Chapter 25

The crash of the backdrop did not disturb the performance. The music on stage had been sufficiently loud enough to cause the resounding crack of the pole upon the stage and the subsequent cries of the cast backstage to not be heard. No one in the auditorium or in the private boxes were aware that the infamous Opera Ghost had once again made his presence known. Actually, no one but Madame Giry and I knew that it had indeed been he who had caused the drop to fall.

Upon the stage, I was lifted up in the arms of a stagehand. When I had tried to stand up on my own, the room had spun, a dizzying swirl of faces and flys and catwalks above me, and I'd collapsed. My temple was pounding so horribly I thought I might be ill and I could feel the area quickly swelling. Jacques, a burly flyman, scooped me up and carried me off to a more secluded part of the backstage area. The twins followed, their pretty faces drawn in anxiety with Madame Lefevre behind them, her eyes dark with concern. Carlotta and several chorus members gathered around as Jacques carefully laid me down on the floor.

Madame Giry was being supported by one of the tenors, leaning heavily on her cane, which I had never actually seen her use. She straightened and assured everyone that she was allright. She had landed on her back rather than cracking her head as I had.

She hurried over and cradled my face gently in her hands looking at my temple and touching it gingerly causing me to moan softly in pain. I was breaking out in a cold sweat and there were tears on my cheeks.

But not from the pain in my body. My heart was a leaden weight in my chest. The rest of me simply felt hollow.

Later that night, I was resting upon my bed, a damp cloth over my swollen, violently bruised temple. My head was pounding with a ferocity that made every sound of a horrible volume. My stomach was churning in my abdomen, everytime I shifted or even breathed making the pain worse, causing bouts of powerful nausea.

My hands which were holding my stomach were bruised badly on my palms and my knees were stiff with pain. The room was completely dark except for a single candle that Madame Giry had left. I could hear her in the hallway coming toward my room.

"Her head, her temple, hit the stage quite bad. It's swollen horribly and very bruised. She'll have a terrible headache for at least a couple of days. Let me see if she wants to see you..." she opened the door as she spoke to someone in the hall and came to me quietly, laying her hand on my shoulder.

"My dear?" she asked softly.

I swallowed and spoke, my voice low and quiet, trying to avoid making my head throb no more badly then it already did.

"Yes?"

"Meg, and the Chagnys are outside. They would like to see you. I'm afraid Meg's been crowing about you all night to them for helping her earlier. Is it alright to allow them in?"

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. If Erik had been furious enough to send the backdrop crashing toward me, what would he do if he stood behind the mirror while the object of his adoration and her husband made conversation and questioned me about what had happened. He would be watching every move, every word, to see if I would betray him in any way.

And why shouldn't I?

He had deliberately attempted to hurt me and involuntarily had. After last night, sleeping close to him, enclosed in his arms and mine about him, after our quiet moment today, reading with his arm about me and my head on his chest. All that had flown in the face of hearing me state that he was a fool for still wanting Christine, whom I could no longer deny his plans seemed to be closing in around. He was unpredictable, volatile, and a murderer. While his gentlemanly side and even his tenderness existed beneath the facade, he was much more the manipulator, the wrathful god-like being that I had first come in contact with. How had I ever let myself forget that that side of him existed?

I turned to Madame Giry and nodded, and I felt the hot flood of tears again. She stroked her palm down my face and then suprised me by kissing my forehead. She stood and walked to the door, and quietly invited them in.

Meg appeared first, coming over gracefully and sitting by the bed, still dressed in her costume.

"You'll get dirt on that," I said weakly, with a smile.

Behind her I heard Raoul's boyish laugh.

"Her poor head coshed in and she still thinks about costumes." He came to stand beside my head and placed a small bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. "How are you feeling, mademoiselle? We heard about your accident from Meg and after our little meetings, we wanted to make sure you were not seriously injured." His face had turned grave.

I gestured toward my head, the movement making the room spin. "It hurts badly, my lord, but no permanent damage, I'm sure. Thank you." Even speaking was wearisome.

"What happened, exactly?" Christine de Chagny came to stand beside her husband and sunk to sit along with Meg.

I cleared my throat over the lump, catching the eyes of Madame Giry, who looked away quickly. I knew she had not give away Erik's presence above us in the flys.

My eyes fell on the large silent mirror. I knew that Erik stood behind it, could practically feel his gaze boring into mine waiting for the words to fall from my lips that would send him running once more. I thought about all the times he'd intimidated me, forcefully backed me against a wall, pinned me beneath him and nearly crushed my wrists, manipulated me into doing his bidding, then the sight of him far above me in the shadows of the flys, his face so cold and cruel, watching him silently stalk off. And I thought of my hand that he'd stitched up, the night he'd scooped me up off the rooftop and saved me from freezing, the song in the dark, his head above mine as he read silently, the first kiss I'd ever truly enjoyed, in that cold, stone hallway. His eyes right before I'd laid my mouth to his, when he believed I had betrayed him.

I turned back to Christine, her face lit softly by the single candle.

"Merely an accident, I'm sure," I said quietly.

They stayed by my bedside a short while longer, then took their leave of me, except for Madame Giry, who helped me into my night shift, as I still could not stand without fearsome dizziness and nausea. She carefully removed the pins from my hair and braided it down my back, then assisted me under the covers. If she thought the deep gold velvet blanket upon my plainly white linen clad bed odd, she said nothing. Erik had left it with me for warmth.

She bid me a good night and gave me a promise to check on me in the morning and blew out the candle and quietly left the room. I was left in utter darkness.

I turned slowly onto my side, swallowing back the nausea and settled myself, facing away from the mirror. I did not want to have to look at it. Or see him as he came in the room, which I knew he would.

I didn't have long to wait.

The mirror slid open almost soundlessly and I heard the whisper of his cloak against his legs, then the mirror closing. I didn't speak, but tears had begun to roll slowly down my cheeks.

He said nothing. I could hear his deep breathing, blending oddly with the shuddering breaths I took.

Finally, with my eyes closed over my tears, I spoke:

"I could have betrayed you." My voice was quiet and flat, barely above a whisper.

He was silent. Finally his low murmur reached me.

"I know."

I opened my eyes and stared at the wallpaper.

"I don't know what you are planning, Erik. But I do know this. You very nearly hurt Madame Giry tonight, as well. I was the one who said what I did, not her. She's innocent of this, of your return. No, please, don't deny it. I'm no fool, Erik. But keep one thing in mind," my voice remained flat, emotionless, "there's only so much that you can do before they realize it's you. And I won't be able to lie for you any longer. Right now, you have the upper hand over me, but if they realize that you are resurfacing, no manipulations will keep them from finding you."

The room fell silent again. Then I heard him approach me. His fingers touched my bruised temple softly. Then I felt his knee upon the bed and his hand curved gently about my shoulder, tryng to make me face him. I wouldn't.

He lowered his body alongside mine and put his arms around my middle to gather me close to him.

His voice was strained and low. "Genevieve..."

"No. Please. Just go." I whispered, resisting the warm strength of his body. "Leave me."

He was silent.

"As you wish," he whispered hoarsely.

The mirror opened and slid closed.

I began to sob in earnest.