With the fear of a violent death hounding me, I ran. There was no thought involved, just an instinctual knowledge that I must go as far and as fast as I could. Running to the rooftop did not seem like the most brilliant idea, but nevertheless, in my unthinking flight I found myself flinging open the door and stepping out onto the stone terrace. Large statues of people in long tunics and winged horses loomed over me, but I paid them little attention. I threw myself behind the nearest one after hastily closing the door behind me.
Sinking down to a sitting position, I tried to catch my breath and calm myself. I was not there long before I heard someone coming. I made myself even smaller and had to scramble around the massive blocky statue base to keep myself hidden from their view.
"There is no Phantom of the Opera," a man's voice sang. It took a second for me to recognize the vicomte.
Christine's beautiful voice was instantly recognizable.
Raoul, I've been there! To his world of unending night To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness... darkness…
Her statement should not have surprised me, thought it did, a little. Had I been right? Had Christine gone down the secret tunnel behind the mirror with the Phantom? Was that who had been in her room the night the vicomte had waited outside her door?
Raoul, I've seen him, she continued. Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face so distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face in the darkness... darkness?
In my hiding place, I frowned. I remembered his face; the half I could see. It had been handsome. But under the mask... Is that why he wore it? Because he was deformed? So many questions! I remained quiet and listened intently as Christine's tone changed from fear to adoration.
But his voice filled my spirit with a strange sweet sound In that night there was music in my mind And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before
At this I nearly leapt from my hiding place to run to her and tell her I agreed. Perhaps we could have had a conversation about how marvelous that music heard deep within the earth and deep within our souls had made us feel. I refrained from the sudden impulse as it was squelched beneath Vicomte de Chagny's quick reproval nearly cutting her off.
What you heard was a dream and nothing more
Christine continued on, ignoring the vicomte's unbelief, walking away from him across the terrace.
Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore
I moved around the statue to keep out of sight, peeking around the corner, and listening for the vicomte's whereabouts as I did. I needn't have worried. He was slowly walking up behind Christine. Softly, imploringly, he sang her name.
Christine, Christine.
The frigid night air seemed to echo his call and I listened hard, wondering if I was imagining things. Noticing Christine glancing at the opera house in confusion, I thought perhaps I was not wrong. I think she heard it too.
The vicomte (I had not missed Christine's familiar use of his given name) stood behind Christine and put his hands tenderly on her shoulders, pulled her back into him, and wrapped his arms around her. This was obviously an intimate moment I was witnessing and I felt very uncomfortable about it. The door was behind me and although it would be easy enough for me to reach, Christine chose that exact moment to turn around. Unless I wanted to risk being spied by either of them, I would have to stay put.
The vicomte held Christine's hand in his and, walking backward, led her closer to the wall of the opera house. Whether it was in their minds or not, they were taking a turn about the rooftop terrace. Certain I saw her drop something as they walked, I strained to see what it was, but it was too dark and I had to move around the statue again. This time as I did, I noticed the footprints and whorls from my dress in the layer of snow. I felt my eyes widen in horror. If they saw the disturbed snow they would surely find me out!
Across the terrace, the vicomte began to sing soothingly.
No more talk of darkness Forget these wide-eyed fears I'm here, nothing can harm you My words will warm and calm you Let me be your freedom Let daylight dry your tears I'm here, with you, beside you To guard you and to guide you
He sang everything I wanted hear. Those words... I thought of the times when I had been with Benoit before our engagement. He had been sweet and gentle, encouraging even. A perfect partner. Now, listening to Vicomte de Chagny, I was tempted to tell Christine to run from him. That it was all a lie and she would regret ever having loved him. Another part of me knew that what he said was completely real. He truly loved her and honestly wanted her to be happy.
Christine's angelic singing hit me as it had that day she sang for the managers, moving me emotionally. I closed my eyes and swallowed back a sob.
Say you love me every waking moment Turn my head with talk of summertime Say you need me with you now and always Promise me that all you say is true That's all I ask of you
Those last two lines she sang cleaved an already broken heart. If only I had asked Benoit to promise me that what he said was true, perhaps we would never have gotten engaged. Because there was no way on earth that it was true. But then, he would have only lied some more to keep us together. Bitter tears sprang to my eyes as I eavesdropped on the rest of their song, the vicomte continuing to convince her he would be her guardian.
Let me be your shelter Let me be your light You're safe, no one will find you Your fears are far behind you
All I want is freedom A world with no more night And you always beside me To hold me and to hide me
These last words, sung by Christine, were exactly what I wanted for myself. With a start, I realized she and I were the same. Not only similar in physical features, but our inner being as well. There was an impenetrable night all around us and both of us had a ghost from the past who haunted us every waking moment, unwilling to let us be free; to run laughing into the daylight. I could not understand specifically what was going on between Christine and this Phantom, but I understood enough. Understood that he was the cause of her fear. She and I had a bond that was strange and incomprehensible, but I believed there was a reason for it. I just did not know what.
Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime Let me lead you from your solitude Say you need me with you here, beside you Anywhere you go let me go too Christine, that's all I ask of you
This was not merely a song to make Christine feel better. It was a proposal. One that I knew she would accept. She proved me right with her next stanza.
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime Say the word and I will follow you
The vicomte joined her, their voices melding as one.
Share each day with me, each night, each morning
Say you love me, Christine sang.
"You know I do," came the reply.
Love me, that's all I ask of you
In the quiet that followed I knew that they were kissing, without even looking. The end of her red cape flashed past as he picked her up and spun her around. They were awfully close to me. Being caught now would be shamefully embarrassing! I scrambled to make sure I wasn't seen, sending a glare at the tracks I had made. Luckily for me, the two lovebirds had eyes only for each other and neither of them noticed.
Anywhere you go let me go too Love me, that's all I ask of you
"I must go," Christine said. "They'll wonder where I am. Come with me, Raoul."
"Christine, I love you."
"Order your fine horses," she requested. "Be with them at the door."
"And soon you'll be beside me."
"You'll guard me and you'll guide me."
Her voice faded as they went back inside and they closed the door behind them. Sagging in relief at not being spotted, I let out a shaky sigh. My relief did not last long. A familiar feeling crept along my skin.
I was not alone.
/
Movement across the terrace caught my eye and I froze. Only my eyes moved as I scanned the rooftop for the other person.
Shadow-like and silent as death, the Phantom was hidden from my view by the large statues, but I knew he was there. I could have made it to the door. I am certain I could have, if I had found the courage to move. Instead, I waited to see what he would do. Once again I was surprised as a song drifted around the towering statues and found its way to my ears.
I gave you my music Made your song take wing And now, how you've repaid me Denied me and betrayed me He was bound to love you When he heard you sing Christine!
Her name was a plea on his lips. I began to understand that he was in love with her.
A sudden knife of jealousy stabbed me in the stomach. So unexpected was the emotion that I did not know what to make of it at first. Immediately I felt guilty at being angry at Christine. It was not her fault that men tripped over themselves to get to her; that two men were now obviously smitten. But it seemed wholly unfair that she should have two men fighting for her (for I saw now that this was what it was all about) and the one man that should have loved me, despised me instead.
No matter how I felt about the situation in general, I felt pity for this man on the rooftop with me. He lived alone below the opera house, seemed to know Christine, yet she had never mentioned speaking with him. Nor had she mentioned that she had visited him in his catacomb lair. But then, neither had I. Not to Christine. As far as I knew, Madame Giry was the only to know of my venture into the catacombs.
The sounds of quiet weeping carried through the crisp winter air. Biting my lip in anticipation, I leaned forward ever so slowly, until I could see him. I could just barely see him between the statues, kneeling in the freshly fallen snow, one hand up to his face. In his hand he clutched a crimson rose; what Christine had dropped?
From somewhere within the opera house, Christine and Vicomte de Chagny began to sing again, their song echoing up through the corridors. It was every bit as beautiful as it had been moments ago and it seemed to have a calming effect on our Phantom. He ceased crying, his face relaxed, and he closed his eyes in repose.
However, as the song went on, his demeanor quickly changed — to anger. The rose he held was crushed by the black-gloved hand that held it, its petals falling to the snow like drops of blood. By the time he had finished destroying the flower, dropping the stem to the ground, he was shaking in rage. Leaping up, he ran across the terrace to the statue on the corner; winged angels bound together. Jumping onto the statue, he deftly climbed it until he stood between the wings of the highest angel.
As he climbed he sang a threat to the sky.
You will curse the day you did not do All that the Phantom asked of you!
With his back to me I could have made an escape. I sat back against the statue and considered at least moving out of his view. He obviously hadn't seen me yet, so perhaps I could hide from him as I had hid from Christine and the vicomte.
I was too slow. When he turned around I was in full view. He drew up in surprise at first, but it was replaced quickly—much too quickly—by an all consuming anger. He came toward me, snarling; a raw animalistic reaction, seemingly as natural to him as to any wild beast.
Danger! my mind warned. Danger! RUN! No matter how hard my head screamed my feet were leaden. I went nowhere.
A familiar feeling washed over me so strong that I was helpless to resist it. The way a bird always comes back to its nesting ground in summer, I found myself migrating back to my old self. I burst into tears. Above the booming of the heartbeat in my ears, I heard myself frantically repeating words that I had frequently used on Benoit. It had never helped.
"No, please, no! I- I didn't mean to! Please — Please don't!"
As usual, my pathetic whimpering did nothing to dissuade my assailant. He came toward me with such ferocity, such fire burning in his eyes, I knew he would end my life. Finish what he had started in the catacombs.
The memory of his lasso around my neck sent a clean jolt of pure terror into me. Fueled by a deep primal need to survive, my body found some hidden inner strength and it took over, twisting my body away from him, although my traitorous feet still would not move forward. But I kept my eyes on him, never turning my face away.
I groped and clawed the statue behind me, using it to hoist myself upright.
"Please," I continued my pointless plea, practically a whisper, ignoring the fact that the frigid statue drained the heat from my body instantly. "Don't! Please. Stop."
The Phantom reached out to grab me by the neck and as he did his gaze fell from my face and settled on my back. He froze, mid-grasp.
"Please…" Tears rolled down my cheeks as I hugged the cold comfortless statue for support.
The Phantom just stood there with his hand outstretched, inches from my neck, staring. Ever so slowly, he lowered his hand to my bare shoulder and ran a finger diagonally down my back.
I stopped blubbering and blinked. It dawned on me that he was tracing the scar I had received months ago at the hands of Benoit. Even through his gloves I could feel the warmth from his fingers as he followed the scar down my chilled skin to the spot where it disappeared beneath my dress.
I didn't dare breathe lest I break him from his trance and his murderous ire return. Sensing me watching him, his gaze returned to my face. We stood like that for what seemed a long time, the Phantom and I, staring at one another. Searching each other's eyes for answers to questions we did not know we wanted to ask. Or were perhaps too afraid to.
He lifted his hand from my back and cautiously wiped at the tears upon my face. Such a caring — almost intimate — gesture that had me furrowing my brow in confusion.
Standing as close as he was, mere inches away, I could feel the angry heat from his body. Now that my panic had dissipated, I began to register the weather again. I was freezing. Killer or no, Phantom or not, all I wanted was for him to throw that cape around me and share his warmth.
A violent shiver tore through my body from head to toe as my body tried to warm itself up. Clamping my jaw tight to keep my teeth from chattering, I let go of the statue and wrapped my arms around myself.
The Phantom frowned and blinked, finally breaking free of his abstraction. I could see emotions at war within those pale orbs. Perhaps weighing the decision to be man or monster.
"You're cold." It was softly spoken, yet the unexpectedness of his voice made me flinch. Unsure if I could speak, I simply nodded. Realizing that I was still staring at him I dropped my gaze, embarrassed.
An uncomfortable silence settled over us for a torturous moment, allowing me time to realize I was standing on a rooftop with a man who had just murdered someone and who, just minutes ago, had tried to kill me… for a second time. I should have been terrified. I had been, when I thought he would kill me, but now that we were just standing here I felt more embarrassed than anything. The need to say something pressed on me, but what do you say to a murderer?
I was saved the trouble of starting a conversation when the door to the rooftop flew open.
Both the Phantom and I jerked our attention toward the arrival. But not before I noticed that his hands had been raised to his own throat. It was such a strange yet somehow familiar pose that the image stayed with me.
Madame Giry gaped at us from the doorway. The shocked expression on her face nearly made me laugh. A strange relief swept through me at her presence.
The Phantom immediately spun on his heel, cloak smacking me in the thigh as he did so. I opened my mouth to say something, but again what should I have said? 'Thank you for not killing me, Monsieur! It was awfully merciful of you!' No, I think not.
So instead I closed my mouth and turned to watch him flee, completely ignoring Madame Giry who had rushed to my side. A flash of his snow-white mask as he glanced back at us and then darkness.
A snowflake landed on my eyelashes. The heat of Madame Giry's hands on my shoulders was a searing reminder of my being inappropriately dressed for the weather.
"You must come back inside, Lina." Madame Giry's voice was commanding.
I nodded.
Steering me by the shoulders, she guided me back into the opera house.