Chapter Twenty-one

It was strange, riding in that fine carriage alone. Though she was wearing a borrowed dress, and didn't have a sous to her name, Alana could almost imagine she was a rich young Parisian aristocrat as she watched the beautiful streets pass by through the clear glass windows. The driver had told her that Damien was not able to join her in the ride over due to business matters, but that he would be waiting for her at the house when they arrived.

As she looked out the window, Alana thought of the past day's events. She had gone to her first choir practice, and it went well. She received a score of compliments from the other men and women, and she was looking forward to learning new songs, though the thought of singing in front of an entire congregation was rather terrifying. When she had told Erik about her fears the night before, he had a piece of advice for her, as he always did when they were talking about music.

He had said, "Never be afraid when you're singing. Being a singer is more than just hitting all the right notes. In order to be a truly great singer, you have to put your whole heart, your very soul, into your song. Feel the music. Then you'll become one with it, and you won't even be able to fear the audience. Let the song take you where you want to be." Alana wasn't sure she could even do that, but she just listened quietly as he spoke. He turned to her, eyes shining passionately as he spoke of music, the thing he seemed to love above all else. There was the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he said, "There's no reason for you to be afraid. True, there is much still for you to learn, but I think that the world has gone on long enough being deprived of your voice, Alana. It truly is special. I promise. They'll love you, like I…"

Then he'd trailed off, and they began to talk of other things and practice her music, though Alana wondered, and still wondered now, what Erik had almost said. It could have been nothing. But it could have been something, something she longed to hear.

Alana tried to put it out of her mind. She had the whole day before her, just to spend with Damien, and knowing him, it would be a good day. She had asked Erik last night if he would join them, but he had politely declined. That didn't surprise her in the least.

The ride seemed much longer without Damien in the carriage with her, talking to pass the time. But finally they pulled in front of that glorious mansion, and a servant came to open the door for her, help her out of the carriage, and lead her into the house. There she was met by the housekeeper; Alana recognized her, the woman with the braided hair who had been there on Sunday. The housekeeper took her to a sitting room.

"The Comte will be joining you very shortly, mademoiselle. He just has some…business dealings to finish first. He told me to give you his apologies for the wait."

"Oh, it's quite all right," Alana said, and the housekeeper left. As she waited, she looked around the room at all the fine things, the gold and silver, the luxurious furniture, and the pictures on the walls. Over the mantel hung a gilt-framed portrait of a man, who, though very stern-looking, could have been Damien's grandfather. Her eyes traveled across the mantel and the walls, seeing a history in pictures of Damien's family. It seemed he came from a very long line of powerful aristocrats, all of them the picture of cool formality in the old paintings and newer photographs. Then Alana's gaze fell upon a frame that was lying face-down on a bookshelf. Curious, she slowly turned it over.

It was another photograph, much more recent than any she'd seen yet, and much different.

There was Damien, standing with his hand on the back of a chair. Though he was dressed in the most formal attire, and the photographs before him had all been of the utmost seriousness, he was standing there, smiling from ear to ear, and looking down at the most adorable little boy Alana had ever seen. He was sitting in the chair, his feet dangling far from the floor. He looked to be about four or five, and he had sweet blond curls in sharp contrast to Damien's thick, jet-black hair. His big brown eyes sparkled with joy as he smiled back at Damien. He had the most precious smile.

It almost brought tears to Alana's eyes, looking at that picture. All the photographs she had seen before had appeared so stiff, cold, unreal. But this one had so much warmth and happiness, a snapshot of a beautiful moment in time. She could see the love in Damien's eyes, and the eyes of the little boy. Who is he? Alana had not heard Damien make any mention of a child, though from this picture it was clear that they meant a lot to each other.

She heard voices in the adjoining room, rising and falling dramatically-were they arguing?- but she couldn't distinguish anything they were saying; one of the voices was doubtless the Comte's, however. She tore her eyes away from the happy picture when she heard the door open and the voices grow louder for an instant before being muffled by the closing of the door again. The blonde-haired maid-Alana recognized her from her last visit-was standing there, looking as ill at ease as she had before. At that moment the housekeeper re-entered the room.

"Did you tell them anything?" the woman asked the maid. The girl shook her head solemnly and left the room with the housekeeper, who put a caring arm around her shoulder.

That was a rather odd occurrence, Alana thought, and that combined with the restless voices in the other room were making her feel a bit uneasy herself. She wondered what kind of business was being conducted in there.

Then, the door swung open again, and in walked Damien, who grinned brightly at her. He was followed by…what was his name?…oh yes, Raoul.

"Ah! Alana!" Damien was saying. "So kind of you to join me today! You remember my good friend, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, don't you?"

"Yes of course," Alana said as she and the Vicomte nodded politely to each other.

"I was just discussing the plans for the upcoming ball with him, and giving him and his wife their invitation. I have yours here as well, along with Monsieur Erik's." He drew two envelopes from his jacket pocket and handed them to her.

Alana thought she saw Raoul grimace as she took the pieces of paper. He cleared his throat and said, "I should be getting back to Christine now. Goodbye, Damien. Mademoiselle." He bowed his head slightly, then left the room and disappeared from sight, leaving Alana puzzling after him. Something about the man seemed so off, today. And Christine…that was the name of the woman Erik loved, she realized with a shock. But it was a common name, surely it couldn't be the same woman! Could it? Her thoughts raced as she looked down at the envelopes in her hand. Then, she remembered something.

"Oh, Damien, there's something I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Ask and you shall receive," Damien replied cheerfully. "What is it?"

"I don't mean to trouble you, but it's just that…my cousin Cerise…she would so love to go to the ball, and I would be glad of her company…"

"You would like me to invite her as well?" he asked, knowingly. "Of course she may come. It's not a problem at all. Madame Giry?" he called out, and the housekeeper soon appeared. "Would you please see that another invitation for the ball be written up for…" He looked back at Alana. "…what is the name again?"

All this time, sitting just a row across from her, and he still doesn't even know her name. "Cerise Valjean."

Damien nodded to Madame Giry, and she curtsied and set off to get the invitation made. "Shall we go out to the terrace?" he asked Alana. "It's a wonderful day out." They went outside, where a small glass table with delicately carved chairs had been set up. "I do hope you're hungry," Damien said, as he pulled back Alana's chair. "The chefs have prepared us something delicious, as always," he said as the two portly, mustachioed, white-clad men came out wheeling carts with trays full of food.

The food was delicious, and the day was warm and bright, as was Damien's company. Alana found she was having a grand time here, now that his friends were gone. Without their condescendence all around her, she felt almost as if she belonged here, as she and Damien talked about the upcoming ball.

"I haven't told you yet, have I? I've decided it's going to be a fancy dress ball!" he said excitedly. "Everyone dressed up in all manner of costumes!"

"That sounds splendid." Alana had never been to anything like that in all her life. "And do you know…if it's fancy dress…maybe Erik would be willing to come!" The thought made her smile.

"I certainly hope he will," Damien answered. "I understand how he must feel. I've seen what's happened to those who've been disfigured by war injuries, the way some of them want to hide themselves from the world. But at a fancy dress ball, no one will think ill of him for wearing a mask, as you say he does. He'll have no reason to worry about anything like that, no reason at all."

"I'll be sure to tell him," Alana said, feeling hopeful that maybe Erik would decide to come this time.

After they had finished their meal, they retired to the room that they had been in before, and sat in the velvet armchairs as Damien told amusing stories from past celebrations. In a moment when both of them had gone quiet, Alana saw Damien's eyes flash as they moved to the bookshelf. "Strange…I didn't move that photograph."

"That one…oh, I'm sorry, I moved it…I thought it had fallen." Alana looked at the picture. "It's a very nice photograph. Who is that little boy? He's sweet."

"He is, isn't he?" Damien said, wistfully. He had grown sad all of a sudden, with an expression she had never seen on his face before. "That's Avery. My little brother."

"Oh! Is he with your parents in the country? I didn't know you had any siblings."

"I don't." His voice was cold. "Avery was adopted by my parents. He was the child of one of the servants, and his parents died when he was just an infant. He had no family left, and I convinced my parents to take him in, and raise him as their own. I had always wanted a younger brother, and he was more than I could have ever hoped for. I never thought I could love another person as much as I loved that little boy."

Alana thought she could see red in the corner of Damien's eyes, and tears brimming just beneath the surface. She was afraid to repeat the word out loud, but she did. "Loved?"

"He's dead," Damien whispered, looking down at the floor. "It was less than a year ago. But it feels like forever. It's strange, you know. He was the light of my life. I thought he would always be there, and now he's gone." He sighed heavily. "I don't know why it had to be him. Out of all the people. He was so young, so innocent. It was an accident, but no one should ever have to die like that."

"What happened?" Alana asked, fearful of the answer, her voice barely audible.

"He was such a funny little boy," Damien said, "always trying to be just like me, wanting to come with me to all the parties and events. Sometimes I did bring him, and all my friends loved him. He was so upset when I had to go out to war, but I promised him that when I came back, we could do anything he wanted to do. I was lucky enough to come home early from the war. And a few nights later, I took Avery to the opera." He almost choked on the words. "I kept telling him he wouldn't like it, but he begged and pleaded, so we bought him some fancy evening clothes and a little top hat for him to wear, just like me. He was so excited."

Alana's throat hurt and she could feel her eyes stinging. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more, but she was wrapped up in Damien's story.

"We could have sat in one of the boxes, but Avery wanted to sit on the floor closer to the orchestra and the people on stage, so that's what we did. And then the opera began. Right from the beginning, I knew it wasn't appropriate for someone his age, but at least he was too young to understand what was happening. The opera was called Don Juan Triumphant, you see."

Alana had never heard of it, but she knew the legends about Don Juan, the famous womanizer.

"The first bit wasn't very good, but then the young soprano, Christine Daee, comes on stage and begins to sing…she's Raoul's wife now, you know. She turns the whole thing around. She has the most beautiful voice. Avery loved it. He looked up at me and asked if she was an angel." At that, Alana really began to wonder whether this was the same Christine that Erik had spoken of, but she continued to focus her main attention on Damien. "And then Don Juan joins her on stage. They sing a spectacular song together, it had the whole audience, especially Avery and I, enthralled. And then," he paused, his eyes growing darker. "It turns out that the man playing Don Juan is not the right person. He's a crazed lunatic, an imposter. All of a sudden, he grabs hold of Christine, cuts a line offstage, and disappears with her. That's when it happened." He clenched his fists. "The chandelier fell."

"What?"

Damien had his back to her now; she couldn't see his face as he spoke. "It fell down from the ceiling. Right where Avery and I were sitting. I looked up, saw it falling, and pulled on his arm, getting up and starting to run away. But we were in the middle of the row. There were people in our way, and though everything seemed to be in slow motion, the chandelier fell fast. Then there was a huge crash, and I felt the glass digging into my skin. In terrible pain, I crawled out from under the broken chandelier, and then, everything went up in flames." His voice was trembling as he spoke. "People were running everywhere, screaming, trying to escape the fire. I didn't see Avery, I was panicking, trying to push my way past the glass and flames, screaming his name. I could feel the smoke filling my lungs, the glass in my skin, the blood running down my body. And then a gendarme…I don't know why they were there, but they were…came and dragged me away. I tried to fight him off, I had to find my brother, but I was too weak. I lost consciousness, and woke up in a hospital, my parents and friends standing over me, crying. They said they were so glad that I was alive, but they didn't look happy. All I could think of was my little brother. I asked them where he was, I wanted to see him. But they just shook their heads, and my father told me. 'Avery's dead, son. The madman killed him."

Alana had her hand over her mouth, in shock. She would never have guessed that something so…terrible, so ghastly, could ever have happened to a little child, or Damien. She didn't know what to say, but she had to say something. "I'm so, so sorry…" A tear rolled down her cheek.

Damien wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Then he looked sadly back at her. "You know how it feels, don't you? To have someone taken away from you?"

"Yes, I do," she said quietly. "If you're feeling upset and need to speak with someone, I'm here. I understand what it is you're going through. It must be terrible. He was just a child."

Damien nodded slowly, and stood, going to the other side of the room to pour himself a drink. "It is terrible. But I'm finding different ways to cope." He sipped the drink. "Can I get you something?"

"Oh, no, thank you," Alana answered. She was perfectly content with the glass of wine she'd had earlier. "The imposter…the madman…was he caught?"

"No," Damien said bitterly, taking a long drink of what appeared to be some very strong liquor. "But he will be. Soon. There will be justice for Avery."

"I hope so," Alana said.

"Now then," the Comte said, after finishing his drink alarmingly quickly. "Let's think of more pleasant things." He gestured to the window. "There's still plenty of afternoon left, it would be a pity to waste it indoors. Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Yes, I would. I think the fresh air will do us both some good."

Sure enough, after Damien had put on his hat-which always had that funny sideways tilt to it-and they'd stepped outside, Alana felt a change in both of their moods. Neither one of them felt entirely cheerful after Damien's tragic story, but with the bright sun above and the pleasant warmth and beauty all around them, they began to speak and talk of other things as they walked arm in arm down the lane. Other pedestrians stared at them as they passed by; Alana knew it was because she was a newcomer to the neighborhood, and she was not dressed nearly as fine as Damien was. She loved it here, loved being with him, but she couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of being out of place.

They came to a stop in front of a mass of hedges. "This is my favorite part of the entire Parc," Damien told her, grinning. It was good to see him smiling again; sadness did not seem to belong on a face like his. "It's a hedge maze. Would you like to try it?"

Living on a farm outside a small town, Alana had never heard of such a thing. "Yes, I think so! I've never been in one before."

Damien laughed. "The first time Raoul and I tried it, we got hopelessly lost. One of the gardeners had to come and help us find our way out. Not one of our proudest moments, but an amusing diversion nonetheless. Lead the way, Alana. I hope you have a better sense of direction than we do!"

"You're not going to help me?" Alana asked as they began walking through the narrow pathways.

"Possibly, if you get us too lost. But I want you to have the fun of trying to figure it out for yourself."

And so Alana led him through the maze. It was exciting, but incredibly confusing. The hedges were tall and she could see nothing above them. It was hard to know where she'd been, and at first she got them terribly turned around, but then she began to notice little things on the path that were different, or the sharpness of certain turns, and began to find her way. After what seemed like forever, they came into a large garden, with rows and rows of colorful flowers, a fountain with graceful dolphins carved into it, and a little wooden bench beneath two cherry trees.

"Oh," Alana breathed. "It's so pretty. Is this the end?"

"No," Damien said, laughing. "See…on the other side, the maze continues. We actually have quite a ways to go. A nasty trick, isn't it?

Alana's heart sank a little.

"But you've done well. It took Raoul and I much longer to find this place. Would you like to move on, or stay here a while?"

"We could rest here for a while," Alana said absently, taking in all the beauty around her. She had never imagined people could live somewhere where there were places like this.

Damien let go of her arm, and pulled out a few coins from his pocket. He handed one to her, and she hesitated. "Thank you, but what…"

"It's for the fountain," he said. "To make a wish."

"Oh. Thank you." Alana took the coin, and the two of them walked up to the fountain. There were already coins at the bottom of the water, and she wondered how many people had been there before them, just like this. Now, to make a wish. She closed her eyes, and thought for just an instant before she knew. It was foolish. It was probably impossible. But she opened her eyes and dropped the coin into the fountain, wishing with all her heart. Damien tossed his in next.

"May your wish come true," he said as he watched the coin sink.

"And yours," Alana added.

"We shall see." Damien smiled at her, and took his hat off, his eyes drifting across the garden. "Would you like to sit down for a while? Rest before we brave the maze again?"

Alana nodded, and they went to the bench. There were countless lovers' initials carved into the wood, she noticed before she sat down. She took a deep breath of the fresh air and looked out across the garden. This was the most romantic place she'd ever been to. If only he were here…

"Alana." Jolted from her daydream, she turned to face Damien, who was sitting close beside her. Their shoulders were almost touching. "I wanted to thank you for coming today."

"It was no trouble at all," she replied. "It's been a nice time."

"It was such a stroke of luck that I met you," Damien continued. "I've lived my life surrounded by friends of all sorts, but I've never met anyone quite like you before. If I'm being completely honest, you're the only one I've really been able to talk to. The others, they can be good company sometimes, but they don't really say anything at all, and they don't know how to listen. You're not like the rest of them, Alana." There was such deep sincerity in his eyes as he spoke. He took her hand in his, and her heart beat faster. "We've only just met, but I feel as though I've known you forever." His eyes were shining, his face close to hers. "Do you know what I mean?"

Alana knew. She nodded, but could not think of the words to say to him.

She didn't have to.

He leaned in closer, and pressed his lips against hers.

It took her by surprise, but she couldn't keep from kissing him back. It was nothing like she thought it would be, but she didn't think she wanted it to end. His arms were around her now, and he was running his fingers through her hair. She could feel his heart racing as fast as hers was. He was so handsome, so good…

She'd never felt so close to someone, so warm, so safe…

But when they finally pulled apart and she took a breath, Alana had a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that said that something about…this…was wrong.

Damien studied her face for a moment, and his countenance fell. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have done that." He looked angry with himself. "They've always said I'm too forward, too rash. Now I've gone and upset you, I can see it. I'm sorry."

"It…it's all right," Alana managed to say.

"Is it?" He asked, earnestly. "Is it really?"

"I don't know."

"I'm sorry," he apologized for the third time. "If you wish, we can forget this ever happened. We can just be good friends…a…platonic relationship." For once, he seemed to be having trouble finding what he wanted to say.

"Yes, of course," Alana said. "Don't worry about it." She got to her feet, trying to clear her head. "Shall we find the way out of the maze now?"

It was different, going through the tunnels in the hedge this time. They were both awkwardly quiet, with none of the ease of conversation they'd had just a short while ago. Alana's thoughts were all muddled together in a strange way. She felt sorry for Damien, but she wanted Erik to be with her now, not him, and she was frustrated things were turning out this way, and not the way she knew it should be, but couldn't be. Her whole life was like this maze, she thought, and she didn't know which paths to take.

In the end, Damien had to help her find the way out of the maze; she would have had them lost forever. They headed back to the house, Damien making attempts at small talk, pointing out the sights of the Parc, struggling for words.

When they went through the front door, Madame Giry was in the foyer to meet them. "There's someone here to see you, my lord," she said after a polite curtsy to both him and Alana. "He's in the library."

"Thank you, Madame Giry. I'm sorry, Alana. I must see who's calling. I'll be back soon." Damien nodded to her and went to the library, leaving her with the housekeeper

"I have the other invitation to give to you now," the housekeeper said, handing her Cerise's envelope along with the other two. "The Comte would not want you to forget these."

"Neither would I," Alana said, taking them gladly, though she wondered if things would still feel strange between her and Damien by the time the ball came. "Thank you." She smiled at the housekeeper, and realized that it looked like Madame Giry wanted to tell her something.

"Mademoiselle, I couldn't help but notice the names on these invitations. One for you, Alana Valjean, and another for a man called Erik. Just Erik."

"Oh, do you know him?" Alana wondered.

Madame Giry looked around the room, then said, "Yes, I do. I've known him longer than anyone."

"Really? How fascinating. He's never said anything about you before, I don't think."

"That doesn't surprise me," she said wryly. "But I have heard him speak of you. He says he is giving you…music lessons?"

"Yes. He's an excellent teacher."

"He's not the only one. Having someone to teach music to has given him something to enjoy in life, something he sorely needed. Since he's returned to Paris, I have noticed a change in him…sometimes…he's not like he used to be. You have been a great help to him, Mademoiselle, more than you know. I wanted to thank you for that."

"It's no trouble at all," Alana said, smiling. "He's been a good friend to me, and he deserves no less."

"I am glad he has found a friend like you," Madame Giry said. She had a grace about her, a certain kind of nobility. Alana found it hard to believe she was speaking with a servant. "But I must give you a warning." She looked around the room to make sure no one was listening. "Do not speak of him to others, and take great care that no one sees him with you when he comes at night."

What? Alana didn't understand. "But why?" she whispered.

"Monsieur Erik has a great many enemies…" the woman suddenly stopped talking, and then Damien came walking through the doors.

"Ah! I see you've got the invitations. Excellent." Damien seemed to have recovered from the awkwardness of the previous situation, and was all cheerfulness again. His gaze turned to the window and Alana followed it. Above the front garden, ugly black clouds had begun to form in the distant sky. "It looks like rain," he said. "We should be heading back to Sacree Boulevard, I think. Wouldn't want to be caught in that downpour."

Alana glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five-thirty, and she was rather eager to go home. She had had about all she could handle for one day, what with terribly sad stories and Damien's unexpected advances. She nodded. "It does look quite nasty," she replied.

So Damien summoned the carriage, and they set off for Sacree Boulevard. After stepping outside, Alana felt a sudden chill in the air, and a strong wind picking up that sent her hair blowing across her face. The afternoon smelled of rain.

The carriage ride back home was pleasant; Damien was making conversation easily again, and they talked and laughed the entire way. Alana almost forgot what had happened earlier in the garden…the Comte just had a way of making you forget everything else around you. His warm, energetic presence seemed to fill a room, and now he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man who had stood with his back to her, so she wouldn't see him cry as he told the story of how his little brother had been taken from him so tragically.

When they had pulled in front of the Valjean's house, Damien escorted her out of the carriage and to the door. A light rain had started to fall, and it was clear that any minute there would be a torrential downpour. Cerise answered the door, and blushed to see Damien standing on their doorstep.

"Good evening, Monsieur Comte," she said, curtsying and smiling adoringly at him.

"Good evening, Mademoiselle Valjean. I hope you and your cousin have a pleasant rest of the day. Oh! And I also hope to see you both at the ball at my chateau in a few weeks! Alana here has your invitation."

"Oh, I'd be delighted to come!" Cerise said excitedly, taking the envelope from Alana.

"Wonderful," Damien said, flashing a brilliant smile Cerise's way. Alana hoped her cousin wouldn't swoon. "I'll see you both soon, then. Until next time." He tipped his hat to them, and went back into the carriage.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Damien watched as the heavens opened and the rain fell down in torrents. He could hardly see through the windows, and the carriage had slowed down considerably. Henri probably couldn't see a thing either, and he and the horse must be getting soaked to the bone. He'd have to make sure he gave Henri a tip and that they both got a nice long rest after getting him through this weather, while he stayed inside the carriage high and dry. He really was a lucky man. But he didn't feel like one.

He felt sick to his stomach. This had been one of the hardest days he'd had in a long time. Seeing that picture of him and Avery, not to mention telling Alana the whole wretched tale, had been hell. And he'd blown it with her in the hedge maze too. She'd kissed him back, but he could tell in her eyes when it was over that he'd made a mistake.

He clenched his fist. He knew what the problem was. She was probably in love with her precious "music teacher," just a deluded freak of an outcast who was up to his old tricks again. Well Alana was one girl he wouldn't be dragging off to marry him. Once she learned who her teacher truly was and what he'd done, Damien knew she'd come running to him. That was the one hope he had at the moment; she was a welcome distraction from all the dark days full of plotting his vengeance and drowning his sorrows in drink. And yet, she had been, and still was instrumental in that plot for revenge…without her, he would inevitably fail.

Damien pulled something out of the deepest pocket of his jacket. He gazed at his reflection in the silver plating of the revolver, cold and gray. He hadn't used the gun since he'd been allowed to go home from the war, but he'd kept it close to him ever since Avery died. Because there was still a war going on. The madman's time was ticking away. When he found the Phantom of the Opera, he would shoot him. And kill him.