Chapter 27: To Become a Ghost…

The letter read:

Dear Monsieur Erik,
I beg your forgiveness for I have broken one of the cardinal rules. Due to my lack of time, I could not give you this message personally. So, I had to let my aunt know about you for she has to write this letter for me. I realise that I am breaking a promise but believe me Monsieur, I have no choice.
I do not know where to start or what to tell you, so I will be brief. I ran away from home several weeks ago. My aunt is a family friend and she organised this place in the Opera for me. Now my family is here and I suspect that they will never allow me to come back. I tried to come and say farewell, but you were upset. This letter will have to do.

Monsieur, thank you for everything that you have done for me. I cannot say this enough. You not only showed me the city, but how to live without fear of prejudice. Your acceptance of my disability in the beginning and the way you treated me almost callously strengthened me to the real world. And, thank you for all the times we spend on the roof. Where at first I found myself accompanying you to listen to the stories you read, I later found myself rather going to be with you. The books became the excuse, not the reason. You took away the loneliness that might have driven me from the Opera, had it been allowed to fester on its own.

My time is short and I have to start finishing this.

Monsieur, I have not been truthful to you, for I am not all that I pretended to be. It shames me that I have lied to you for so long. Part of me wishes to tell you the truth now, but another side of me wishes to keep things the way they were. Ann LeRoux will be forgotten, will cease to be after today, but I beg you to remember her.

Carry her with you always, as I will carry you.
Ann.

He had fallen to the floor and he couldn't remember how he got there. Looking up at Meg Giry, her words ringing through his head, all he could say was.
"No."
Meg looked at him, her eyes compassionate for the first time. "You really didn't know," she whispered softly and hunched down. "You really didn't know." Hesitantly she reached out to try and touch him but he slapped her hand away and stood up, his world spinning around him.
"Don't touch me!" he yelled. "Don't!"

Meg flinched away from him and retreated to a safe distance, clutching her wrist more from shock than pain. He could feel her caution as she watched him but he didn't care. With his thoughts in turmoil, he started pacing, pulling his hands in and out of his hair. It was still a wig of course. The little hair that he had had, had all but disappeared. He suddenly felt very, very old.

The younger woman watched him, her eyes following every movement of his. She wanted to flee, he could feel that, but the duty that she refused to acknowledge held her captive. "Monsieur," she tried. "Monsieur, please… I'm sorry."

He rounded on her, the two words cutting through his soul. "Sorry?" he spat. "Sorry?! How dare you? How dare you bring her here after I did everything I could to make sure that she would never return?! And her daughter…" He could not keep the look of agony from crossing his features. "Oh Ann," he whispered, moaning. "Ann…" He started pacing again, his steps as sharp as the movements in his hands. "Christine…"

She sniffed sharply suddenly and dared to take a step closer. "You ask why I brought her here Monsieur," she snapped. "Well, I'll tell you now. It's because of her, not of Christine. It's because of Julianne. My Ann. I brought her here because; despite all of her family's history, she deserved a chance of life away from the de Changy shadow. Because she deserved to find herself." Meg paused and swallowed at the tightness in her throat as she regarded him. "I brought her here because I could make a distinction between Christine and Ann and realize who was more important to me. Something I think you should do as well if you wish to be of any further help."

He glared then abruptly turned his back on her. "Why should I help her?" he spat. "Everything that she has told me is a lie and everything that we did was wrapped in it."

He heard Meg snort softly, heard her move closer to him. "Forgive me Monsieur," she said dryly. "But did you not show her much the same courtesy? Did you tell her why you live here or what you have done?"
When he didn't answer she nodded to herself. "I think not Monsieur Erik," she said. "By not showing yourself to her, you kept her as much in the dark as she kept you." Her tone turned bitterer. "The only one who's been lied to here is me, and by her words, that was your doing."

He turned around slowly and found that she was standing within arms reach from him, her light eyes a sharp contrast to the darkness around them. He was shocked by their intensity and, for once, the lack of hate or anger that he saw in them. Bending his head forward, so aware of the ache in his chest, he closed his eyes and shook his head.
"What do you want from me?" he queried softly. "Please, why couldn't you just let this be?"
He could sense the sadness that radiated from her as she shook her head, not knowing herself. "Perhaps because, as I told you, I feel that you are the only person who can change this," she said softly. "For I certainly can't."
He tried to walk away, he really did. He took two steps back, away from her and towards the awaiting darkness of the cavern around him. But, he could not move suddenly, for in his mind he remembered the wild trips he and Ann had had down into the labyrinth so that they could have the privacy he needed to teach her how to sing for the Gala evening. She was all around him suddenly, her face drifting in his memory, her voice ringing in his years. And her smell or the way she would touch his mask or hold his hand. The way she trusted him beyond a doubt… His heart ached anew and he had to close his eyes in order to try and control his emotions. How could he not have known?

"Tell me again," he said softly, his voice hoarse, "what does François Mackenzie want with her?

&&&

Julianne stood on the stairs, listening to the carriage as it pulled away from the yard, her heart feeling as if it was being torn from her chest as the sound grew softer and softer. This is it, she thought as she shifted uncomfortably. This moment was the end of the life she had come to live. When she turned around and went back into the mansion, then Ann LeRoux and all her experiences in Paris would come to an end.

Her farewell to her parents had been a subdued one. They had not shared breakfast together, for food had been brought to their rooms separately. It had been a bother to Julianne because she wasn't shown or told where it was nor had it been placed in a strategic place. In her attempt to find the tray, she had accidently knocked against the table it was on and send all its contents flying to the floor. Insecure and embarrassed, Julianne had forced herself to stand still until the maids came to collect it in fear of creating a bigger mess than she already had. The awareness of the sharp porcelain shards from what sounded like a shattered tea pot also lay heavily on her mind. The maids had been vexingly sympathetic and before she knew exactly what was happening, the rough hands from the previous evening was back to dress her. Julianne had tried to protest at the woman's insistent touch, had tried to make her understand that there were some things she liked to do for herself. Not being able to decide what she was going to wear, or having no say in how her attire was put together made her feel increasingly helpless. Her requests and explanations had fallen on deaf ears. The promised cane was also not delivered, effectively forcing Julianne to remain in her room until someone came to collect her to share a final cup of tea with her parents. Monsieur Mackenzie had been present through it all, his presence seemingly pleasant and welcoming but Julianne could sense the superiority he felt over the de Changy family. There was also, in truth, nothing that they could say to each other that would change the outcome of that day. Their inevitable good bye was tense and short, everything that they would've said to each other that might've helped drowned to silence by the overbearing shadow of Mackenzie.

Julianne sighed softly, swallowing the tight lump in her throat and turned around, carefully making her way up the stairs again. When she reached the top a hand slipped into the crook of her elbow and guided her to where she had determined the other steps were.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked the invisible hand, but did not strain against it.
"Back to your room Mademoiselle," a younger voice than she expected said. "Monsieur Mackenzie said that he will be with you shortly to discuss your trip."

Julianne hid her winch, but was unable to stop the sense of fear that erupted within her. She would be alone with him, here in this house where she had no allies to speak of. She might've been sheltered from the world by her parents, but Julianne knew what she had to fear from it. She sniffed and touched the unknown servant's hand.
"Will you stay with me?" she queried, trying hard to keep the question neutral instead of making it sound like a plea. Unfortunately she sensed the young woman's surprise even before she replied.

"Of course not, Mademoiselle," the young girl said amused. "I have other duties. Do not worry; there are many things in the room that will keep you occupied. Are you excited about your trip? Myself, this is the furthest I have ever gone beyond Paris…"

&&&

He was beyond angry as he searched through François Mackenzie's office for his estate address. Flipping through the files as quickly as he could, he tried to keep his anger at bay but it was very very hard.
How could he allow this? The Phantom thought as he put a file back in its place and switched to the next one. How?
He had hoped that Raoul would take care of Christine, that he would love and cherish her in a way that he never could. It was one of the reasons he had allowed her to go back to him. When Christine had kissed him on that fateful night, now more than twenty years ago, he had been faced with the life that he could have had. Perhaps in the same way dying men claimed to see their life flash before their eyes, he had seen the potential future of his in that fated moment. As Christine kissed him, he felt himself become less of a monster and more of man. He had felt his rage against the world filter away and the rage against himself start. He had seen the way she looked at him suddenly, her fear disappearing, her eyes opening, not to his disfigurement but to his soul. He knew that she was willing to stay with him then, not to save her betrothed but for herself. In that one moment, she belonged to him again as she had belonged to him before Raoul came. She was willing to spend her life with him and he couldn't face it. Being a monster was easier than being a man.
He had to take a deep breath as his heart contracted painfully in his chest, his emotions almost getting the better of him. What would he have done with Christine if he had kept her? There were only so many songs that they could sing together, only so much music that can be written. The dream would've ended eventually, he had realized, and then they would've been two people facing each other outside the world he had tried to create. Even though he had loved her more in that moment than he ever dreamed he would be able to, he had to let her go because Raoul could offer her so much more.

Yet, he didn't – the Phantom thought as he finally found what he was looking for. By the sound of it, Raoul had squandered his inherited wealth and had put his family in danger. The Phantom could not allow it, he could not. He had not given Christine up only to have her daughter sold as a debt's payment. He could not loose Ann the way he had lost Christine. He had let Christine go; he had not fought for her. He could not, after everything that he had done. But, he had done no such things in Ann's presence; he had done her no injustice. He could fight for her, no matter whose daughter she was.

When he had been in the office the previous night, he vowed that he would find her family's link to Mackenzie and sever it so that she could live free of his torment. Despite the bitterness of the masquerade they had held for each other, that wish did not change. He would protect her as he did that day in the alley.
He owed her that much for giving him the shreds of happiness that he had felt in her company.

&&&

The sun did not warm her.

Sitting on the steps of the Opera Populaire, Meg leaned forward and hugged her knees. She had followed the Phantom out to the stables when he left his underground lair and had gone with him to the stables where he tacked up one of the carriage horses. It had disturbed her how the young black stallion had nickered in greeting or how the groom had not batted an eye when the heavily cloaked stranger took the horse without so much as a reason why.

He has lived among us, she thought as she looked at the people around her. Unseen, unnoticed. Like the director of a play, the notes of music. Nobody thinks about them, but their effects are seen, felt… Nobody batted an eye in her direction for, in her dirty overalls and thick men's cloak, she looked more like a beggar than the ballet mistress.

She had tried to go with him, had begged him to take her with. When she realized that he was committed to help Julianne, she suddenly grew fearful of the force that she had released and wanted to make sure that he didn't hurt anybody but he heard nothing of it and merely rode out of the stables as if the devil himself was behind him. Or, maybe – Meg thought bitterly, in his case… God.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes, aware that she had not slept, and could not help but remember the lifeless forms of Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi. Although she had a sense that the man she had met in the dark was not the monster of the past, she could not help but wonder that, if he reverted to his vengeful side, if he somehow, someway killed for Ann or because of Ann as he did for Christine, that would make her just as much a monster as he was?

Or would it make him the hero?
She closed her eyes again and hugged her knees to her chest. "What have I done?" she whispered softly. There was no answer save for the usual mid morning activity around the Opera. Sighing, her chest heavy with fear and anxiety caused by her forced wait, Meg pushed herself up and slowly went back up the Opera stairs. She just reached the top when she heard someone running up behind her. Meg frowned and turned around, just in time to see Christine push past her. Reacting quickly, she grabbed her old friend by the arm and pulled her back to face her.
"Christine?" she exclaimed surprised when she saw the woman's tear stained face. "What's the matter? Why are you here?" She looked down to see Raoul exit a carriage at the bottom of the stairs. "Where's Julianne?"

Christine didn't recognize her immediately but blinked startled at her touch and tried to pull away. It was only when she spoke that she recognized her childhood friend in the men's clothes.

"Meg!" she exclaimed and closed her eyes, sagging against her grip. "Meg, I…" She bit her lip, but didn't start crying again immediately. Meg held onto her and turned an accusing look on Raoul who was slowly coming up the stairs as well.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Why are you here? You should be with Julianne! Where is she?"

Raoul's face was pained as he shook his head. "My wife insisted on coming back here," he said, his voice monotone. "She needed to tell you…" He didn't finish his sentence but turned his face away from them.

Her fear increased ten fold and Meg increased her grip on Christine, forcing the woman to look at her. "Where is your daughter?!" she demanded. "Christine, tell me!"

Christine shook her head and stood up a bit straighter. "She is still at Mackenzie's estates," she said softly, tears of shame gathering in the corner of her eyes. "I've failed her Meg. You were right to take her from us, we don't deserve…"

Meg swallowed against the sudden pain in her stomach. "Ssh…" she said softly. "Easy Christine, please – you're wrong. I had no right. Please, be still. Tell me what's wrong; tell me what's going on." She looked directly at Raoul. "Please."

Raoul, his expression grim, slowly stepped up to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders. "Monsieur Mackenzie will be sending Julianne to his mother in Scotland tonight," he said quietly. "He all but kicked us off of his estates. My wife… Christine is upset. She insisted on coming here to ask for your apology. And to tell you."

Meg stood very still for a few moments, her world spinning with possibilities. Then, suddenly, she found anger inside her deeper than anything she had ever felt before, including the one she had felt down in the chamber.
"And you just left her there?!" she snapped. "In that house, alone, with that man! You fool! Betrothed or not there are things that he can do to her… will do to her… Julianne is an innocent, how could you just abandon her there?! And, allow him to send her away?! No!" She turned to Christine who could only stare at her. "No," Meg said again and stepped away from her friend. "I will not allow it." She started heading down the stairs again when Raoul grabbed her by the arm.
"What do you mean to accomplish Meg?" he snapped. "We cannot interfere, he won't let us."

Meg all but growled at him. "And who is our master?" she sneered. "Tell me? Is it François Mackenzie? The Phantom of the Opera? Greed? Fear?!" She slapped his hand away and took two more steps down. "This has become ridicules… A ridicules act! With players and hidden agendas and secrets. We have all been so caught up in the past, so caught up with what happened here twenty years ago that we never bothered to see the tragedy unfolding before our very eyes." She snorted suddenly, bitterly. "Even I was blinded by the past and instead of dragging you back to this place and stop you from taking Julianne to him I allowed myself to…" She snorted and shook her head, turning her back on them. "What could he have done," she mused quietly, "that I cannot do for myself? How do I even know he's out there… helping?"

Christine hurried after her friend. "What are you saying Meg?" she queried.
Meg Giry sniffed and looked at her friend almost sadly. "I wanted a ghost from the past to fix this," she said. "But what I really should've done is; try and help myself. Look at us Christine, Raoul. What have we become? Did we want to become like this? Three people, quite ready to leave a young woman to her dire fate because of fear? We cannot live in the past, Julianne needs our help now!"

Raoul stepped forward, his face ashen. "You are over reacting Meg," he said – his tone not unkind. "There is… Nothing that we can do. And Mackenzie will not harm Julianne. He can't."

Meg snorted and shook her head. "You are just as naïve as you were when you came here," she said. "A young whelp, besotted with his childhood sweetheart. François will break your daughter's spirit."

There was a long silence in which Christine turned to her husband, watching the internal battle that waged behind his troubled eyes. Swallowing against her own tears, she reached up and touched his hand.
"She's right Raoul," she said softly. "We can't allow this. We haven't been thinking clearly. Even Julianne said so, even she could pick it up that we've been ruled by our past."

Raoul looked at his wife, his hand lifeless in hers. "If we do this," he said quietly. "Our way of life is forfeit. We will loose everything Christine. Everything."

The woman dropped her head and squeezed her husband's hand. "And, do you think we would've been happy in our home, surrounded by all the splendour that Mackenzie's money can buy, knowing that we sacrificed our only daughter's happiness for it?" She looked up back into his eyes and saw for the first time that he was looking at her. Not through her, or past her, or beyond her as has become his habit but at her. Taking a deep breath, Raoul nodded slowly. "You're right," he said. "I… I have been a fool Christine. I'm so sorry." He looked at Meg who was already standing by the carriage. "We'll need fresh horses."

&&&

Sitting in the room, listening to the quietness of the manor around her, Julianne thought about the past. She thought about her childhood and how much her parents had done for her. She knew that she had not been an easy child to raise and she knew without a doubt that her parents had given her more opportunities to rise above her disability than she could ever have hoped for. She thought about Meg Giry and the influence the independent woman had had in shaping her perception of the world, of allowing her to grow further than her parents had ever hoped she would. Where her parents had taught her about life and how to cope with it, her aunt had shown her how to live and had given her the freedom to do so herself. She thought about her brothers and how much she loved and missed them.

And, then inevitably, she thought of Monsieur Erik. At first, she allowed the memories of his presence to fill her, from the first day he led her out of the bowels of the Opera to the last day she heard him on the roof, his voice bitter with a pain he could not share. Then, slowly she realized how much she loved his voice, his presence around her and those rare moments that he went as far as to touch her.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth because she knew that she would never feel that way about François Mackenzie. She doubted that the man would ever see her as Monsieur Erik had and, through that, she betrayed him even further.

"Never become a ghost Ann," he had said. "Never. You are more than that. You are not a ghost; you are the only thing that is real to me. Please, promise me. You must never become a ghost."

Julianne took a deep breath, wondering if those words would ever leave her. They were what had spurred her initially to realize that she would not be able to marry François. And she wouldn't have, had it not been for her parents debt. Running her hands over her face, she leaned back and lay on the bed, breathing deeply – fighting for calm. She hated admitting it but she felt better now that her parents were away. Their emotions, their alarm and their pain crowded her own. Now, she could think clearer, slower.

There had to be another way, she thought silently as she breathed in the smell of the unfamiliar bedding. I can't give up like my parents. I can't…

It hurt when she thought of them. After listening to her mother's story, Julianne started to feel a deeper understanding to the undercurrents she always felt at home but could never place. And the Opera…

She thought about her mother's mysterious teacher and shuddered, thinking about her own Monsieur Erik. There were parallels, she couldn't deny it. And, then Monsieur Erik had said that he had been responsible for some deaths at the Opera… Could it be coincidence? And, he taught her to sing, with the same exercises her mother had used… Maybe…

There was a knock on the door.

She sniffed and sat up frustrated. She knew immediately that it could not be Mackenzie for he would not show her that courtesy. It had to be one of the maids then, though they irritated her as well. She hated being treated like a child…

"Mademoiselle Julianne?" a voice asked after another knock. "Mademoiselle, I want to know if you need anything."

Time to think, Julianne thought bitterly but stood up and smoothed out her dress. "Yes," she said. "You can come in…" She couldn't remember the girl's name. "I think…" the door opened and she smiled even though she didn't quite know where the young woman was. "Could we go for a walk? I need to get something."

&&&

To Be Continued…