One more chapter to go and this is complete! Thanks for reading!

CH 12

"Alex said he would return my scarf to me," Julia said once I closed the back door.

That was not exactly the greeting I had anticipated, which angered me considering how many hours of my day Julia had managed to invade my thoughts. Maddening woman.

"He left your scarf in my bedroom. Considering the weather, I thought I would be so kind as to return it to you now."

"How considerate, however, I assure you the scarf could have waited until tomorrow. I have no plans to leave tonight."

"You invited me-"

"So I did." Julia turned and walked away from me. "Leave my scarf on the hook, please."

I stood unmoving for a long moment, Julia's scarf bunched in my fist. I had half the mind to leave her scarf, slam the door, and return home without another word, but truthfully I was uncertain why Julia was being so curt as I had done nothing to warrant such a response. She invited me for food, conversation, and quite often a visit to her bedroom. She did not light a candle in order to scold me for returning an article of clothing.

We did not make it a habit of arguing. Julia was astoundingly patient when it came to listening to me talk about my music or the correspondence from various opera houses. She told me about the latest neighborhood gossip, and even if I had no interest or knowledge of whom she spoke, I nodded readily and pretended to be fascinated by the conversation merely because it kept the peace between us and it seemed fair that we equally bored one another.

I sighed to myself and neatly draped the green scarf over the hook by the back door, then walked down the hall to the parlor where Julia had no sweets or tea set out for the evening.

"Where are the biscuits?" I asked as I scanned the room. Somehow I had failed to notice that the kitchen was not warm from baking and there was no wafting smell of biscuits or tarts. How utterly disappointing. I frowned deeply so Julia would know how I felt.

"I didn't make anything."

Perhaps there was no food because she desired to take me directly to her bed, I hopefully thought. I stood up straighter and smoothed my hands over my waistcoat, but Julia paid no mind to me. She stood at a distance from me, one hand on her hip as she carelessly flipped through the newspaper.

"Julia?" I questioned.

"You sent Alex out half-naked for a photograph of Christine de Chagny printed in the paper?" Julia asked with her back to me.

So this was why she had invited me over to her home; an interrogation.

"Alex was hardly out on the streets alone," I said, making every attempt to keep my voice even as I had done nothing wrong. "Meg and Alex walked to the corner together."

"Meg wanted the paper, then?"

My jaw clenched. "No."

"Then who so urgently wanted the newspaper?"

"I did. But I did not send Alex to retrieve it."

"Ah."

Ah. It was not a word. Julia made the slightest, most aggravating sound and I ground my teeth.

"My son is not your concern," I said tightly.

Julia didn't argue, at least not immediately. She turned and regarded me for a long moment, her expression impossible to read. "Does Alex know who she is?" Julia asked.

I was not prepared for her question. My mouth opened and abruptly closed. "Who?" I asked, hoping Julia would change the subject.

"I apologize as I thought my inquiry was quite clear. I mean to ask if your son knows about the woman whose image you have been collecting for months. Christine de Chagny."

"Daae," I corrected.

"Forgive me, but she has been married to the vicomte de Chagny for the past eight years," Julia calmly pointed out. "Not once have I seen her referred to as Mademoiselle Daae."

Rage ran like fire up the back of my neck and heated my cheeks. I had no desire to listen to Julia spout off marital bonds.

"Not for much longer," I arrogantly returned.

At last the expression on Julia's face changed. She lost her confidence and appeared quite taken aback by my words. "What does that mean?"

"She will return to me," I said.

I spoke firmly as though Christine had sent word that she could not wait to be in my arms again. For years I had played out every possible scenario of us being reunited, of how she would run to me, wrap her arms around my neck, and smile only for me. I imagined her breath against my face, her lips against mine, and the sound of her voice as she promised to stay with me forever.

For a single heartbeat, however, Julia looked at me with a wounded expression. "Has she been in touch with her son?" she asked.

"Not yet."

"Then Alex doesn't know who she is, does he?"

"What does it matter to you?" I shot back.

Julia folded her arms across her chest. I suspected she would feign exhaustion, slip past me, and say over her shoulder that I should see myself out and return home. "Alex means a great deal to me. He always has and he always will."

I snorted at her words. "He is everything to me. For his sake I've been in touch with Christine for years," I said. Not that it was any of Julia's business, but I wanted her to know that my devotion to Christine was not some far-fetched, childish romance. "We correspond frequently."

Julia stared at me unblinking, her eyes narrowed. "Does she intend to leave her husband and two daughters?" Julia boldly asked.

My heart stuttered and my head felt momentarily light. My every hope was tied to seeing Christine again at last. One last chance, one last opportunity to convince her that she had made a terrible mistake in leaving me. We were bonded; two souls meant to be together for an eternity. Christine was everything to me, but in that moment I had no suitable answer for Julia.

I looked away from Julia, from the woman whom I knew far too well and who knew me. I should not have allowed her to know me the way she did as it gave her far too much artillery to wound me intimately.

"It should be no concern of yours, but when Christine sees her son, the decisions she has made will be sealed. He will be the reason she stays this time. It's up to..."

Julia's expression darkened. "You mean to say it's Alex's responsibility to make Christine love you? That is far too much of a burden to put on your son when they are strangers."

"You are incorrect, Madame. Christine loves me," I said. I lifted my chin and straightened my back as though my posture would somehow make my words true.

When I expected Julia's features to harden at my words, they softened. She tilted her head to the side and looked me over, frowning. A half a dozen times she had looked at me with this same solemn expression, particularly when a piece of music didn't sell or when a melody refused to be written and I made an unfinished symphony kindling for the parlor fireplace. My failures saddened Julia. She was the only person who ever showed genuine interest in my music and wanted to know more.

"When you see Christine again, will you be happy?" Julia asked quietly.

"Yes," I hissed, but everything I said still felt like a lie.

I had not been unhappy in Julia's company. Quite the contrary, if I was honest with myself. The first few months of knowing her had been painfully awkward and I assumed each time I went through the motions of a near disastrous evening of stilted conversation and consuming all of her baked goods that she would politely bid me a good evening, show me out, and swiftly lock the door.

But she had not shut me out. Repeatedly she invited me back into her home, and slowly I found myself looking forward to an evening of conversation. She asked me to bring my violin and sat with her hands folded in her lap and a bright, pleasant smile on her face when I played new music for her. She didn't mind if it was unfinished or if I had several versions of the same piece. Patiently she sat and listened to the same tune played four different times and applauded my efforts or asked to hear it again.

My legs were leaden, but I turned away from Julia and started down the hall, forcing myself to walk away from her. She was a distraction and nothing more, a barricade standing between the life I had and the life I desired. "Christine loves me as no one else ever has. Like no one else ever will. We are...we are meant to be together," I said over my shoulder.

Blinded by fury, I left Julia's house out the front door instead of the back and stalked down the street, my chest heaving and thoughts mangled.

"She loves me," I whispered.

Christine had walked away from me while I sobbed on my hands and knees, consumed by the grief I had created. She had kissed me and made the decision to be with another man. She had gifted me a son and given her husband three daughters. She sang for all of Europe but not for me, not for her mentor.

And yet I forgave her. I stayed awake for days on end and fantasized about her performance at the opening of the Exposition, of the music she woud select. I thought of all the music I had arranged that fit her voice perfectly, music that to my knowledge she had never glanced at let alone sang. I would have groveled at her feet until my knees were bloody. I would have kissed the hem of her dress or bought her jewels and fine gowns until they filled her bedroom to the ceiling. I would have begged for her to forgive my ugliness and wept with gratitude when she spared me a glance.

If that was not love, then I did not know what love was.

Heaviness settled in my chest, an invisible stone up against my lungs. I should have returned home as I was not dressed for the cold weather, yet still I walked through the city and to the remains of the Opera House in what was now a dangerous part of Paris.

I walked along the perimeter of the boarded up structure and thought of how Christine had left with her fiance. Time had stood still in that dreadful, humiliating moment. It truly could have stopped and I would not have cared as I had no desire to survive past her rejection.

The stage door entrance had two boards missing and a faded sign warning people to stay out. This had been the doorway Madeline had rushed me through when she took me from the fairgrounds. This had been where I stood paralyzed by fear, certain the ballerina had led me into a trap in order to collect a reward. I had come and gone through this doorway hundreds of times before as I ventured out into the darkened streets, my belly rumbling and mind unsettled. I slipped through shadows silently, shrouded in darkness and behind the hood of my cloak.

Briskly I walked around to the rear of the building where the stable no longer existed. The straw and hay-not to mention the wooden overhang-had burned swiftly during the fire. On the opposite side of the stables was the delivery bay, which was where I had made my final exit that fateful night, dripping wet when I stumbled from my boat and numb from the events of the evening. The gendarmes had sprinted past me, more concerned by the smoke and flames than anyone fleeing the Opera House.

Often I wished that I had stayed within the building and burned along with the theater, but I had survived. Beatings, torture...the fire that I had started...I was no Phoenix. I was the devil's son, remaining earthbound for further torment. I had withered with the disaster, deflated to such an extent that I had no idea how I had survived the weeks that followed.

I had more than surpassed my limit for the amount of suffering I was capable of surviving. Madness tugged on my thoughts as I considered how many ways I had been denied and rejected in four decades. I wanted to walk through the abandoned theater and see if the rooftop garden grew wild. I wanted to stand on the ledge, throw my arms out, and shout for all of Paris to hear that Christine Daae would be mine again. Perhaps the wind would catch me and I would lose my balance on the edge, free falling onto the streets and put out of my misery at last.

For Alex's sake, I stepped away from the building and the rooftop temptation. I took one last look at the damaged building and whispered my words among ash and soot and warnings by the gendarmes that looting would not be tolerated. I whispered my love for Christine, the undying affection of an angel for his beloved prodigy. And as I made way back home, I silently begged her to return a fraction of that love to me.

I would have her again or I would die trying. There were no other choices.

I began to shiver violently as I trudged home with my hands in my pockets and shoulders hunched to my ears. The snow fell in lazy flakes, the cobblestones warm enough to melt them on contact. I touched my chin to my chest and quickened my pace as I passed Julia's home. It took every bit of self control not to spare a glance at the lights on the first floor or to search for her silhouette.

At last I returned home and fumbled with the keys, my fingers painfully stiff from the weather and teeth chattering with cold. Bessie met me at the door, her paws beating against my shins and knees as she celebrated my return.

"She loves me," I murmured one last time.

And I was not certain of whom I spoke.