Wednesday's final show had successfully concluded to rave reviews. The three bouquets of red roses were once again brought out to Christine, and she once again discarded them offstage. She retired to her room, desiring to spend as much time as possible with her husband before his early morning departure to Rhinebeck.
Meg returned to her room, as well, physically and emotionally exhausted from the tumultuous day. After readying herself for bed, she sat at her vanity, brushing out her long hair and staring at her mother's picture. She remembered that day, when the professional photographer came to take promotional pictures. Her mother paid extra for the man to take a picture of only the two of them. Madam Giry made sure that every aspect of the picture would be to her liking, before allowing the photographer to take the single photo.
"Where did you get that?"
The young woman jumped in her seat and looked up to the Phantom's reflection in the mirror. She did not hear him enter. He didn't knock. This was later than he usually arrived. She frowned at this bad omen. She placed the brush on the tabletop and turned in the chair to face him properly. His eyes were narrowed at the photograph, staring over her head.
"Christine gave it to me," she said simply.
His eyes met hers, then. "And you expect me to believe that she had that with her to give to you?"
Meg shot Erik a dirty look as she stood and brushed past him. "I obviously didn't bring it to New York with me. It came in a package from my mother. Apparently, she knew you better than I would have guessed. She instructed Christine to keep it with her always, until fate brought us together, again."
When she turned to face him, she saw that his back was to her and his fists were clenched at his sides. She saw the front of him reflected in the mirror, and he was looking down at the picture once more.
"What else did she have to say?" he practically hissed through his teeth.
"I'm not sure that's any of your business, what my late mother's final words were to her only child," she said explicitly.
Erik's expression softened a bit, but he pressed on.
"You and Christine seem to be having quite the happy reunion." His tone was friendlier, now, light and inquisitive. "What have you spoken about?"
"She told me about last night. When you met her at her hotel and threatened to kidnap her son if she didn't bend to your wishes."
He looked back up in the mirror to meet Meg's disapproving eyes. Turning to face her, he leaned back against the edge of the vanity and crossed his arms.
"I needed her to sing for me. I have no intention of taking the boy."
"Her son," Meg corrected. "Gustave. He has a name. And a father. And it's not you."
"Enough!" He snarled at her.
She sat upon her bed, hands in her lap, staring up at Erik. He took deep breaths, as he glared back down at her. The look he gave her sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't ferocious or hateful…it was dismissive. She felt, strongly, that he was looking through her at that moment, unimpressed with her. Like one sees a dirty window hiding the beauty of a sunset.
"If this ends the way I wish it, this will hopefully be my last visit to your room…at night." He made the cold statement with an air of insincere apology. "I need you to stay out of my way and away from Christine."
"She's my friend," Meg protested. "What am I to do if she wants my company? Tell her that I'm forbidden to talk to her? What are you planning to do, anyway? Why can't you leave-"
"NONE OF MY AFFAIRS ARE YOUR BUSINESS, MEG!" He shouted down at her, as he towered over her smaller form. She cowered in her seated position, and he calmed down when he saw the submissive gesture. "You may meet with Christine in the day. You will NOT speak of me. If she asks you questions about me, or about us, you will steer the conversation onto safer ground. Stay away from her room, after the final show of each night. Is that understood?"
Meg closed her eyes and nodded. Her eyes felt hot, with tears gathering beneath her lids. The salty water pooled in her lashes and fell down her cheeks. She imagined she was in the ocean, swimming in the gently swelling waves. The bed depressed next to her; she opened her eyes to see the Phantom sitting next to her with a pained expression.
"I will always care for you, Meg," Erik told her. "Having your company, your support, your affection…"
He leaned toward her, simultaneously grabbing hold of the back of her neck with one bare hand. She cringed as he kissed her neck with muzzled lips, but she did not stop him. He pulled away, afterward, in an uncharacteristic show of chastity.
"You placed her name in my spot on the marquee," Meg bitterly sobbed. "You removed my solo from the program. And you gave her roses…"
"Yes," he stated seriously. "She is the guest star, of course she receives top billing and recognition."
"We've had other guest performers, before," she shook her head. "You never placed their names above mine or took away any of my numbers. And you never gave any of them flowers."
"What is this about, Meg? Are you upset that Christine shined brighter than you tonight? Are you fearful of her stealing away some of your fame?"
Meg stood and paced her room angrily. Erik stayed on her bed, mystified, and watched her walk about in frustration.
"I cannot believe you would think that of me. Of all of the ridiculous…" she huffed. "If you don't know, by now…if you can't answer those questions on your own…" She stopped in the center of the room and pointed to the door. "Please, get out. Please leave."
She stood, frozen in her spot, and looked away from him, still pointing. He rose from the bed and obediently walked toward the exit, and Meg let her arm fall to her side. He paused, when he was beside her. She did not meet his gaze, so she could not see the mixture of offense and hurt on his face. He left the room, and closed the door behind him.
Meg collapsed to the ground, holding her arms and sobbing quietly.
The next morning, Meg awoke and readied herself to leave for the docks. Being off her swimming schedule for the past two days, she was more than ready to greet the chilly Atlantic. She heard no one in the vicinity, which was commonplace for the theater at this early hour. But, as she closed her door behind her, she heard footsteps approach from across the hall.
"Miss Giry?" The Vicomte called out. "What on earth are you doing up and about?"
Meg smiled politely. "Good morning, sir-"
"Oh, no, Miss Giry! Please, call me Raoul. You are Christine's most cherished friend. I hope we can be a little less formal!"
"Very well," she nodded. "Good morning, Monsieur Raoul." The title and informality sounded odd in her mouth, but she supposed it would have to do if it was what he wished. "I am on my way to the docks. I like to swim in the mornings."
"Swim?" He looked genuinely astonished. "In that freezing ocean? What a way to start one's day!"
"Yes, well, I enjoy the crisp coldness. It soothes sore muscles and energizes me. We have a long weekend ahead of us." She gave a nod of her head and moved to walk away. "Safe travels, and good day to you-"
"Oh, Miss Giry!" he halted her, again. "I was wondering, if it's not too much trouble, Christine seems especially agitated this morning. I can't imagine why. I won't be gone more than three nights. Would you be so kind as to stay with her this morning, until your rehearsal starts?"
Meg sighed in dismay, frustrated that her routine would be thrown off for yet another day. She turned and smiled at the worried husband.
"If my presence will make Christine less anxious, I am happy to oblige."
Raoul thanked her and confidently strode out of the theater to the carriage that awaited him outside. Meg made her way to Christine's room, feeling more uneasy with every step. Her last encounter with the Phantom replayed in her mind. No talking about Erik, no talking about our involvement, leave Christine alone every night… So many rules. She paused outside Christine's door, not yet ready to knock. To her surprise, Christine opened the door before Meg gave any indication that she was there.
"Oh! Meg! I didn't expect to see you."
"Who were you hoping to see?"
"Raoul left moments ago, but I was hoping he might come back..."
"I passed him in the hall. He asked me to check on you." She stood, dumbly, waiting for the invitation to enter. Christine stared at her skeptically. "May I come in?" Meg finally asked.
Christine didn't answer verbally, but she stepped away from the doorway and gestured for Meg to come into the room.
Gustave was awake and playing with a painted wooden toy train on the ground. He glanced up at the new arrival, and, upon realizing who it was, jumped up to greet her.
"Miss Addie! Can I be in the show, again?"
Meg chuckled at the young boy's boldness. Before she could answer, he pummeled her with other questions.
"Can I be in another song? Can I be in your song? I liked it! Who is Mister Y? Can I meet him, too?"
"Um, wow!" The blonde woman exclaimed, as Christine bristled with anxiety. "That is quite a lot to take in." She paused thoughtfully before continuing. "Your mother will let you know if you can be in the opening number, again. How about a tour of our theater today? Does that sound like fun?"
"Yes!"
Meg looked to her friend. Christine still looked perturbed, but she nodded her agreement.
"Have you and Gustave had breakfast?"
"Not yet, no," the songstress admitted.
Once more, Gustave spoke out. "I'm hungry!"
Meg held her hand out to the young boy and smiled kindly. "Then, let's go get something from the kitchen. It's as good a place as any to start our tour!"
Later in the morning, after nourishment and exploration, the ladies returned to their rooms to prepare themselves for rehearsal. Because of the three show times, rehearsals on Thursday were mostly slight changes made to existing musical numbers. The show's director had a call sheet for the acts that would be affected. Christine was not needed, apparently, and Meg gritted her teeth, knowing that Erik probably found no fault with her performance.
Meg, however, had changes made to her blocking for her song. She took the corrections graciously, but only on the outside.
Rehearsals concluded, and everyone broke to eat lunch before the upcoming performances. Meg ate, dressed for the show, then put on a robe to conceal her costume. Part of her wanted to rest for the remaining hour before their call time, but she reluctantly decided to check on her friend and the boy.
Christine was much calmer, having had the majority of the day to relax and temporarily push her predicament out of her mind. The two of them chatted about the rehearsal Christine had been absent from, and Gustave was on the floor with his art supplies.
"What does he want, Meg?" Christine spoke softly, not wishing to arouse her child's interest.
Meg knew what Christine wanted to know, but she remembered the Phantom's warning. She felt torn between the two parties. She loved Christine, but she had been dependent upon Erik for years. A thought struck her, and she decided to act upon it.
"When we arrived in New York, Er- um, he heard about a sideshow that was struggling to stay in business on Coney Island. He brought me with him to see it, and I don't think I could ever have been sufficiently prepared for what it would be like…"
"It was stranger than this?" Christine looked incredulous.
"Christine," Meg chided lightly. "It was awful. Pathetic. Upsetting. The 'performers' stared vacantly out at the paying patrons. Some of what we saw was obviously fabricated. Other 'acts' were completely genuine. All of them were treated as aberrations."
Christine looked appropriately sympathetic, but she did not make any moves to speak. Meg took a breath, wondering if revealing more would help her sheltered friend to understand the importance of what Erik had done.
"Do you know about his past? The Phantom's past?"
The brunette curls on Christine's shoulders shook along with her head. "I think he mentioned that his mother feared and loathed him. And that he wore a mask from a very young age?"
"Er- um, Danton has mentioned little pieces here and there, over the years. And my mother gave me some information, as well, in a letter within the package you brought to me."
"Danton?"
Of course Christine would catch that…
"That's the name he goes by – the Phantom."
"Danton." Christine looked down as she said the name, again. Her brow furrowed in distaste, trying to pair the normal name to the abnormal figure.
"Christine," Meg called out to the woman again, seeking to regain her friend's attention. The story had to be finished. "He was raised only for a short time by his unfeeling mother. He doesn't know more about his origins than that. She sold him to a man who ran a traveling sideshow; it's not possible that his mother had his best interests at heart. The owner was cruel, and he beat Er-Danton into submission. The mask he wore was a small burlap sack with eye holes cut into it. He slept in a cage, on a straw bed. Like an animal.
"That was how my mother first met him. She was fourteen, already in the corps, and the Phantom was just a boy. He was called "The Devil's Child," one of the main attractions. She helped him escape, though I'm not sure how. She told me that she took him to the bowels of the Opera Populaire, but she didn't know what to do with him. She ultimately abandoned him, too, so that he was forced to survive on his own. When he took up the persona of the Opera Ghost, she must've agreed to pass on his correspondence, feeling guilty for her neglecting him all those years."
Meg finished abruptly, and Christine was left with an odd expression on her face. The bewilderment melted away, as the seconds passed, and a new realization dawned upon her countenance.
"Did your mother know? The entire time?" Christine gritted her teeth, in an effort to control her volume, but the venom in her voice was noted by both Meg and Gustave. The latter looked up with wide eyes, then returned to his art in relief that his mother's anger wasn't directed at him. "Gustave? Would you please take your drawings to the bedroom? Please? Miss Addie and I are almost done. We need to finish talking alone."
The boy obediently took up his things and walked to the adjoining room. Meg waited until he was out of earshot to speak.
"Did my mother know what?"
"Did…your…mother…know…that the Phantom of the Opera, this Danton, was my 'Angel of Music?' Did she allow me to be abducted by him, TWICE, without giving me the chance to know that I was being manipulated by a known madman?"
"Madman…" Meg repeated quietly, sadly. "I have told you everything I know of his wretched past. Do you still harbor such strong resentment toward him?"
"Meg, he killed. Piangi. Buquet."
The former prima ballerina cringed at the last name, as well as at the memory of both horrific deaths.
"That was a long time ago," Meg answered weakly. "He has changed…in some ways."
Christine looked at her in disbelief. She shook her head, again, at Meg's defense of the Phantom. Her eyes narrowed judgmentally at the friend whom she still loved but no longer knew.
"I cannot believe you forgave him so easily. What did he do to you? How can I help you? I know what it is like to lose one's will to that maniac..." Christine grabbed Meg's hands, then, but Meg wrenched them away and stood up from the sofa.
The act of recoil, and the awkward silence that followed, placed a chasm between the friends.
The more we speak, the more insurmountable the distance between us grows, Meg thought remorsefully. Absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but I think that there's a reason the reuniting of dear old friends is not spoken of with such ardent language.
Meg looked at the mantel clock in the room and almost let out a loud sigh of relief. "I must be going. We'll have our first curtain call in less than twenty minutes. Someone will be by with your dinner after this first show time. I need to start warming up."
Christine gave her a worried, pitying look. She stayed seated, watching Meg inch toward the door. Before grabbing the handle, the blonde turned around to make a departing statement.
"He was as shattered as I was, seeing this place, this show, rip apart the souls of the poor people involved. As soon as he was able, he bought it and improved every aspect. From the treatment of the performers, who are now paid fair wages, to the design and artistry of this very building."
Meg looked around the lavish room. Erik had not bothered with many of the details, she knew. The furniture, the mantel clock, the bedding…but he made sure that the person he had hired knew exactly what they were doing. Not that Christine would care.
"Our little show may seem 'bizarre' to you, but it is the culmination of years of a passion project. It takes what is unwanted, unloved, and unappreciated and shows that there is still beauty underneath."
Finished with her lecture, Meg left the room without a farewell. Christine was silent through it all, left dumbstruck by a woman who was clearly too much under the Phantom's spell to see her world clearly.