Ch 20: Compassion

I started, awakening in a rush. My head struck the wall behind me, stinging. The noise came again, a moan. I was not alone. My eyes landed on the blanket covered form beside me. I reached my hand up, rubbing my head where I had struck the wall while I looked upon his face.

I had tended to the boy, wrapping his head with torn strips from one of my shirts. He had stirred several times over the course of the night, sometimes her name was upon his lips. His skin was so smooth and even, no blemish marring his flesh. His features were so symmetrical making him quite handsome. What was it like to live in a world where people wanted to see you?, to have your smile bring cheer instead of fear. I was a fool to let myself travel down that path. I must be good to him for her sake, I reminded myself, lest I give into my true feelings. Would she marry him? I hated the mere thought of him in her presence let alone touching, kissing her, … I felt my need to possess her, to harm him unfurl. Then her image swam before my eyes, her adoring face wanting me. I felt her arms about me as she had crushed me to her soft, inviting form. My cheeks grew wet as a pain tightened in my chest. I reached my hand, the roughness of bone nearly on bone, save the sheet of skin upon my tips and cheek as I brushed the tears aside. I was a mess. My Christine deserved a whole man. The Vicomte and Christine would have beautiful children. I could never give her children, only monsters in appearance and without souls, such as I.

Lids moved and blue eyes found mine and they widened as awareness took shape. He began to move, struggling to drag himself across the dirty stones, away from me. He bumped into the wall of the tomb and I could see his panic increasing as he took on a wild look.

"No, don't touch me, you thing." he shouted with disdain edged with fear.

He reaffirmed my desire to have nothing to do with him. However, he was precious to my Angel. I used the voice to calm him. His fear began to fade, though the stubborn fool struggled against the Voice. I wove my spell, his fear gave way, receding and his movements calmed. It would not do to have him harm himself further, prolonging our situation. Eventually he succumbed to the voice and fell into a slumber. I never imagined I would be serenading the boy. All of this was for her.

Finally he awoke the next night with a lucid look upon his face. "I mean you no harm, Vicomte. Water?" I asked.

His eyes narrowed but then seemed to ponder as he considered my offer. He was no friend of mine and I had the upper hand. I extended my arm to him, bringing the water flask within his reach. He made for the drink but he lacked coordination, faltering, and I had to make a grab, lest the precious water spill upon the dusty stone floor. Once I had the water flask I looked to observe that he had fallen back to the makeshift bed. The arrogant fool. He was in need of water and weak.

"I will have to help you sit up. His eyes flared and then quieted, seeming accepting of his fate. "Do not touch the mask." He nodded once more. I scooted my arm under his shoulders and assisted him into a sitting position. He made to pull away and then sagged back into my chest and arm. Only Christine had ever been this close to me. It felt so odd to feel the warmth and girth of him pressed against me and the rapid beat of his heart beat. He was not as soft as my Angel. He tensed, his muscles fighting to to be of use, distancing himself as best he could from this Angel of Death. "You probably feel dizzy. You fell and struck your head." I offered him the flask, eager to be rid of our contact too. He drank and then I eased him back down onto the blankets and I backed away giving us space but staying close enough should he behave foolishly and extend our time together or cause his demise.

There was silence, only the occasional sound of the flame crackling. I had lit the lantern for him. Like her I was sure he was afraid of the dark being a creature of the light. Finally, he turned his head toward mine. "Why," the Vicomte finally asks? "I was…"

"Trying to kill me, yes I know…" I clenched my hands. "But Christine,…. she would not want us to fight." He had the grace to redden as he glanced away at my words. "It pains me to say it and you to hear it but she loves us both." I began to strumbe my restless fingers. "I have heard her say, 'I love you to each of us.' I used to think she was fickle but I do not anymore…. I think Christine is the rarest of humans with a heart so kind and generous to love us both. So you live because…. she would want it so. Her happiness means the world to me. I am certain she would want you to live. She did not want to hurt either of us. Her life has been full of sadness. I do not want your death to bring her more... so you must live. It will be hard enough for her to lose me. One of us must remain to see to her happiness."

Bafflement was upon his features. "I do not understand," he queried.

"I am leaving Paris, Monsieur Vicomte." I added softly looking to the crack of sky above our heads, "I let her go. I promised to hear her sing once more, so I did."

He let out a scoff sound.

I laid my eyes upon him, "You need not fear the opera ghost will haunt you."

"I find it hard to believe Monsieur Le Phantom that you would fight so hard for her to then let her go. This is all part of your trickery."

"Vicomte, I left her a note of farewell. I was a fool to believe we could ever be happy together. I am leaving Paris."

He eyed me, "Just like that you are leaving?"

"Yes, I must for her. Just as you do not trust me, I do not trust myself around her."

"You changed her," his words were thoughtful. "She was all sunshine, love, and joy, the girl I knew once upon a time. His voice grew forceful. "You brought darkness and sadness to her countenance." He continued with vehemence, "You frightened her, pushed her to reside in your hell."

He was right that his Christine would not thrive in my world. She would run from this monster, the darkness, as fast as her feet and fear could propel her onward. My Christine was not the child he had fetched a scarf for though. My thoughts traveled to the memory of Christine's form huddled in the snow on the rooftop, her soul battered and damaged, her hope, and will taken from her. Her losses were numerous and her pain sharp that night. Her soul had called out to me that night and mine answered. Mine, not his. In his arrogance he did not see her. He saw who he wanted to see, the girl of his memories. I worried that he would stifle and harm her. Yet, he was a far safer and better choice than I.

"She came to me of her own accord." I replied coolly. "You do not understand music. You do not understand Christine."

He laughed. "Who are you to say you understand Christine? I didn't have to resort to kidnapping to have her in my company."

I conceded, "I did behave badly the night you used her as bait, setting a trap for me. That was in poor form Monsieur Vicomte, and you would have the world believe that you are the gentleman and I the monster."

He recoiled at my words as if struck. "You are obsessed with Christine. You know nothing of love. You give her the illusion of her freedom. She was so frightened of you. I only wanted to end her torment."

"What if I wasn't tormenting her?" Then in my head, what if I was her savior instead? "She needed…" What was I going to say, a father? A Phantom? A husband? That was my dream not hers. "an angel. She was lost. So lost ...and alone. I could not let her die, you see. ….. Poor Christine. Monsieur Vicomte, she needed saving so I became her Angel of Music. Her father promised her the Angel of Music. Her father promised that she would sing on that stage. Her father promised her."

"You are not her father."

"No, I am not, nor do I want to be. However, it was within my skill and power to see her command that stage as he envisioned." I pushed to my knees needing to move. "When she sings do you feel it in your veins?," I cried as I paced before him. "Do you leave your earthly body and ascend to heaven with her voice, her music? Her voice is the only way I have touched and shall ever touch the world above."

"You are both mad." he spoke in frustration.

I looked at him, "Music is life. It is not madness to need music to live. Christine must sing. You must not take her music from her Vicomte or I shall hear of it and return. I know I have had a hand in her latest hardships." I shook my hands, willing myself to calm. "I am trying... to make amends that is."

I walked over to the recessed stone that had made a shelf for my food supplies. I turned to face him, "You are her friend and you must live for her. I have some food for you but then you need to rest so that we can both leave this tomb."

I opened a jar. He looked skeptical. "It is a Swedish stew," I added. I offered him a spoonful but his eyes were distrustful. "Very well, I will test it for you," I said, taking the morsel between my lips. His eyes were upon me. I took another spoonful out of the jar and ate it. All the while he watched me.

After the fifth bite, he spoke from his prone position upon the blanket. "May I?"

I crouched to his level and offered the spoon to him and he took it between his lips. He chewed and then swallowed. "More?" I asked. He nodded so I created a second spoonful for him. Several bites later my spoon clinked the bottom of the glass jar.

The Vicomte softly uttered in surprise, "I remember this dish. It was her father's favorite."

I nodded. "I learned to cook the dishes I thought would please her. This one brought a smile to her lips." My heart quicked at the memory.

"Why did you fake your death?" Food had given him back his courage or stupidity it seemed.

I sighed standing to lean against the wall. Christine would want me to be honest. "She and I had a fight and I needed to be away from her. I came here actually. It was not my intention for her to believe me dead. I believe she had a dream."

"She thought I had killed you," he said. "I wondered how you had manipulated her to believe me capable of murder."

"Was that not your intent with the pistol the other night?"

"I wanted to save her," he said.

I looked away from him becoming lost in my reflection, "She saved herself because she is a good girl that loves. Once upon another time I believed she would save me from my solitude if she agreed to marry me. I believed I loved her then but then she began to mean so much more to me." I pushed off the wall I was leaning upon to walk about the tomb, an action that had helped me in the past to push through this feeling. I spoke louder, "Christine said she loves me, Vicomte. Not because she has to but because she does. She kissed me, her choice," I closed my eyes, savoring the memory. I touched my lips. "She kissed me, here on the lips, on my wretched farce of a face. I can still feel her arms pulling me to her, her lips parting as we tasted each other." I felt the tears upon my cheeks, concealed beneath the mask. My existence made her happy. My Angel wanted me, Vicomte. I thought for a moment I could have my happy ending."

I looked up realizing I had gotten carried away. The Vicomte had remained silent during my outburst. I knew that feeling. Only she could make me feel all at once lost and found. Needing to be away from the boy, I left the tomb. I was grateful that darkness had fully descended so it could swallow me whole.

Xxx

My apologies for the tardiness of this chapter. I had become unsatisfied with my writing so I have been working to rewrite the last few chapters this week.

So much has happened in a month. I am sharing my personal story so that others that may be experiencing a similar injury can advocate for themselves for proper treatment.

I had injured my knee badly when I stood up from being seated in a chair that sent me to the ER in February 2020. I have since struggled to get a correct diagnosis and to have full use of my knee. It has left me unable to walk 7 different times until whatever was out of alignment popped back into place. I was feeling particularly low when my knee gave out last, rendering me immobile. I am used to biking about 6 miles a day and 25-40 miles on the weekend. I have been a social and competitive ballroom dancer for 20+ years too so I am used to being able to move. I walk all day while I teach middle school science. Thus Erik also injured his knee and was stuck in a hole when I reinjured my knee. The torn part of the meniscus would flip backwards and out of alignment sometimes when I was getting up from sitting or while sleeping. I think because I injured it in an innocuous manner (getting up out of a chair) it was hard to diagnose. I hadn't fallen or been kicked, or run into during sports, etc. I rested when told and then would start PT. I faithfully did physical therapy for over a year. I was up to an hour of PT a day at time. I was able to have surgery to repair a tear in my meniscus. I do have some fraying in my meniscus root too which fingers crossed will heal too while I am off the knee. I hope to be out of this knee brace and off crutches in 3 or 4 more weeks. I was unable to write in the weeks leading up to surgery and directly following. I reread those chapters I posted when Erik was in the hole. Oh did I ever meander. I think I shall go back and edit them down. Then I seemed to have lost my muse for a bit. I can't believe a month has passed. I am so sorry.

Thank you Ritzybeth for reawakening my desire to complete this piece. Please review as it helps to inspire me to write more.