our sight."
"That's it?" Angier's shoulders sank, "That's…it?"
"That is it. This thing has the potential to resolve itself, in time. So let us see, yes? Just –"
When both men glanced back, the Comte was gone and Nadir's words died in his mouth.
Angier took in a sharp breath, mirroring Nadir's sudden unease.
"Apparently it is not so easy."
OOOooooOOOOoooOOO
Christine swept off of the stage, her voice beginning to tire and yet knowing full well that Erik would have her sing until she fell to her knees in an effort to make sure that not only she, but he as well, was prepared for the following night's performance.
After having spoken to Nadir and Angier about her further activities, furthermore discovering that Philip De Chagny was not present and was a mystery as to his whereabouts, she disappeared into the old dressing room.
She managed to find her way quite quickly this time though she only ever needed to walk so far before the Phantom of the Opera would spirit her away under his wing.
"I was beginning to think you were never going to come." Came his smooth, disembodied voice, thrown around the darkness like a plaything, leaving Christine at a loss as to where to look.
"I must admit," the voice continued, "The rehearsals are very thorough – tomorrow night will be a night to remember."
At last he emerged from her right, painfully close and yet never daring to brush a hair against her body.
"I'll always come, it is an important night after all. I can't get it wrong." She countered, instinctively moving away from him, his presence as haunting as ever.
"I hope so. But I wonder…" he trailed off, his chin held for moment, poised in the air as if being spectacularly arrogant but the unspoken words remained aloof and never formulated. Christine sensed their meaning regardless of sound or not but she dared not address them for fear of the outcome.
"Come," he said instead, daring to offer his hand once again, "We no longer have much time, you and I."
Christine, once again, hesitated at the sight of his hand but Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, remained ever patient, waiting for her to take his hand instead of him taking hers.
She did, eventually and was surprised by its warmth. But it was a gloved hand; a comfortable leather sheath that protected the warmth from the cold. An acceptable allusion, Christine concluded as he led her down once more.
Once they had made it into his house, the stone walls so immaculately laid down to encompass such an immaculate piece of architecture, Erik wasted no time in all but dragging her to the organ chanting 'Sing' over and over again as if it were his mantra.
Christine didn't as a result and simply watched him in amusement as he seemed to flutter about the organ talking excitedly about singing and how well things were coming along.
"Carlotta." He then said, out of the abyss of words that had fallen at his feet, "She seems to have had a change of heart."
Christine almost choked on nothing at the sudden subject matter.
"…yes…I suppose she has."
"Why was she embracing you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Believe it or not, yes it does. She's a conniving little devil and trust means everything to me."
"I'm capable of handling myself now, Erik. I'm a grown woman."
He smirked,
"Hardly."
There struck a pregnant moment of silence after those words tumbled out of his mouth. Erik was aware that he had said something abysmally incorrect but could not bring himself to face his mistake. Christine tried to reel in her rage, the sudden fountain of tears that tingled at the back of her eyes which she had sworn she had outgrown.
"I don't believe you mean that." She told him lightly, treading egg shells as she tried not to suddenly burst into tears. Carlotta had been a rather sudden light in the darkness and here this appalling man was shaming her for it.
"I…don't mean it in such a literal sense. I mean that you are far too trusting. Child-like."
"When was the last time you actually spoke to the Signora?"
Erik whipped around, sitting down at his organ without a care to look her in the eye.
"It doesn't matter. My point, my dear, is that no one changes that drastically in the space of no time at all." He answered her bitterly.
"She didn't change…" Christine tried carefully, understanding dawning upon her with each look Erik failed to give her, "She's always been that way. Somewhere beneath the diva, she's always been this way."
"I've known her far longer than you have, Christine, do you honestly think that's true?"
Christine was silent for a moment; she filtered all the things she could have said in response to him – all of them just as hurtful as the other, all of them related to his time as the Opera Ghost.
"You're jealous." She barely whispered to him and the words froze him. He was so still Christine thought she may have frozen time itself and yet, a small, insignificant little creature flapped its tiny wings across her vision without a care other than how to escape the hole it found itself in.
Pity; poor, little thing. Christine watched it for only a moment before returning her attention to Erik.
"Jealous of what, my dear?" he asked her coolly, the mirth dripping off of every word, "That she got to comfort you? That she got to hear you tearful secrets? That she got to whisper lovely, little comforts into your ear to soothe you? Oh no. If it were the Comte, I might be inclined to agree but jealous of Carlotta? Oh, my dear, no."
He rose, all the more agile in the dangerous throes of a building rage. But for the life of her, Christine didn't know what had begun to anger him. His stealthy approach made her weary. Every day she had told herself that he would never dare hurt her. Alas, the doubts cascaded in from over the certainty with this death march he was making towards her.
"You have no right." She tried to say, mustering as much defiance as she could and failing, "I needed someone – anyone! Carlotta was there and it was genuine. I don't believe that she means to toss me aside the moment she has the chance and quite frankly; I don't mind if she does."
Erik stopped, surprised.
"…what?"
"She's given me a comfort, Erik, one that I couldn't find anywhere else. She can have the world as far as I'm concerned. Funny," her gaze dropped to Erik's pristine black, polished shoes, "Not too long ago, I disliked her just as much as she apparently hated me. Why do you begrudge me all my comforts?"
She regretted the words the instant they came out and yet she could not bring herself to apologise. Even as he drew away from her, a wounded animal in retreat with nowhere to run, she could not apologise.
"I do not begrudge you your comforts. I am merely sceptical of their origin." He said this with a hurt, matter-of-fact tone. His infuriating line of defence, Christine knew. Ghost or not, genius or not he was still just a man who did the same thing as other men – or at the very least, Raoul – when they had their pride tinkered with. They became obnoxious and factual.
"Does it matter if they comfort me? Some lies are meant for good." She told his back as he turned from her back to his organ, "Some lies are told knowing full well that when the truth comes out, it'll be disappointing but at the very least, the hurt will mostly be gone."
"So if Carlotta does take the world from you, you will not be hurt because she offered you this…comfort…" he sneered, "So be it. You may have this false sense of security but rest assured; if she does try anything…uncouth…"
"You will remind her of the Opera Ghost. You will remind her of Piangi. You will remind her of your terrible wrath and incredible ability to over-look the fundamentals of humanity, empathy, kindness –"
"All things that make us human, yes. Have you forgotten what I am so soon, my dear?!" Erik was up again, a whirl of fury, storming towards Christine, reaching for her, eyes as hard as stone and hands of iron opening themselves up to her, "A Godforsaken monster! I have and will always be that way! You dare forget it?!"
Christine was frozen stiff, even as his hands clamped like claws on her shoulders in a vice grip,
"YOU DARE FORGET IT! YOU DARE ME TO BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN THAT? YOU PRETTY LITTLE FOOL!"
"Let go."
He did. Instantly. He was crying. A quiet release of torment, once again slowly sinking to his knees,
"I am no man at all, Christine! I cannot offer you those comforts you so desire and I begrudge others who can! I am a monster because of that! A monster living amongst monstrosities who have the audacity to think themselves kind!" he cried, clutching her dress, "And you, my love, indeed kind and compassionate and here with me now believe them all. It saddens me to know that you do not see what is right in front of you. I embody them all!"
"You embody no one but you, Erik. Please," she whispered, trying again to pry her dress from the troubled man's slender fingers, "Please, Erik, we all have a little bit of monster in us. We all act on it on occasion."
"You don't!"
"You have yet to see me lose my temper." She offered him a tired smile, a jest if she dared but Erik stared blankly at her as if he didn't understand. "Come, get up…"
He rose with her help, a wonderment that had his eyes wide and his lips poised in an 'O' shape.
"You're an enigma, Erik," she told him, allowing her smile to stay where it was, "You're not a monster. Perhaps a little misguided."
Erik let out a peculiar puff of air as if he had attempted to laugh but couldn't quite find the energy.
"I am jealous." He told at last.
"I know."
Silence. Oh, how strange it was and here she thought Erik had finally found his peace, able to withstand the weight of the world as a sane man but jealousy got the best of him. Of all things; jealousy.
Without another word, he went back to his organ. She sang once and no more and the rest of their evening was her gazing at his back while he sat well poised to play a beautiful something that just couldn't quite find life.
OooOOOOoooOOOOooo
Following them had not been easy but gone were the days where the Ghost had to look behind him. No one cared anymore.
Phillipe, in the darkness and with an unsettling sense of hurt, turned from the dream that was before him and trudged from the opera depths up towards the light.
OoOOOoOOOOOoooOOo
Nadir bid the manager a fond farewell as he headed back to his hotel. The night was getting on but with the gala the very next day, well things needed to be prepared and Angier would not be missing a minute of it. The man had a boundless amount of energy that Nadir didn't understand.
He smiled to himself, hands in his pockets as he strolled contentedly down the walk-way. Movement ahead caught his eye, however and upon looking on, he guessed it to be non-other than Phillipe. He didn't even glance back to look at who was coming behind him. The man, in his tall stature and straight posture – in every way a gentleman – appeared to be sleepwalking as if in a dream. He floated more than walked, a steady pace that the moonlight leant light well to accommodate.
"Monsieur le Comte!" Nadir called clearly and yet he had to call twice before the Comte turned to acknowledge him. Even then, his turn was slow and deliberate. Nadir wondered whether perhaps he should have let the Comte be. The man seemed tired and unsettled. An uneasy feeling of guilt was dripping from his being though his eyes were hard.
"Monsieur Kahn, a pleasant evening. I trust everything for the gala tomorrow is going well."
"Yes, Monsieur." Nadir answered him wearily but didn't continue.
The Comte nodded,
"And I assume Monsieur Angier is still wide awake and prancing around making arrangements."
Nadir tasted the bitterness of those words. He frowned,
"I wouldn't put it that way, Monsieur. He's an energetic man but he is in control of what he is doing."
"Is he aware of where all the dancers go when they're not dancing? Or where the singers go when they're not singing?"
Nadir took a step away from him, drawing his hands from out his pocket. The Comte was angry. Seething, in fact. Nadir felt threatened which was an unexpected feeling around the De Chagny's. Men of high society.
"Where is Christine?"
"You are tired, Monsieur." Nadir said carefully, edging around the Comte, "As am I. You will see her in the morning, I am sure but for now, you and I must find sleep. It will do you good."
"I haven't slept in many nights, Monsieur Kahn." Phillipe snapped rather suddenly, drawing Nadir to a halt, "I haven't slept because of a great many reasons, many of which you are aware. All I am asking is where Christine is. Believe me, Sir, when I say, I fear for her safety."
"She…she is safe, Monsieur." Nadir put his hands up, "Is this not enough to hear it from me. I who knows the ghost better than us all."
"It would be, Monsieur…but you all have done so fine a job of excluding me from the goings on of the Opera Ghost and Mademoiselle Daae that I feel the trust slowly slipping away."
Nadir, observing the shift in weight of the Comte's coat suddenly felt the dread rise in him,
"Monsieur Comte…what have you done?"
Phillipe gave a limp, lifeless smile, nodded and began to retreat, offering up a wistful wave,
"Good evening, Monsieur Kahn."
He left Nadir standing there in the cool night air, unsure of what to do with his hands.
OoOOOOOoOoOoO
Christine wondered back early the next morning, having stopped by to gaze on the spectacle that was the stage. It's old, rusty charm somewhat dimmed by the dazzling show-lights that paved the way for the future of staged theatre.
It was bright and festive with strings of glitter that hung from all over, masquerade masks that had been pinned masterfully to various pieces of wall that could be seen, vivacious feathers poked out from the wings and enormous plant-life adding to the madness as if the entire setting was amidst a jungle. Ultimately, it was a spectacular show of vaudeville.
The celebrations that would follow the night's events was sure to be one of some magnitude. One which many would not remember in the morning. It would be to the masses what it would not be to Christine. Or Phillipe. Or Nadir. Or even Erik. She never loved Raoul, not the way he loved her but he was and would always be her closest friend and to sing his send off as if it were a requiem would be a relief.
"An utter monstrosity."
Christine sighed.
"I thought you had stayed down there."
"And leave you to wonder whimsically back on your own?" She turned to Erik, his mask not fitting to the peculiar anticipation laced in his voice,
"I would never do such a thing."
"No."
Erik went silent and Christine didn't dare meet his eyes just then.
"It is a bit much, isn't it? Oh well, it's not my place." She gave the stage a slight nod of disapproval before turning sternly back to Erik, hands laced behind his back with the perfect demeanour of the gentleman, "Nor is it yours. Do not cause any havoc this evening. Monsieur Angier has put a lot of effort into this."
"I can see that. A lot of effort but not a lot of thought."
"Erik."
The Opera Ghost's eyes lit up at their corners and Christine recognised his smile. Such an odd sensation, she thought, to know that she could now tell when he was smiling.
"I won't touch a thing, Mademoiselle."
"Have a good day, Erik. I will see you this evening. Wait where you will but please enter the stage when I introduce as any normal person might do; humbly and with grace. Please?"
"I'm neither humble nor gracious, Christine, what you're asking is far-"
"Goodbye." She turned away from his infuriating amusement to leave him standing in the quiet of the auditorium only to have her call her back. Were it not for a slight hitch in his tone, she might have waved him off.
She turned back to find his exterior had changed again. It made her uneasy but it was by no means an aggressive change; in fact he seemed skittish, easily startled as his hands began to ring each other and his weight shifted from his right foot to his left and back.
"Do you truly mean to have me perform with you on stage?"
Her shoulders dropped,
"Or course."
He relaxed, a wave of contented acceptance flowed from him and yet, she could see there was more for him to say. She waited.
"What, might I ask, is to happen after the performance?"
She knitted her brows and found she had not the answer, or perhaps the heart to tell him. Maybe she lacked the stamina to answer it herself.
It was the question she had been evading ever since having decided to work with him.
"We go to the ball." She said simply, chastising herself for bearing his appalled silence with an indifference she didn't feel. He knew full well she was neglecting to answer his question deliberately and it must have hurt. He didn't press her any further. His shoulders seemed to grow lax as his hands dropped to his sides, the melancholic mask finally fitting his person again.
She walked away, unable to avoid a shake that had taken hold, a dangerous sob daring her to let out a breath.
Sleep. She thought. Sleep and all shall be clearer in the morning.
But Phillipe was sitting on a chair by the hearth, eyes blood shot, face grim, body as stiff as wet paper. Moulded to his chair as if they were made together.
"You haven't slept," she told him carefully as he watched her enter, "Are you alright?"
"Am I alright?" A burst of manic laughter escaped from tight lips, "I'm quite well if not a little perturbed by the hour of your return. You do know your performance is tonight? That you will be singing for a very great audience once more and that it will be for my brother?"
"Yes, Phillipe," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper under the malevolent toil of Philip's words, "I am aware. I am ready. I swear it but I must sleep now, for a few hours or –"
"Why, did you not sleep there? Underground?"
"Phillipe, what's the matter?"
He rose, the energy that wafted off of his person frightened her, surprising her in its ferocity yet he moved gently and his voice didn't rise a decibel. Then it all went away. Suddenly he looked very tired, his eyes were bright and the bags under his eyes made his face look gaunt and haunting. In one minute, Phillipe aged ten years.
Instinctively, she raised a hand to cup his face, her thumb flowing over the rise of his cheekbone, sharper than it had been two weeks prior.
Without hesitation, he pressed his face into her hand, shutting his eyes to the feeling of warmth that came from it.
"Phillipe?"
"I want you to be safe, Christine." He told her, his lips moving against the denture of her palm, "That's all. I don't like you wondering the depths of the opera house alone with this…this…"
"Man." She finished for him, not unkindly, "This man. It is imperative that we all come to terms with that. Bearing this burden will become simpler once you realise that we deal in tangible things. God knows my life is somewhat more understandable now that this ghost is…real."
"But you didn't leave it behind – You didn't leave him behind, Christine and that's what should have happened. We should have moved on. We're here."
He took a hold of her hand just as it dropped from his face and held it in such earnestness, she thought the threat of him losing his propriety was quite possible.
"I'm here for Raoul, Phillipe. To –"
"Lay the ghost to rest, as it were. Yes, I heard." His gaze shifted from her bitterly to a spot out of her peripheral vision. When his gaze returned to her, the softness was gone, the exhaustion stamped out. In its place, lay its cold echo. Betrayal and sarcasm dripped from those last few words so venomously that Christine feared a spontaneous outburst of regrettable vernacular.
Phillipe was angry with her because she couldn't see what he thought he saw. Danger in every corner. Maybe that was so but Christine no longer had the energy to fend off the shadows that kept creeping into her soul every time she closed her eyes. The shadows that followed her from here to there in her dreams without being seen and whom she missed in her waking hours.
Raoul. She closed her eyes briefly to the sound of his name in her head. Erik.
Raoul brought to mind the memory of the sea. A calming and collected memory.
Erik brought music. A million music notes that floated in between dreams. The trouble was; she would always choose music over the sea.
"Are you sure that's all you're here for? You see, Christine, I don't think you ever managed to shake this 'Phantom'. His hold is still on your wrist. I promised Raoul and myself that – "
"You would keep me safe? That's all very well and good, Monsieur," She noted how Phillipe flinched at her formality, a shocked hurt flashing in his eyes, "But have you not noticed how Monsieur Khan is here to do the same and yet he seems to have taken a step back…Maybe you have the wrong of it."
"He does not understand…"
"How can that be so? He was there with Raoul that night. He knows Erik inside out. If he has taken a step back then maybe you should too. I'm not asking you to abandon me, Phillipe! My dear, dear Phillipe – all I'm asking is that you trust me. Trust that I am able to make my own, rational decisions."
She held onto his hands having grasped them in her fire, clutching them firmly so that he might feel as well as hear her resolve in the matter. He consented to her, bowing his head meekly in the wake of her words and yet something in the way his eyes grew distant and, for lack of a better word, cold, worried Christine. He was never and would never be a bad man. But all humans were prone to misguidance and if any flaws were to be given to the Chagny men, they were self-righteous to the bone.
"Very well." He told her simply, allowing her to let go of his hands, his fingertips sliding from hers limply, "Tomorrow, this will all be over."
Christine stared at him as he held her gaze, adding a little more gently, a warm and tired smile gracing his rigid lips,
"The Show-case, of course. Don't look at me so."
But his smile slipped from his face as he turned away, straightening his coat.
A/N Please leave a review :)