CH 51
Yasmin held her head high down the long corridor of prisoners, as they jeered and called out to her. She had learned that the only way to deal with their taunts and jibes was to ignore them—as reacting to them in any way had only made them worse. They did not need to know that the sound of their voices made a pit form in her stomach, or bile rise in her throat. She refused to let them see the fear that was certain to show in her eyes. She kept her face trained straight ahead, her mind focused on her own prisoner, whose tray she was carrying carefully before her. At least she knew he would not call out such vulgar words in her presence. It was one of the benefits of him being silent.
Still as she stood there before the foreboding door that would lead inside the dungeon, she felt a bit of apprehension creeping up her spine. He had eaten a bit of the food she had brought him last night, which was a departure from his usual behavior. Would anything else be different about him today? Would he thank her for the food? Would he respond to her words? Or would it be more of the same silence in the dark? As her hand lay flat against the heavy wood, beginning to push, she wasn't sure which she wished for more.
Inside, the dungeon was exactly the same as it had always been before—ominous and silent, with the only light spilling forth from her own small lantern.
"Hello," she said, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. "Good morning. It is time for your breakfast. I hope you're hungry." She knelt down to place the tray on the ground, sliding it partially inside his cell. While on the ground, she reached her lantern out toward where she had placed the bucket. She saw that the soap and water had indeed been used, the accompanying rag having been rung out and hung on the side of the pail to dry. The fresh clothing was gone as well—the old ones rolled up into a heap, and dumped inside the bucket.
"Oh, I see you've cleaned up a little and changed your clothes," she commented, a smile spreading over her lips, since it was obvious that her gesture had been appreciated. "That must make you more comfortable." When she was once again met with nothing but silence, Yasmin chuckled nervously to her self. "Or," she muttered almost under her breath, "perhaps not." Still shining her lantern in the direction of the supplies she had left, she noticed that the candle and matches were still untouched.
"Did you not see the candle?" she asked, wanting to make sure her prisoner had been aware of all she had offered. "Do you not wish for a bit of light?"
"Are you afraid of the dark?" came the whispery voice, a disembodied question from deep in the darkness, and immediately, Yasmin was afraid. She was terrified, in fact, of the first words spoken to her by her mysterious prisoner. Yet, she refused to let him see it.
"N…not if I know what lies within," she replied, her tone quavering just a bit, belying her desire to appear confident.
"Do you know what's in the dark?" breathed the voice once again.
Swallowing hard, to maintain her courage, she said, "I know that you are in the dark, sir."
"That is why," came the cryptic reply, "I prefer the dark—creatures like me are not fit for the light."
There was much disdain in his response, but Yasmin could tell that it was mockery aimed at himself—a sort of self contempt that laced his words with bitterness. Made bolder by what she considered his pitiable state, she asked, "What could you possibly mean by that? The light does not choose on whom it will shine."
Without a sound, the shadows shifted, and the almost skeletal form of a man stepped forth. He was wearing the clothes she had brought him, though they were both too big and too small at the same time. The tunic hung loosely at his shoulders, and the pants barely reached down to his mid calf. She supposed she should not be surprised that he was so thin—he had barely eaten any food in the past few weeks. But she had never seen a man quite so tall—nor one so emaciated who still drew breath.
Lifting her head slowly, to meet his eyes, she was startled by what she saw. The left side of his face seemed tired and worn—and extremely gaunt, probably due to his refusal to eat. But though he worked to obscure it, Yasmin could tell that there was something terribly wrong with the right side.
He held his hand against it—long, bony fingers splayed to cover over his entire cheek and forehead, to where the tangled mess of matted hair began to grow. But he couldn't quite cover the misshapen, mottled lower lip, or the fact that his palm lay flat in the place where there should have been the protrusion of his nose.
And his fingers didn't hide the unusual pair of golden, fiery eyes that blazed back at her from out of the shadows, pinning her gaze and daring her to flinch—which, despite herself, she did.
Yasmin gasped, taking a step back as his stare bore into her. Her left shoulder drew forward and she closed her eyes, turning her head away, as if shielding herself from a blow.
It was then that the darkness exploded with a loud, derisive laughter. "That is why you should be afraid of the dark, little girl," her prisoner said, his tone filled with scorn. "For in the dark there be monsters."
The laughter continued, growing louder and more robust, prickling Yasmin's pride. Finally, raising her head and squaring her shoulders, she looked her prisoner in the eyes as she said, "I am not so very little!"
Instantly, the laughter ceased, and the prisoner's golden eyes widened—his mouth opening a bit in surprise—as his arrogant stance seeming to falter. Yasmin had no idea what she had done to affect him this way, but she knew she needed to strike while the proverbial iron was hot.
"And I don't think you're a monster. Monsters don't hum beautiful songs—and monsters don't starve themselves—no, monsters eat everything in sight." Her prisoner remained silent and did not retreat back into the shadows. Feeling bold, Yasmin continued. "And monsters don't cry. Or call out the name Annie in the night."
For the first time, her prisoner's eyes dropped, falling to stare at the dirt floor in front of him. His breathing had become erratic and his cadaverous form seemed only moments away from crumbling. He almost dropped his hand down from his face, and Yasmin braced herself so that she would be able to maintain her show of bravery, no matter what horror she saw. At the last moment, however, he caught himself, leaving his hand in place and looking up at her.
"Bring me a mask," he demanded, though there was pleading in his eyes. "Or something with which I can cover my hideous face." And after a long moment of silence had stretched out between them, he added, "Please."
"I will bring it," she said, nodding. "The next time I come. I promise." But then, placing her hands on her hips and holding her head high, she added, "But I shall only give it to you if you have eaten your breakfast!"
"Giles, this is truly ridiculous!" Annie protested, as they set out into the sunshine on the walk he had insisted she take with him the evening before. "There is no way I will be back and changed in time for the afternoon rehearsal session. Madame Delacroix will have my head!"
"Madame Delacroix is not expecting you back this afternoon," Giles informed her calmly.
"What?" Annie asked in shock, halting her pace and staring at her friend until he explained.
"Madame agreed that you have been working too hard," he told her simply, a smile on his face. "So I arranged for you to have the afternoon off."
"That does not sound at all like Madame Delacroix!' Annie retorted. "What did you have to promise her to get me the entire afternoon off?"
Giles's face blanched visibly and he cleared his throat before answering, "I think it's best we do not discuss that. I do not want to lose my appetite."
Rolling her eyes in frustration, Annie cried, "Giles Giry, you told me it would just be a lunch time stroll!"
"Would you have agreed if I had informed you I would be taking you for a picnic in the park?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in amusement.
"Absolutely not!" Annie exclaimed.
"That is why I told you it would just be a lunchtime stroll." Giles smiled.
Sighing heavily, Annie turned to look ahead. "You are so irritating, Giles," she muttered through clenched teeth, as they began to walk, once again, toward the park.
Holding back a laugh, Giles quipped, "But you must admit, it is part of my charm."
Annie glared at him before turning her attentions forward once again.
Before long, they were seated beneath a large oak tree in the park. Giles had already arranged to have a large picnic basket delivered there, a red-and-white checkered blanket spread out over the grass.
"Bon appétit, Antoinette!" he declared, eagerly throwing open the lid of the basket, to reveal a veritable feast inside, consisting of fresh fruit, meats and cheeses, and a crispy baguette. Using a corkscrew on a bottle of red wine to quench their thirsts, he urged, "Please, eat," gesturing for her to make herself a plate.
Still somewhat irritated at her well-meaning friend, but quickly being won over by his kindness, Annie took a plate and placed some grapes and cheese upon it. When Giles had poured them each a glass of wine, he handed one to her and raised his own, saying, "tchin," before taking a sip.
Annie took a drink as well, then placed her glass on the blanket and popped a grape into her mouth.
"Is the wine to your liking, Antoinette?" Giles asked her, tearing off a hunk of the baguette.
"It is delicious, Giles," Annie responded. "But all of this is just so unnecessary," she protested.
"Oh, I disagree!" Giles shook his head, taking another sip of wine. "We both need to eat, and what could be a better place to dine than out here under the crisp blue sky and the bright sunshine?"
"It is a beautiful day," Annie was forced to admit, looking up and watching the birds soar through the sky. She recalled the times she and Erik had enjoyed the outdoors together, and felt a niggling bit of guilt tugging at her heart for being out in the sun with another man. But she forced herself to shove it aside. It was a lovely afternoon, and a delicious lunch. And the man she was with was only Giles—her friend since the beginning, who was well aware that her heart would always belong to Erik.
"So tell me," she asked, deciding that for once, she would be the one to make conversation. "How did you come to be a manager at the Opera House?"
"I got kicked out of the orchestra," he retorted without missing a beat.
Annie laughed at his unexpected remark, and pressed, "Seriously, Giles. I want to know."
Giving Annie another of his winning smiles, he answered, "Well, I really did have a great appreciation of music from a very young age. But as much as I enjoyed it, I was never any good at it. I tried to pick up the oboe as a child, and I could never make it sound like anything but a honking duck."
"Ducks don't honk," Annie snickered, popping a bit of cheese into her mouth. "Geese do."
"You see," Giles said, with a grin. "I told you it was bad!" They both laughed for a moment, and Giles continued, "Still, I could not get enough of hearing good musicians make magic out of the same instruments from which I could only draw noise. I knew I wanted to spend my life surrounded by the arts, so I decided to pursue the business side of things. I studied finance and business management at University, and when the Garnier was set to open, I knew the finance manager was the job for me. Thankfully Richard and Moncharmin agreed."
"You are very good at what you do, Giles," Annie told him sweetly. "The success the opera house is enjoying is in no small way due to your proper management of its funds."
"Well, thank you, Antoinette," Giles smiled, "but I like to think it is due far more to the talent we employ. Only the best musicians, singers or dancers are fit for our stage. And that is why you are perfect as our Prima Ballerina."
Annie looked down and reached for her glass as she felt her cheeks redden a bit at his praise. Giles was always so supportive—so flattering—and sometimes Annie felt that simply saying thank you was not quite enough. But she didn't have long to worry about coming up with a response, because as she was swallowing her wine, she heard a young voice say, "Excuse me, but did I hear that you are a dancer?"
Annie looked over to find a young boy, of only about 11, with neatly trimmed blond hair and dark blue eyes standing before them.
"She is, young man," Giles answered, before Annie could say a word. "And an exquisite one at that!"
"Well, maybe you could help my friend over there," he said, gesturing toward a young girl standing a little bit away, wearing a blue dress and hiding beneath a mane of mahogany curls that shone with a red glint in the sunlight. "There is going to be a dance at my father's house and she is terribly awkward—always tripping over her feet and getting her left confused with her right. I thought maybe lessons from a real dancer might teach her a thing or two."
Annie looked at the little boy in surprise as the nonchalant way he insulted his friend. Glancing over to the girl with sympathy, she nodded
"Lotte!" the boy called to his friend. "Come on!"
The little girl, probably a year or so younger, slowly made her way over. She glanced up at Annie—mortification in her bright blue eyes. It was clear she wished her friend hadn't done this.
"Hello, Lotte," Annie said.
"It's Christine, Ma'am," The girl answered, her eyes downcast, as if she were too shy to meet Annie's eyes. "My real name's Christine."
"Well then," Annie amended, her tone growing even softer in compassion for the shy girl, "is it your wish to learn how to dance?"
"Yes miss," the girl said in a mousy voice with a foreign accent, looking down again before making her answer. "The last time I went to one of these dances, I stepped all over Raoul's feet. I don't want that to happen again."
"Neither do I!" the boy remarked, shuddering a bit at an apparently bad memory.
Annie looked over to Giles and rolled her eyes at the young boy's rudeness toward his friend. But, feeling badly for the girl's plight, she stood and said, "All right, then. I shall teach you a simple waltz."
Tentatively, the girl looked up at Annie and smiled, nodding her head in gratitude.
"Ok, a waltz has three beats, so all you have to do is think in terms of 1-2-3. Your partner will lead, so you need to simply follow. You start on your right foot, and take a step back," she stood next to the girl and demonstrated with her own body, the steps the girl would have to take. "Then with your left foot, take a step to the side. Then, bring your right foot over to close the distance. Understand? Back, side, close. Just like that. Now you try."
Giles watched with a smile as the little girl successfully completed the three steps Annie taught her. She appeared to be a natural teacher—another talent of Annie's that Giles could not help but admire.
"Alright," Annie continued. "Now that you have that down, you just have to do the reverse. Forward with your left foot, to the side with your right, and then close the distance between them. Like this." Once again, Annie demonstrated, and the little girl followed, a bright smile spreading over her features. "Look, Raoul, I'm doing it!" she cried out enthusiastically, as she looked toward her friend, who was leaning against the tree with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Now let's see if you can manage not to step on my toes!" he commented, not looking at all sure that she would be successful. He walked over to her and roughly placed his hand on her back, taking her hand in his. He immediately began to lead the waltz in a pace that was clumsy and far too fast, leaving Annie's little pupil flustered and confused. When he cried out, "ouch! Christine that was my toe!" the girl pulled away from him and her face reddened in embarrassment.
Annie was dismayed by the behavior she saw in the youth, quite convinced at this point, that he was a brute. But before she could admonish him, Giles stepped forward and said, "Raoul, it is important to be the right kind of partner when dancing the waltz. You are the man, and will therefore take the lead. But, you must do just that-lead your partner. Do not drag her around the dance floor."
Straightening himself into his best posture, Giles extended his arm forward, saying, "The first thing you must do is call your partner to the dance. Do not demand! Simply invite."
Smiling at Annie, Giles gestured for her to take his hand. Understanding what he was trying to do, Annie came forward, and clasped her hand together with his.
"The next thing you do," he said, as they demonstrated the moves to their young students, "is to ever so gently place your other hand on her upper back as she delicately and gracefully lays her palm on your shoulder. And then," he continued, gazing at Annie, "Making sure you are always looking your partner directly in the eye, you smile, as you begin the dance." With a sweet grin, that Annie could not help but return, Giles began to move in the gentle 1-2-3 motion of the waltz. They continued to dance—Giles's eyes never leaving Annie's even as he called out, "Ok, now you try."
The children watched Annie and Giles a moment, awed by their elegant movements, before Raoul looked toward Christine and mimicked Gile's graceful invitation. In no time at all, the four of them were circling the grass in identical 1-2-3 movements, Giles humming a pitchy tune to keep them in rhythm.
"Christine," they heard a man's voice call from a short distance away. "Raoul!"
"We have to go," the boy informed them, halting his dance with the little girl. "But thank you for your help."
"Yes," the girl said, grinning ear to ear, a rosy flush covering her cheeks. "Thank you," she added as the two scurried off hand in hand.
Annie and Giles remained in waltz position and smiled as they watched them go, chuckling a bit to themselves.
"Well, that was certainly unexpected," Annie said.
"That it was," Giles agreed. "I think we taught that boy a thing or two about being a good dance partner."
"I hope he remembers," Annie agreed.
"Oh," Giles said, still watching as the children disappeared, "I'm sure it is a lesson that will need to be repeated time and time again. Young boys can be dreadfully irritating, you know."
"Hmm," Annie commented, catching Giles's eye. "Just like grown men?"
"Exactly!" Giles answered, a twinkle in his eye as he once again began to hum and lead them in the motions of the dance.
"Giles," Annie said with a giggle. "Your dancing is wonderful, but your humming is dreadfully out of tune."
"Do you see what I mean now about my lack of musical abilities?" he asked, with a good-natured grin.
"Absolutely! Now leave the music to me," she demanded as she took over the humming and moved alongside Giles in the dance.
AN: Awwww, Annie and Giles had a nice, lighthearted afternoon—and little do they know how important these two little dance students will be in the distant future…
But Erik—oh, so cryptic with his "Are you afraid of the dark?" comment! I don't think he's going to scare little Yasmin away that easily, though… She seems to be made of stronger stuff than that.
