The Perfect Solution
An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2007
DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.
if . . .
if you are the dreamer
am i the dream
if you are the singer
am i the song
walking down the path of life
a million different turns
each one another chance
another dance for us to learn
if you are the face
am i your reflection
if you are the lover
am i your love
Nyasia A. Maire, 2007
Chapter Twenty-One – If
Christine watched as the dark shape in the boat released the oars, stood up and grabbed the lantern hanging on a post at the boat's prow. The cloaked figure moved with a careless grace that Christine found somehow familiar as they hopped out of the boat and onto the shore. She held her breath as the figure turned and pulled the rowboat higher onto the shore. The shadowy figure straightened and spoke without turning to face Christine.
"You are quite safe, my child. I do not intend to harm you. Please come out. We have much to discuss and not a great deal of time in which to do it."
Christine released the breath she held as the well-loved voice washed over her ears. She smiled, stepped away from the cavern wall and went to face her past.
"Papa? It is you, is it not? Papa?"
The uncertainty and hesitancy of her words belied the confidence of her bearing as she strode towards the dark figure. She halted two steps behind the cloaked shape and placed her hands on her hips, annoyance tingeing her voice to cover her sudden fear.
"Papa?"
She took one step closer, reached her hand out and placed it on the form's shoulder. Drawing a deep breath, she gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Papa, please? It is I, your daughter, Christine. Please look at me, speak with me."
Dripping water was the only sound, which followed her pleas and then the soft swish of the cloak before her as it slowly, almost hesitantly, turned towards the young woman.
"Oh, Christine! My only child, it has been too long! I have missed you so very much!"
Christine looked up and tried to peer inside the hood to see the face of the man standing before her, but could see only darkness. An unpleasant chill pierced her heart as a strange foreboding caused her to lift her free hand to the level of her eyes. At the same time, she moved her hand from the man's shoulder and pulled the hood back to reveal his face.
The man before her was indeed her father and at the same time not. Her last memory of him, of course, was when she held his corpse in her arms twelve years ago, but ….
"He is so young! He cannot be more than a few years older than I am right now. He is younger than Erik."
The man raised his hand, briefly touched his palm to her cheek and then playfully tapped his thumb on Christine's nose. Christine's heart soared as she remembered her father's silly caress. She pretended to nip at his thumb just as she did when she was a child, which elicited a soft chuckle from him.
"Come, Christine. As I said, there is much to say and I cannot stay."
A look of sorrow crossed his youthful features, but he quickly blinked it away. He sprang lightly into the boat and laughed at Christine's look of surprise.
"I am not in pain anymore, child, for I no longer have a physical body. This …." He placed his hands on his chest. "Is but a temporary gift, so that I may fulfill my promise to you. Here, allow me to help you. Take my hand, Christine."
She took his hand without hesitation and he helped her into the boat. She sat and he took an oar and used it to push the boat away from the shore. He replaced the oar, maneuvered the small craft around and began to row to the opposite shore.
"Papa? When you said you are here to fulfill your promise, what did you mean?"
The man sighed and sadly looked long into her eyes.
"Before I died, I promised to send the Angel of Music to you and I never did. I wanted to send the angel to you, but no such angel existed here, until now."
"But, Papa …."
"Hush, Christine. Let me take you to my home then I hope to answer all of your questions."
The two spoke no more, as the man swiftly rowed the small boat to the far side of the lake. The only sound the steady swish of water and creak of the wooden oars. Christine watched the man's back move back and forth as his arms continued to pull and push on the oars. The rhythm of his motion so hypnotic that she started when the boat bumped and slid smoothly onto the sandy beach of the opposite shore.
The young man who was once her father turned the oars up and then down into the boat. He stood, extended his hand to her and he helped her onto the shore. The two walked side-by-side up the beach and stood before the small house.
"Welcome home, Christine."
He opened the door and waved his hand, indicating she should enter before him. She walked into the brightly lit room, closely followed by the man. The door moved of its own accord, softly closing behind them.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
After his moment of weakness, which ended in his self-indulgence, Erik hoped he would be able to fall into a dreamless sleep. However, his sated sleep lasted barely an hour. He now sat propped up leaning on pillows stacked against his bed's headboard. In his hands, he held a volume of poetry by Edgar Allan Poe. His eyes began to read the first stanza of "Annabel Lee" again, but his mind simply could not absorb the words. Sleepless nights were not an unusual occurrence for him, but the feeling of restlessness, the feeling that he needed to be elsewhere, was. He tossed the book aside with a grunt of aggravation.
"I think I will saddle up Caesar and go for a ride. Perhaps after a ride, I shall be able to sleep." The man snorted his disbelief. "And, if I believe that pigs will fly!"
He threw back the bedcovers, quickly donned warm, dark clothes and made his way downstairs to his stable where he led a proud, white Lipizzaner stallion from its stall. Erik loved few things in his life as much as he did Caesar. It was during a visit to Vienna just after Erik's graduation from Politecnico di Milano that Erik first saw a performance by the Spanish Riding School of Vienna and had fallen in love with the horse breed. It had taken several months and the gratis design of the horses' new performance hall before he received permission to purchase and train with Caesar. Erik would never forget the first time he saw Caesar. It was love at first sight. The colt was four years old and as dictated by tradition, ready to begin the first stage of training. Caesar was a rarity in that he became completely white prior to his fourth year. Erik spent the first three months working to gain the horse's trust and teaching it discipline. The next twenty-one months, he spent exercising the horse to keep it supple and flexible. During those two wonderful years, Erik was the sole caregiver of Caesar and a deep bond formed between the man and the horse. Erik swore to Raoul that Caesar had more intelligence than most people he knew. Although the horse would never publicly perform, Erik realized that as a Lipizzaner, Caesar had the innate need to train for the performing figures. The man spent an additional two years in Vienna, training with his horse in the riding school. Erik and Caesar learned the perfect balance required to execute the levade, how to perform a cadenced quadrille, how to make the leap into a high courbette and how to soar suspended midair in a capriole. The four years in Vienna were good ones and Erik's reputation as the architect who designed the Spanish Riding School's performance hall helped him establish his firm upon his return to Paris.
Erik paused only long enough to grab his horse's tack from its hook, anxious to begin their sojourn into the night. The horse nickered softly and tossed back his regal head when Erik attempted to place the bit into his mouth.
"Steady there, boy! Not in the mood, eh?" The man chuckled. "Very well then, Caesar. I shan't burden you with this saddle either. Tonight we shall ride bareback and breakneck through the streets of Paris!"
And with those words, the tall man leapt onto the horse's back, wound a handful of mane about his hand and gently leaned his weight forward. Caesar immediately responded to the silent command of his master and walked out into the night. The two swiftly made their way through the wide boulevards, oblivious to the stares of any who happened to be out walking the streets. Erik abandoned himself to the joy of riding. The man guided the horse on a circuitous route to the opera house without realizing what he was doing, until Caesar halted before the brightly lit front of the building. Erik laughed aloud as he realized that Caesar now had a rival for his affections in the form of Christine Daae.
"I wonder if she is awake. I wonder what she is doing. Is she thinking of me? Do I dare chance to drop in for a visit? What do you think, Caesar? Would you like to see if the Populaire's stable houses any interesting mares?"
He patted the horse's withers not expecting an answer, so Caesar surprised him by turning to look him in the eye and nodding his large head.
"You never cease to amaze me, my friend!" The man laughed again. "Well, let us pay the stable a visit and then I shall call upon my sweet Christine."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Christine walked into the house on the shore of the underground lake and gasped.
"Papa! This house looks just like the one …."
"Yes, Christine. I know. I thought perhaps you would feel more comfortable if your surroundings were familiar."
The man swiftly interrupted.
The girl eyed him uncertainly.
"I believe it is time to answer your questions." The man held out his hand in the direction of the settee.
"Please, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"
"No, Papa. I am fine, thank you. Please! What are you doing here? What is happening?"
The man sighed, pulled an armchair closer to the settee and took a seat.
"I never meant for you to be alone all this time, Christine, but when I entered heaven, I discovered that there was no such thing as the Angel of Music. Since there is no Angel of Music, I could not keep my promise to you. I would not allow that to happen, so I offered to exchange my immortal soul for that of an angel's. And …." The man spread his hands out, palms up. "Voilà! From man to Angel of Music in a blink of God's eye."
"But, Papa … if you are the Angel of Music and you never sent anyone to me …. Well, that means that …. Oh, no! Papa! I met a man yesterday and I thought I saw his face in the stained glass window in the chapel. He is a wonderful man and I consented to marry him today, but I thought the Angel of Music sent him to me. Was I wrong? Did I imagine seeing his face in the stained glass?"
The girl's eyes filled with tears and her lower lip trembled.
"Do not cry, child. You did not imagine it. I did show you Erik's face. I also helped you discover the hidden passages of the opera house. I may not have been able to stop the other girls from tormenting you, but I was at least able to provide you with a sanctuary. I am so sorry that you had to be the one to find my body. I am so very sorry that I could not watch over you and guide you as you grew up. And, I am sorry that I will not be able to see you marry and become a mother. I wish I could, but I cannot."
The unshed tears began to spill from her eyes.
"Why?"
His dry eyes met her wet ones.
"I have responsibilities now and … well, I am dead, Christine. I am not a ghost or a spirit. I do not haunt this place. I died and I cannot come back from the dead. Only one did that and I am not him. This is a visit to put things to rights. Do you understand?"
"Why do you not cry? Do you not miss me?"
"I cannot. It is one of the things I am not allowed to do. And, of course, I miss you."
She sighed.
"Very well, Papa. What is it that you need to put to rights?"
The man leaned forward and looked seriously into the girl's burning eyes.
"There are two things. The first is that you must sing again. Christine, your voice is a gift from God. I trained your voice for you to use it, not for you to hide it away. You must sing again. And, that leads me to the second thing I must ask of you. Erik. He is the one that will help bring your voice to its full potential. He is also the one that will take care of you, love you and spend the rest of his life watching over you for me. I just needed you to know that I did not forget my promise and that Erik is the one I sent. However, child, never forget that he is a man, not an angel and as such he needs you just as much as you need him. You must promise me that you will take care of him and allow him to take care of you. As a man, he is not perfect, but Erik is the perfect man for you."
The girl smiled through her tears.
"I know that, Papa. I have known that he is the one for me ever since the first moment I laid my eyes upon him. It relieves my mind that you now seem to give my union with Erik your blessing. It lightens my heart and it feels good to hear those words coming from your lips. Papa, I promise you. I promise to allow him to care for me as I will care for him. I love him, Papa."
"Christine."
"Yes, Papa?"
"I need you to promise me that you will sing again."
"But …."
"No. I need you to promise me, here and now. I need you to promise that you will allow Erik to help you find your voice and that you will share your voice with the world by returning to sing on the stage. Christine, promise me."
The girl looked long and hard at the man sitting across from her, seeming to memorize every inch of his face, wanting to draw out the moment.
"Christine, my time is done. I must leave. Will you give me your promise?"
"If I give you my word, will we be happy?"
"Child, I would not have you do anything that would harm you. Surely, you must know that in your heart. Christine, please?"
The young man's once solid form began to fade, turning transparent. Christine could see through his body to the clock sitting behind him.
"Papa, I promise. I promise! Oh, please do not go yet! Papa!"
She leapt from her seat on the settee and grabbed for his arm, but her fingers grasped only air. The man smiled sadly, as he faded from her sight.
"Oh, Christine!"
His voice echoed through the now empty cavern, mingling with the soft cries of the girl.
"Oh, Papa! Wait! I love you!"
The girl sat in the dark on the cold, hard ground, crying into her hands. After a time, she looked up and around her. She frowned.
"Wonderful! Now, how am I supposed to find my way out of here?"
Author's Note: I would like to thank all of my lovely reviewers. I have been so busy working and writing that I haven't had a chance to thank you individually, so I would like to thank you collectively! --ny