Another Time

How many times has she imagined this moment – not this moment, precisely – but the moment when she would see him again. Of course, she would see him again. Her soul is as bound to him now as it was when he first came to her as the Angel of Music.

Imagined and prayed that the Angel of Music was a man – the person she could bind her heart to, who would love and care for her. Music was the glue, but she was a real person – her needs were greater than what her art could provide. The Angel stirred other emotions in her – when he became manifest as a human, it was a true miracle.

Raoul commented if the Phantom did not have the ruined face, she would not hesitate a moment – would have walked away from him without blinking an eye. How shallow was that? That first sight of him terrified her – of course he would wear a mask. A man so full of life and beauty forced to go through life unheeded and unwanted because of a deformity.

How cruel was that – how cruel was she?

Why did he leave her? How could he leave her? She gave him everything she had and, still, he left. Hate turned to love, but then it turned back. Living half-dead in a mausoleum called mansion. Partied and petted – the emptiness was itself her drug – it was her addiction. If she sang, it provided some relief, but her marriage was a sham – they were polite to one another, even loving at times. What had she loved about Raoul? Oh, yes, the kindness and gentleness – his physical beauty. He deserved better. He deserved a kind, simple gentle woman who could appreciate those qualities. Her heart yearned for the darkness, the complexity – the danger. Erik.

But that was not to be.

The one consolation of her imprisonment – Gustave – her beautiful son. Throughout her pregnancy she wondered – many nights awakened by the fear he would not be whole and her sin would be revealed. It was imperative she and Raoul consummate their marriage – beautiful, sweet Raoul – hapless and helpless, drank too much on the wedding night. It would be a week before he came to her again, sensing somehow it was not he she wanted, but determined to assert his marital privilege.

When he did visit her bed, the act was a comfort to both of them, perfunctory at best. He did not think to question her lack of pain or easy acceptance of him. That would come later – after he found other outlets for his lust, his suspicions rose. For now, they understood they had a marriage – if not what both may have imagined…or hoped for – a marriage, nonetheless. They had nothing in common and were easily bored when in the other's company for any length of time. He would go off to gamble or whatever it was his friends were about.

She would knit and sew – sensing the new life within her, nesting her Mamma called it. Books and reading consumed her – she wanted to learn. Erik instilled that in her – the idea of learning. So the months of waiting for her child were filled with comfort and exploring new knowledge.

Raoul avoided her during the wait – unsure if he should be happy or not about becoming a father. The men he knew seemed little interested in their children beyond worrying about schooling and whether they could make good marriages – boy or girl. More property than human beings in need of attention. That was the role of the mother.

There was also the question – unspoken – was this Erik's child or Raoul's. Time would tell – time always told. Pappa said worrying would change nothing, so she prayed only for the health of her baby whoever the father might be.

It was snowing the night Gustave was born – dark both day and night – as if the universe was sending her a message. A child born in the darkness – craving the darkness like his father. Grateful there was no obvious sign of his paternity. His face was clear – creamy and smooth skin, lips a tiny rosebud. Eyes of blue, but the doctor told her all babies have blue eyes – it might be six months or more before they might change. The same with his sandy colored hair – darker than Raoul's, but lighter than hers. She had no idea the color of Erik's hair – years of wigs and his age left him with tufts the color of flint.

Examining Gustave from head to toe found nothing, except, except…behind his right ear, blending into his scalp, a distorted bit of flesh, as if his skin melted…and a red birthmark, the mid-wife called it, just under his chin, noticeable only if you were searching for something awry. Did his fingers seem particularly long for an infant? The doctor said he was perfectly formed – either not noticing nor commenting on the ear or the fingers. A beautiful boy with an oddly pleasing cry. As if he wished to disturb no one when hungry or in need of clean nappies.

"Come see your son, Raoul."

"He is quite handsome." His voice full of surprise, he actually smiled at the little one. "Indeed, he is most admirable for a baby."

She laughed – in relief and in gratitude – more for the child than herself. He would be accepted as a de Chagny – all they knew of Erik was a distorted face – Gustave's face was perfect.

At six months, as predicted, his eyes changed from blue to hazel – her green blended with a golden brown. "My Mamma's eyes were the color of honey," she lied. How else do you explain the strange eyes to a family with eyes in all shades of blue, but nary a brown orb among them?

As for the boy's father, she could not hold onto her hatred of him – not when she had this beautiful child whom she loved with her entire being. Made from his seed – there was nothing to hate in this boy.

Gustave was his gift to her. She wished he could know him.

Now here he is, arms open to embrace her – all the years apart mean nothing. Dear God, how she wants to give herself to him – retrieve the part of herself he took with him – fill the emptiness.

Silly man, he, to think he could create a doll to represent the woman standing before him. Oftentimes memory serves a lie of beauty and grace – his memory of her did her no justice at all. Perhaps it was a blessing, had he remembered her as she was now – he would not have waited so long – would not have waited at all. How could he not look back that night on the roof of the Palais Garnier – who knows what might have been had he stayed or had he brought her with him.

Ten long years.

Time was more than kind to her – more woman now than girl – stately, calm and secure in herself. Not the frightened, insecure creature he first laid eyes on. This woman would curry no falsehoods or schemes from him. The truth was the only thing she would abide and he would do his best to honor that. Could he entirely honor that? Trickery was all he knew.

How can he win her back?

Christine was principled…moral – he would not expect her to be otherwise. How he wanted to simply take her in his arms and carry her away – far from all of the present that faced them.

Still, in many ways, he did not regret leaving her – sparing her the challenges of the voyage, living in steerage – filled with other emigrants looking for a new life in America. Most hopeful and grateful in leaving behind the struggles of their various homelands – Poland, Germany, a few Irish. Some, perhaps, were criminals – he supposed he fell into that class.

Adele and Meg were strong through it all – they became a family of sorts and able to comfort one another – something strange to him, but not unappealing. They were all they had. Adele took charge of everything and he was happy to allow her to do so. Leaving Christine twice was devastating. If this was what a broken heart was about, then he pitied every other human being on the planet who suffered one. There were times when he wished he could have simply died – the pain of losing her drove him many times to the deck – not only for air, but the idea of offering himself to the sea seldom failed to cross his mind.

But, the women needed him. He was the reason they were on the run and could not abandon them.

Meg was a joy – her sweet spirit and gentle ways filled his heart with a sense of peace. A daughter he never thought he would have. Whatever it took, he would do his best for her to achieve her dreams of dancing and singing – being a star. Despite his efforts with her lessons, her voice had no unique qualities and, in truth, was rough and lacked grace. Still she worked hard and between the two of them, she developed a knack for singing the modern songs.

"You have sass and spunk, Little Giry," he told her. "With your dancing skills, I am certain we can create an act to make you a star, if not an empress, as I once predicted."

"Do you think so, Uncle Erik?" Her blue eyes shone at any compliment he gave her.

"Most definitely. Not opera, but you will find your niche."

Fair after fair – he was the main attraction – the man with the melted face and a voice that brought tears to the eyes of the most hardened workman. Meg's talents developed along with her body and soon she was sought out as much as he, so they were able to buy their own small sideshow thanks to Adele's business acumen.

At some point, Meg dropped the Uncle and referred to him simply as Erik – he paid no mind. She was growing up. He wondered if he should encourage her to make friends with some of the other men – he hired only respectable barkers and had a reputation for treating all his employees well. Meg could do worse than one of the managers. He would see her flirting with some of the businessmen that took to following her about and hoped that was fulfilling for her. It reminded him too much of the patrons at the Palair Garnier, but Adele was the best person to intercede if she felt Meg was on the wrong track.

So often he wished he had brought Christine – a night did not go by but he found himself longing for the sound of her voice – alone or joining his. Many nights awakening to thoughts of that last night they had together. Hearing her sighs and giggles, feeling the touch of her small hands on his body. Parts of him no one had ever touched with such tenderness – or touched at all. He relived every fragment of that night. The exercise both comfort and torment. He missed her so.

This could not go on – the monotony of his existence was worse than any physical suffering he had experienced. Everything around him was shallow and false – at least those long ago tortures were real.

He must build something where he could bring her back to him. Not some little here-today-gone- tomorrow show – but the grandest, most elaborate amusement park anyone could imagine. Phantasma became his obsession. While he designed and built the park, Adele was once again charged with the business element. He wrote songs for Meg and encouraged her to continue developing her act. Adele was getting sponsors and he never questioned Meg's role – he was building his dream – a place worthy of Christine.

All would be well. Most importantly – Christine would be here.

"…how I loved you, I'd have followed anywhere you led."

"I loved you and I left you. I had to. We both know why."

"I will never forget."

Embracing her, taking in everything about her – the scent of gardenias, the touch of her fingers stroking his cheek, the desire present in her eyes the color of the sea…so close, so close…

"And now?"

"For us there is no now."