Author's Notes: I've decided for some chapters of the story to switch occasionally perspectives so the following will be part R/C and part E/M. Enjoy and please review!
Chapter 9: A Rising Darkness
"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes."
from MacBeth by William Shakespeare
It was ten days before her and Raoul's engagement party that the nightmare started all over again.
Christine distinctly remembered that she had gone to a tailor with Adele that morning to try on a new dress for the ball. Jacque Audric was a renowned designer of fashionable gowns and waistcoats for upper class Paris and for this memorable occasion had fairly outdone himself. The gown was made of a heavy rich material, crimson in color to perfectly complement her dark curls, with a full skirt and bustle that draped beautifully. There was a line of small gold beads sewn into the slim bodice and a scooped neck which revealed Christine's pristine white shoulders. She had blushed while wearing that ostentatious dress, unused to the feel of soft velvet and silk against her skin, the rustle of its long train on the floor. Even in the opera house with its many costumes, Christine had never worn anything nearly so lovely. And now standing upon a platform with Monsieur Audric who was armed with pins, she felt nothing short of being a porcelain doll.
"Lovely, absolutely magnificent," pronounced the tailor as he took a step back to admire his handiwork.
"Oh Christine," gasped Adele with a wondering look, "You look so beautiful." She rushed to hug her friend though careful at the same time not to crush the fabric. "How do you feel?"
"Strange," replied Christine and broke into a tentative smile, "But in a wonderful sort of way."
The dress was carefully wrapped up and placed into the carriage and the two drove back to the de Chagny estate. It was a sunny day, the snow had all but melted, and several tenacious buds were already unfurling their green heads in the moist French soil. The two drove in companionable silence with an occasional remark of delight over some fresh anomaly in the landscape.
Back at the manor, it was Anne who came in and handed Christine a small white envelope attached to a single long stemmed red rose. "Probably a letter of congratulations, my dear," said the kindly old lady.
'Do you know who sent it?" asked Christine curiously. There was no return address written on its smooth white surface but only the words "To Mlle. Daae" in a bold masculine hand.
"I'm afraid not," said Anne, "It was found by Rousseau slipped under the back door. An odd way to deliver a letter, I thought at first, but most likely callers who were in a hurry and decided to leave their card instead."
Christine thanked Anne and opened the letter in the private of a parlor. She started violently as she read the contents inside and turned deathly pale, almost dropping the missive entirely. Unfortunately at that moment, there came footsteps at the entrance and with trembling fingers she quickly stuffed the note into her dress pocket.
"Good afternoon, darling," greeted Raoul jovially with a kiss on Christine's brow, "How was your trip to see dear old Audric?"
"F-fine," she could barely stutter, rising at once, "The dress was very lovely and fitted perfectly. I cannot wait to wear it at the ball."
"I'm glad to hear it. Monsieur Audric has worked as our family tailor for many years now and is always excellent at his craft." He stopped short and noticed her agitated appearance and shortened breaths, "Christine, are you alright? You look very pale."
"Yes, of course," she answered brusquely, sweeping aside, "I'm just a bit tired is all and will go lie down for a bit."
He was worried and continued to gaze intently at her white complexion as if seeing through her lie. However, Raoul held his tongue and only exclaimed, "Dear, you have only just recovered and mustn't overexert yourself."
Eager to escape to the private of her room and suddenly annoyed for some unknown reason, Christine turned around abruptly and snapped. "I told you that I'm fine, Raoul and really wish you would listen for once and not be overly concerned over every small thing. I am not a child to be coddled!"
"My apologies," said poor Raoul, taken aback, "I do not mean to treat you as a child as you claim but was only worried and got carried away. Please forgive me."
He was always so reasonable, all sense and compassion which many times were able to counteract her naturally impulsive, passionate nature. But not today, today his gentle words served only to further irritate her nerves. "There is nothing to forgive,' she replied stiffly, "Now if you will excuse me, I will be in my room." And for the faint rustle of her dress on the marble floor, she was gone, leaving Raoul with both a confused and sorrowful expression on his face.
The letter and rose was hidden away in the little locked drawer of her writing desk and she stood gripping the little brass key in her hand until it left red marks. Very slowly but inevitably, the tears came.
For the next four days, Raoul and Christine remained coldly polite towards each other. He wanted very much as he watched his fiancé often drifting alone about the great house to again offer his apologies, to take her in his arms, and ask her earnestly what had been truly bothering her. But there seemed to exist an invisible yet impenetrable wall between them which Raoul was afraid to breach. It had been there ever hanging in the air since Erik came into their lives and he knew it, felt it ever lurking and yet could do nothing.
They still spoke of mundane matters though both never did mention of the one issue close at heart. Raoul and Christine were sitting on the parlor sofa one day; he was showing her a certain verse called "Annabelle Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe which had deeply moved him and she seemed to be listening intently until Raoul noticed silent tears dropping down her pale cheek.
"Dearest, why do you cry?" he asked as gently as he could.
Impatiently, Christine brushed the drops away. "The poem is so poignant; I just couldn't help having a good, foolish cry over it. How tragic that these two people should be so very much in love and then torn brutally apart by death." She leaned over and drew her fingers almost wistfully across Raoul's face, "What would become of me should I ever lose you?"
He smiled and enclosed her hand in both of his own. "Do not be silly," he said, "You aren't going to lose me. We shall have a lifetime ahead and grow old together."
"And each sit in a rickety rocking chair, exchanging stories by the sea?" she asked, resting her head blissfully on Raoul's shoulder.
"And much more if that is what you wish," he whispered into her hair.
"Raoul?"
"Yes, my love?"
"I'm sorry for losing my temper before and being so irritable when I ought to have been grateful for your concern for me. I'm too hasty and hard-headed, you know, and unfortunately have always been this way." The book slipped from the sofa and was momentarily forgotten.
"But that is part of what I adore; of your sensibilities and that you are able to care so deeply," replied Raoul, greatly touched. He drew Christine closer and felt that he could drown in those chocolate brown abysses that were her eyes. And only the painting of a King Cavalier cocker spaniel that hung above the mantelpiece later bore witness to their loving embrace and kiss as all troubles seem to be forgotten.
The next day, another letter came for Christine attached to an ordinary brown package. It thrown willy-nilly against the front porch, was discovered by Anne, and delivered by her likewise. "Another engagement present most likely," she said with a smile, "lovely scented envelope; magnolias I believe. There's a large vine of them in the garden with the prettiest flowers in summer."
Christine accepted the delivery, murmured thank-you, and darted upstairs where she locked herself in her room. Leaning heavily against the door, she eased her trembling. It's probably nothing…I'm being silly and neurotic again…
There was a thumping sound when she shook the box which sounded perfectly ordinary. The brown paper wrapping, likewise, seemed harmless, and so was the letter this time written in a different hand, that of a female's. She carefully opened the envelope first, read its message, and stifled a sharp gasp. It fluttered in a rocking motion from her outstretched hand onto the floor as Christine stood, dazed, and apparently debating something. Her hands clenched tightly before rushing at the package, tearing at the brown wrapping with a merciless fury.
'I am not afraid. I am not afraid,' she repeated in her head, 'I am not…' But she was very much afraid when she peeled back the white wrapping to reveal the object inside the box. It was the mangled, decapitated corpse of a large grey rat.
Meg screamed and jerked abruptly around.
She had been sitting in deep concentration at the pianoforte when an icy hand had suddenly landed on her shoulder. "You!" she cried upon seeing who it was, "You frightened me, Erik! Can you not warn me of your approach next time instead of lurking about the house like that?" But of course, he could not and she knew it. Phantoms were supposed to be great artists at noiseless lurking.
"Go on, play some more. Please do not mind me," Erik replied calmly. He made no move to go and continued to stand towering over her.
"Maybe if you gave me some space first," mumbled Meg, hunched over the keys, and trying to regain her lost footing on the simple tune she was playing.
For the past week, she had convinced Erik to give her music lessons; not in singing of course but on the piano instead where she at least showed some talent as a child apart from ballet. How Meg Giry had coaxed the ex-phantom of the opera into such an act of kindness itself stood testament to her remarkable powers of persuasion.
He made no comments when she ended the piece by hitting a wrong note. It resonated jarringly in the atmosphere and hung like a question mark. "Play it again," he simply ordered.
Meg complied and secretly believed that it did indeed sound much better the fourth time around that day. "So what do you think?" she asked with a hopeful look at Erik. She flexed her sore fingertips but found no encouragement from the still, taciturn creature beside her.
"You play as well as I expect," he replied. There was both sarcasm and an infuriating tone of superiority in his voice.
Meg opened her mouth to protest but managed to swallow her pride for she really did want to learn. "But perhaps, you could give me more instructions then?" she forced herself to request patiently.
"There are no instructions, no divine secrets in the world I can give for your improvement if you insist on rejecting the music," he replied, sweeping closer. He took a seat beside Meg on the bench.
"What do you mean?" she asked, both confused and curious.
"I mean that you first must feel the melody; let the song claim you for its own and see the piano as a medium for what is already there." He paused and looked at Meg before sighing, "I do not soon expect you to understand this."
Her head drooped as she felt a strange sense of disappointment. Erik was not a kind teacher but Meg knew him to be a genius if anything at music. And Christine…she had learned from him…had taken lessons and become so talented...surely Christine must have been a better student than herself… "I will try harder," she said softly.
The look he gave her was both keen and penetrating, "You truly wish to learn? As I have mentioned before, I hold no pity for indolence and scorn lack of talent."
"I do," said Meg who could not help but smile, "Even in spite of all that, if you are willing to teach me, that is."
He made her no reply but simply moved to put the book of exercises she had been reading from under the bench. "Let us try something new then," Erik instructed, "Close your eyes, Meg. I will play a few notes and I want you to repeat them without looking at the keys."
"But that's impossible," she objected, feeling as if he had just thrown her into the ocean and asked her to swim. Nevertheless, Meg closed her eyes.
"You must trust me then," he remarked coolly and begun. She was so shocked at his having spoken such words to her that she entirely missed the flawless first chords being played by Erik. Needless to say, her first trial left much to be desired; she could not even find the right keys and stumbled pitifully. Her attempt at imitation was not even close.
"Listen closely, Meg, and keep your eyes closed," said Erik as he played the same notes once more, "Try again."
She tried again with the darkness swirling all about her and succeeded no better the second time around.
"No! No!" he cried and without thinking, picked up her hands and guided each finger along the keys. Meg was too deep in concentration to even blush though she could not stifle a little flinch for his hands were always so cold. She hoped he did not notice but if Erik did, he simply ignored her.
"Tell me, what do you see right now?" he asked after a short pause.
"Right now?" asked Meg, "I see nothing, only darkness."
Erik smiled but because her eyes were closed, Meg did not observe the fleeting expression. "Ah but darkness is not nothing. It is a color, a shade; it is something. Let yourself be immersed in it and use the music, each note, each echo to dispel the darkness away."
She wondered as she tried the third time with some improvement if that was Erik's way of life during his existence in the opera house dungeons. If he used music to chase away some of the darkness, to ease some of the loneliness that would have otherwise driven an ordinary man insane long ago.
Thanks for Reading: Don't worry, I will be writing part of a chapter soon from Erik's perspective since he seems to be the only one of my characters which I haven't yet. Also "Annabelle Lee" as mentioned in the story is a tragic poem by Poe which details a young couple who live by the sea. The girl dies suddenly and the boy is left to grief. Sorry, I'm bad at summaries but definitely read it if you haven't already because it's a very beautiful piece of literature.
A heads-up: I'll be without Internet between September 15th-22nd since my internship will finally finish and I'll be heading back to college. So the story might be on hiatus for a couple of weeks while I settle in. The good news though is that my muse has not failed me yet and I will be seeing this through.
As always, please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing.