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.
A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad, I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
William Blake
Chapter Thirty-Six – A Poison Tree
And then, Erik felt his blood run cold as his wife threw her head back and laughed. The sound, which issued from her mouth, the cackle of an ancient crone. He watched in horrified fascination as her eyes rolled up to show only the whites, but the laughter still poured from her mouth.
A laughter, which sounded as if it came directly from the depths of hell.
He attempted to calm her, but after the initial fit of laughter, Christine remained silent. Her white eyes seemed to stare at him, challenging him to speak, as she lay propped up against the headboard on pillows. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her, holding her hands, his long, graceful fingers tracing nervous patterns on the backs of her hands. After a time, she shuddered and her eyes rolled back down. He gazed into her unseeing eyes as she sat next to him, but he could see that her mind was somewhere far away from him and her lips moved in silent conversation with whomever it was she could see.
"Oh, Christine! Please come back to me."
He bowed his head and his eyes squeezed shut to banish the tears from his eyes.
"I am afraid …."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The woman rested her weary body in the embrace of the well worn comfort of her beloved armchair. Staring into the depths of the flames burning brightly in her fireplace, her mind jumping back and forth between worrying over the daughter of her heart and the daughter of her womb. She shivered and drew the belt on her robe tighter and awkwardly scooted her chair closer to the fire. She was so unused to worrying over Christine, as she had never seemed to need anyone in the years she had been at the opera house. To see the girl so openly in love stirred something in Antoinette … something that frightened her and she did not understand the reason why. Her worry for Meg, she well understood the cause and only hoped that her child's heart would not be broken.
"Christine, now that is another matter entirely. On the day of her wedding, I thought I was free of worrying over her, but how can I not worry? I believe her husband has no idea of her past, but I do not know for certain what he knows. Merde! Christine does not even know her past completely. I tried to tell myself that the girl was simple. I tried to tell myself that the girl was mad. I only wish that either of those were true. I know the ghost showed itself to Monsieur Destler. He has no idea, but I believe the ghost was very much present and in control of Christine the night she and Monsieur Destler met. I believe only the presence of her Angel banished the ghost from her that night. And, ever since her young man asked her to marry him, the haunted look that was forever in her is gone from her eyes. I only hope that it remains gone, but I fear that is a foolish wish. The child is broken in two and it is only a matter of time or circumstance that will allow the Opera Ghost to rise from the depths of Christine's soul."
The woman closed her eyes and thought back to the day she found the child desperately clutching her father's remains. While it had been bitterly cold, death had still worked its hand over the body of Christine's beloved father. Antoinette shivered as she remembered the bloated and blackened corpse the girl refused to release from her small hands.
"It is a wonder her mind ever found a way out of the darkness that claimed it."
The girl that Antoinette guided through the motions of the funeral was not the bright and bubbly child that she remembered. The girl was gruff, angry and sullen. She had lashed out at Antoinette and cut her cheek with her fingernails when the woman tried to dress her for the funeral, all the while screaming that her father was not dead. She had also cursed Antoinette, using language that shocked the woman.
"Where she heard such things, I have no idea. I know that Gustave never used such words."
She shook her head sadly.
The child seemed to emerge from the spell, which held her in its grasp after she had been at the opera house for several months. She would on occasion, slip back, but for the most part, Christine had been so quiet and reclusive, Antoinette had allowed the girl to do as she wished.
"If I had just paid more attention to her, perhaps I would not be so worried now, but life was hectic. Meg was only five years old and between working and caring for the girls' physical comforts, I had little time to worry over Christine's reticence. In a way, her silence was a relief, but then … then, when Christine was 16, the accidents started."
It had begun simply enough, scraps of parchment dropped from the flies with childish scrawling in blood red ink ordering different members of the ballet corps or the chorus to improve their performance. After the notes, came the pranks … pointe shoes missing or with the ribbons tied into horrendous knots, costumes switched or torn and props forever "misplaced."
"It seemed harmless. And, damn me to Hell! I even encouraged it by asking her to add things to her notes, but then Carlotta came to the Populaire. And, the foolish Italian diva not only paid no attention to the opera ghost's demands, she mocked the ghost."
And, the ghost fought back. The woman's wigs were ruined, her costumes slashed into ribbons, she found her dog locked in a trunk that had no key, ties removed from her much-needed corsets and her stage make-up replaced with backdrop scenery paint. The diva, however, refused to bow to the ghost's demands and steadfastly ignored the warnings contained in the notes.
"Oh, yes. She scoffed at my concern over her paying no heed to the warnings contained in the ghost's notes. She loudly proclaimed she did not fear the ghost and refused to listen even to the managers' concerns for her safety. She laughed at all of us. She even ridiculed me before the cast and crew just before she went on stage the night she played Juliet. She derided me for only wishing her to be safe. The ridiculous woman could not sense the tension seething in the air, not until it was too late."
Antoinette leaned her head into her hands and fought back tears of horror and desolation.
"Everyone knew it was the ghost, but no one could prove anything. And, our suspicions changed nothing. Carlotta was dead. The prop dagger used in the lover's death scene replaced with a real dagger. The proud, foolish woman had not noticed and plunged the real dagger into her bosom. The police proclaimed it an accidental death, but I am not so certain. My heart fears it was the ghost's work. And, I am just as guilty as she is for I did nothing. I said nothing. I looked the other way and pretended that nothing was wrong. Oh! My poor Christine, the Opera Ghost. I only hope I worry over nothing now."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
The boy ran through the darkened halls of the opera house led by a groomsman from the stables. The man still groggy with sleep only nodded at a door and without a word quickly left the boy to return to the warmth of his bed. Martin hesitated only a moment before pounding his fist on the door. Leaning his head against the rough wood, he listened for the sound of footsteps. When he heard none, he thumped on the door again. This time, he heard a muffled reply and he sighed with relief. As soon as the door began to open, he blurted out his message.
"I need Madame Giry to accompany me to the Destler residence. Monsieur Destler requested she come immediately. It is an emergency and cannot wait until morning! Madame Destler needs her to come tonight. Are you Madame Giry?"
The stern woman looked down on the distraught boy and nodded. He visibly sagged with relief.
"Wait here. I will be just a moment, child."
The woman disappeared behind the door, but allowed it to remain open. Faint sounds emerged from the room. The boy saw the woman walk past the door and down a dark hall. She knocked on an unseen door and before waiting for a reply, opened the door and quickly entered the room. The boy could hear the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears and he began to chew on the inside of his cheek.
"If something happens to Madame Destler because I took too long, I will never forgive myself."
The boy fretted and fidgeted. He was amazed that he felt such deep affection for someone he had just met, but the new mistress of the house had something about her that drew people to her immediately. Her kindness and beauty had the entire staff captivated. Also, her affect on Monsieur Destler's temperament had not gone unnoticed by everyone in the household. Transformed completely by his bride's presence in his life, the once gruff and easily angered man now laughed often and the upstairs maids now found him charming. Martin hoped with every fiber in his body that whatever ailed his new mistress, this woman would help her.
After a moment that seemed like an eternity to the boy, the woman he now knew as Madame Giry returned. She paused, grabbed a walking stick from an umbrella stand and took a heavy cloak off a hook on the wall near the door. Swinging the cloak about her shoulders, she inclined her head to the boy as she fastened it at her throat.
"Well, boy, stop your gawping and let us be off. Do you know the way to the stables?"
He blushed and shook his head looking at his feet in embarrassment.
"Have no fear. I know the way. Now … hmmm … what is your name, boy?"
"My name is Martin Estes, Madame."
She nodded and placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Very good, Martin. Now, follow me. We cannot delay a moment longer."
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Her teeth now chattering with the cold after her ride in the open carriage, Antoinette stepped stiffly to the cobblestone drive. She held on tight to the side of the carriage as her feet tested the ground for ice, but found none. She rolled her eyes heavenward and gave a sigh of relief.
"Thank God for small miracles. Now, if we can only have a miracle granted to us this night inside this house, I will be forever grateful, Lord."
Releasing her hold on the carriage, she nodded at Martin who clucked to the brown mare. As the conveyance clattered away, the woman straightened and placed her body into the formidable posture that frightened the ballet rats. With head held high, she carefully climbed the four steps to the front door. She leaned her head back slightly and rolled it from shoulder to shoulder to relieve the tension in her neck. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and then released it slowly. Opening her eyes, she raised her hand to the door knocker and held the freezing metal in her hand. She rapped firmly twice, released the knocker and waited, allowing her practiced air of calm to envelope her person.
A young girl, probably a scullery maid judging by her clothes, opened the door and beckoned Antoinette inside. After taking the woman's cloak and without saying a word, the girl led the woman upstairs, down an elegant hall and stopped in front of a door. The girl dropped a small curtsey to Antoinette and hurried away. She knocked softly on the door and it opened almost at once. Antoinette met Elaine's worried eyes and tried to smile. The housekeeper beckoned the guest into the room and stepped aside to reveal a sight, which caused Antoinette's heart to clench in pain.
Christine lay on a large bed with her eyes staring sightlessly ahead of her. As she approached the bed, Antoinette realized the girl's mouth moved in silent conversation. A tear ran unknowing down her cheek, as her attention turned to the room's other occupant. Erik Destler sat on the bed next to his wife desperately clutching her hands in his. With his head bowed, he rocked his body back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Antoinette's hand flew to her chest and she took half a step back, but stopped as she quickly recovered her composure. She walked to the man's side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up at her and Antoinette squeezed his shoulder gently. She gasped as he released his wife's hands and wrapped his long arms about her hips, drawing her to him. He buried his face against her waist and cried. The startled woman stared down at the sobbing man, her hands held up in the air in shock. After a moment, she placed her arms around the man.
"Hush! Hush, now! It will be all right, Erik. Everything will be all right."
She only hoped her words were true.
Author's Note: Well, a disturbing bit of Christine's past and I hope this chapter helps better explain some of Christine's actions in the beginning of the story.
Okay, I'm trying to reassure myself that the reason the last two chapters received fewer reviews than previous ones is it's the Fourth of July holiday and everyone (but me) is out of town! Please massage the author's tattered ego by reading and reviewing! I know you can do it! Aw … please? Fondest wishes! --ny