Chapter 11- P.S. I Stalk You, Part 2

It was morning once more. Christine had decided to retire early, exhausted from the ordeal with Hubert de Changy and her moody husband and daughter.

Yawning, she sat up and, as she had predicted, found herself in the apartment in New York City in the year 2008.

She yelped when she realized that there was someone in her bed.

"Mmph. Good morning to you, too, Chris," said a familiar voice. The figure rolled over and Christine saw Meg Giry.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, it was really late and we have rehearsal today. I set your alarm for you, by the way. When did you become such a scatterbrain? Oh, wait. Erik." She gave her friend a cocky grin.

"That man gives me such a headache," Christine sighed, trying to recall which Erik had been the least unpleasant."

"Hmm. Only yesterday you were raving about how wonderful he is."

Christine wanted to smack herself again. "Well, you know… men."

Meg laughed. "Yah, men." The blonde got off the bed with a graceful leap. "I'm using your shower, and then we're running through the script. I want to get the duet down."

The script for The Phantom of the Opera was strange. It was as if someone had recorded her entire time at the Opera Populaire, except for some changes. This play ended with her leaving with some guy called "Raoul" and it was set in 1881 instead of 1870 and the chandelier fell during Il muto instead of Don Juan Triumphant. Other than that, it was eerily similar to her life.

Meg had wanted to run through the "Angel of Music" scene, which Christine found odd since Meg wasn't a singer, but for fun, they had gone through the whole script, which was a relief to Christine since the show was opening in less than a week.

She found it wasn't very hard to play her part. The dialogue seemed as though it had been ripped from her memory and even the opera music was the same. At least she would know her part well. She only had to concentrate on some extra numbers like "The Phantom of the Opera" and "All I Ask of You."

Before long, Christine found herself on stage at the Popera in full dress.

"I'm so proud of all of you," said Mr. Jamoc, the show's director. "Now, we have some special guests here today to watch the rehearsal, so break a leg!" he said. Christine looked out into the auditorium and her heart stopped.

There, in the audience, was Raulph de Changy, or his 2008 counterpart. There were some other finely dressed people with him, but she saw only him. And then he smiled at her.

She turned away and tried to remember the marks from the script she had browsed that morning.

"We'll start at "Angel of Music,"" Mr. Jamoc said.

Christine stood in the tiny model of a dressing room that had been set up on stage. Meg came bursting through the prop door, excited.

"Where in the world have you been hiding?" she sang. Christine had heard Meg sing earlier, but not to her full potential. She had never known Meg could sing. Her voice wasn't operatic, but it was very sweet and childlike.

After that and a scene with the man playing "Raoul," it was time for the Phantom's entrance. Christine gulped. Was this the part where Erik came in?

Fake smoke began to filter in and Christine heard a booming voice. Her heart rose. It was so powerful and enchanting! Surely…

She answered the "Phantom" and began to walk towards the mirror. It opened dramatically and…

Christine missed her cue.

"Stop!" the director called. The lights came back on. "Are you okay, Christine?"

"Er, yes. I… don't know what happened." She looked at what she could see of the Phantom's face. "Who are you?"

The man blinked. "I'm your co-star, Miguel." He turned to Mr. Jamoc. "I think something's wrong with her." Miguel led her off stage and into one of the auditorium seats. A group of people crowded around her.

"She was like this yesterday, too," Meg said, feeling her forehead. "Something's wrong with her memory. I can take her to the doctor."

Mr. Jamoc nodded. "Yes. We'll have the understudies fill in for you."

Three hours later, Christine and Meg were escorted back to the waiting room after a very dull doctor's appointment. Christine was scandalized. The doctor had been male and she was told to put on a man's night shirt! What would they have done if she had had some other type of problem?

"There's nothing physically wrong with you, Ms. Daae. If you're having problems with your memory, I'd recommend going to see a psychiatrist. I have the number of a doctor who comes highly recommended. Here's his card." Christine took it and thanked the doctor.

"Are you really okay, Chrissy-wissy?" Meg asked.

"I'm fine. Maybe I should see this head doctor." She looked at the card. Doctor Eric Fantome, it read. "Yes, I should definitely see this doctor."

Meg had helped her arrange the appointment but had then had to rush off to dance class. She promised to check up on her later.

Christine was quite bored and decided to get something to eat. Meg had prepared all of the meals the last time she had been in this reality, even providing the popcorn.

She looked through all the cupboards but could only find strangely-packaged foods that she didn't understand. Not feeling up to a "pop tart," a "hot pocket," or a "lean cuisine," she decided to find a market. They had passed a few of them on the way to the Popera. Surely there would be edible food in one of them.

She left the apartment, making sure to take more than enough money, and walked outside and onto the street. It was nearing dinner time and she was very hungry. This would have to be quick.

She spotted a little store called "Destler Organic Grocery." Recognizing the name, she thought it was a good sign. Sure enough, there was plenty of produce and ingredients for baked goods. She wasn't a great cook, but the items here would suit her just fine. She found fruits, eggs, unsliced bread, flour, and some other items and went to the counter to purchase them. Judging by the prices, she had done right to bring extra money. Everything in this time was expensive!

"Thank you, sir," the clerk said to the man in front of her, "Please visit us again soon." The man nodded and turned to leave. That's when Christine recognized him.

"Erik!" she exclaimed.

The man was tall with broad shoulders and dark hair. Most importantly, he had a white mask on one side of his face. It was definitely Erik.

He looked at her strangely and turned to leave. Christine panicked.

"Erik!" she called as he walked out of the store. She looked at her basket full of groceries and set it on the floor, taking off after the love of her life.

Erik could walk fast and the sidewalks were crowded with people. But Christine could see him because he was slightly taller than the rest. She shoved past people, calling his name at first but stopping when her voice grew tired. Erik had always taught her never to shout too much or she would injure her voice. So she silently followed him until they were on a much quieter street. He turned when he heard her footsteps.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, annoyed.

Christine panted from the brisk walk. "Erik," she said, "Don't you remember me? Christine?"

Erik tightened his lips. "Look, Christine, I'd hate to call the police on a woman," he said, "Especially since they wouldn't believe me," he muttered, "But I don't know you. Leave me alone."

Christine wanted to cry. Leave him alone? What was going on?

"I can't leave you, Erik," she said softly, "I love you."

"Aaaaaaaaaaand I'm reaching for my phone." His hand was inching along his hip. It was only a warning, but she had no doubt that he would make good on it if she persisted.

It wasn't fair. Her own Erik had leapt into the lake to embrace her when she had told him that. Now this imposter who looked so much like him was rejecting her. And how did he fit a telephone in his pocket?

"You're right, you don't know me. I was confusing you for someone else."

"A man over six feet tall with a mask and named Erik?" his smirk would have made her laugh if she hadn't been so exhausted and emotionally drained and heartsick from the past week. A week from Hell.

"Yes, actually."

The strange Erik was rendered speechless for a moment. But then he seemed to have thought of something. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

"I've already been assigned one. But I'm not crazy!" she said when she saw his horrified face, "I'm in love with a man named Erik. He's six feet tall and wears a mask because the right side of his face is deformed and I can't find him. We were going to get married and… then he was just gone!" She began to cry.

Erik approached her. "I don't want to distress you," he said, "But I think you're having delusions after a bad breakup."

Christine felt like banging her head on a wall.

"So I just happened to invent, fully formed in my mind, a tall, muscular, masked composer named Erik with dark hair and blue eyes and then run into you?" She felt him tense.

"A composer?"

"Yes. He was working on his own variation of the Don Juan story. Everyone thought it was unlistenable, but they weren't being groped on a bridge." She looked at the doppelganger. He seemed to be in shock. She waved a hand in front of his face and cried out when he gripped her wrist so hard she felt her joint crack.

"I thought you were nuts, but it's just too coincidental. I am a composer and I am writing a Don Juan opera which my few friends have deemed unsellable."

Christine's eyes lit up. It was him!

"Erik!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek where his mask ended.

Erik peeled her off of him, obviously surprised by the kiss. "But I can't be your Erik, Christine. I've never met you."

Christine smiled. "Then how do I know what you look like under your mask?"

It was a huge gamble, she knew, but other than the completely horrifying Erik, the others had all had the same face from what she could tell. When she saw his shocked expression, she knew the risk was worth it.

"You can't… Prove it!" He demanded, "Describe every grizzly little feature."

Christine cleared her throat. "Well, at first it looks like a horrible burn, but if you look closely, most of the flesh seems more tumered than burnt. Your eyelid is stretched and saggy and there are a lot of little pockmarks that stretch into your hair and over your eyebrow, which is pretty much non-existent. There are scaly ridges everywhere and they feel hardened and leathery and you can see all of the veins pulsating and-"

"Okay, you know! God, you're grossing out the person who has the deformity."

"Sorry."

Erik's face softened. "But how can you stand it?"

Christine knew what she had to say.

"Your love for me is far more frightening than your face. Hey, alliteration!"

Erik was simply staring at her. "Are you an angel sent to me? I've always thought that God hated me."

Christine grinned. "I've learned that there are no angels." She stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders. He took her face in his hands. He bent down, his warm breath on her lips and-

"Christine!"

They parted instantly and turned to the owner of the voice. In a flash, Christine was being suffocated by Meg Giry's gazonkas.

"God, Christine! I went back to your apartment to check on you and you were, like, gone! You didn't even leave a note and-" Meg became aware of someone else's presence. "Is this…?"

Christine removed herself from Meg's grasp and placed a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Erik."

Meg stared. Finally, set let out an overwhelmed "Hubba, hubba!" Erik's face (the visible part) turned tomato-red.

"Anyways," Meg said, pulling on Christine's arm, "We have to go. Jamoc called an emergency rehearsal."

"Jamoc?"

Christine turned to Erik. He had a stunned look on his face.

"Thomas Jamoc? Director at the "Popera?"" He said it with a sneer. "You work at the Popera?" he asked Christine, sounding heartbroken. He turned on his heel and stalked off without letting her speak.

"Erik, wait!" Christine called. He did not turn back.