(One breif note for watrfairie, there have been many disagreements about whether Erik's face had been burned or had it been a birth defect. They are actually both therioes. I'm not sure where you heard that, but I've read the book and saw ALW production and that's what they said! I just wanted you to know where I got the actual idea for that! (You know point out it wasn't mine:)) Anyway, let's go on with the show!)
The next morning, however, Chrissy still hadn't thought of anything to tell her father. He'd be furious if she knew he was meeting someone, especially a boy.
"What can I tell him?" she asked herself as she paced the bedroom, wearing her cotton night dress and bare feet. "What will he believe?"
Story after story raced across her mind, each one as feeble as the last. Nothing seemed like it would work.
"Damnit!" she cried, slamming her hand on the wall. She turned to continue pacing when suddenly, a thought crossed her mind.
Chrissy turned back to the wall she had just slammed. She tapped it with her hand.
"That's strange," she said, "This wall sounds hollow."
Chrissy moved her hand about two feet along the wall and tapped on it. It made a different sound, a solid sound. She moved back and tapped again.
"This is hollow!" she said, "But why?"
Chrissy placed both her hands against the wall. She pushed it a bit. A section of the wall moved a little. Curiousity flowing over her, she applied more pressure to it, until finally a small rectangler section of the wall broke free of it's paint and left a small cubby hole in the wall.
Chrissy set the wood down and looked inside. There was a small, dusty box with a little lock on it. The lock looked weak.
"I could break that easily." she whispered. Chrissy dusted off the box and set it on her bed. Then, she went over to her desk and picked up a bobby pin. Quickly, she climbed up next to the new treasure.
Chrissy took the bobby pin and worked it inside the lock. A moment later, she heard a click. Carefully she removed the old lock and lifted the lid.
Inside the box was a bunch of photographs. Chrissy hoped that these would be of her mother, but as she lifted them and turned them over to look at them, she was surprised at whom she saw.
"That looks like Marc's mother," Chrissy said, looking at all the photographs. "That is Marc's mother! Younger, but it's definately her!"
She examined the photos for quite some time, trying to see if maybe she was mistaken.
"These were definately taken before I was born." Chrissy said, "But why? Why does Daddy have a box of old photographs of the Viscount's wife? Why doesn't he have any of my mother? And most importantly, why did he keep these hidden. He must have forgotten about them."
Chrissy looked at the clock above her bed. 9:00, it said. Her father was most certainly to be up. She put the photographs back in the cubby hole and fitted the wall back into place. You couldn't even tell the hole was there unless you knew about it. She dressed and left her room.
"Chrissy," he said, standing up from his piano bench as she shut her door. "Ready to tell me the truth?"
Oops! Chrissy thought, Think fast!
"Well," she said, "I...I heard the managers talking about something back stage."
Erik was silent for a minute, "Go on," he finally said.
"I heard them talking about the note you left them." she said, "They were debating whether or not you should be payed or whether we should get our box."
"And what did they agree on?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she replied, "The opera was over before I could find out and I didn't want them to see me."
Erik thought for a second, "Was that so hard to tell me?"
"I didn't want to get your hopes up." she said.
"Well, while you were debating about whether you wanted to get my hopes up, I went to the managers' office last night and collected my money."
"Oh!" Chrissy replied, "Good! That's...that's great!"
"Thank you," he replied, "Why don't you fix us some breakfast?"
"Yes, sir, I will." she said, heading over to the stove.
"I've got to show Marc those photographs!" she whispered to herself, "Maybe he'll know what to do about them."
Floors above them, Marc and his mother were arriving back at the opera house. Christine still looked extremely nervous. Marc was excited about seeing Chrissy later. They had agreed to meet that afternoon on the roof where they were sure not to be interupted. Christine looked over at her son.
"You look excited about something," she said, still nervous, "Could it be this mystery girl you've been seeing?"
"Perhaps," he said.
"Marc, you seem to feel very strongly for this girl." she replied.
"I do, Mother," he answered, "I've never felt this way about anyone."
"I just don't want you to rush anything," she said, "don't make a mistake with this girl,...I know what it's like to make a mistake marrying someone."
Marc looked at Christine in surprise. "What?" he asked, shocked, "You mean, you don't love Father?"
"Of course I love your Father!" she said, "But...you see, before your father and I were married, there was another man I loved. He...he loved me very much. He wanted me to stay with him for all eternity and be his wife. But, I chose your father instead,...Sometimes, however, I feel I made I the wrong choice. I always wonder what might have been."
Christine had a small tear fall down her face. She sniffed and turned as she tried to hide it from her son. He pretended he hadn't noticed so as to please her.
"Mother," he said, "I know that there is no other woman I would rather spend the rest of my life with. I love her, I love her more than anything."
They had reached the managers' office. Christine smiled and gave her son a one-armed hug. "Good, I'm glad," she replied, "and I can't wait to meet her tonight."
They stepped into the office where Mme. Firmin held another note in her hands. She looked a bit nervous. She jumped as Christine and Marc walked in.
"We left him his salary and a note saying we'd leave box 5 open for him. I thought we wouldn't have to deal with him anymore! But I found this on my desk. It says to To: Mme Viscount de Chagny From:O.G."
"Oh, no!" Christine cried, looking very pale and sick.
"Whose 'O.G.', Mother?" asked Marc.
"Never you mind." she said, taking the note from Mme. Firmin with one icy, white, shaking hand. "I think it might be best if you left."
Marc looked bewildered, but slowly nodded and headed out of the door. As soon as she heard the click of it being shut, she ripped open the letter.
My Dearest Christine,
It has been so long since my cold, dark eyes have lain themselves open your soft, beautiful face. Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought about you. I've always wondered whether the choice you made Twenty-two years ago has brought you the happiness you so greatly deserved. But, I must find out for myself. I shall be meeting you in your dressing room after your performance tonight. Come alone. Do not bring your son and do not bring your...husband.
Your obidient servant,
The Opera Ghost
"What does it say, Madame?" Mme. Firmin asked.
Christine was silent for a while. She refolded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope before she finally spoke.
"He wants me to meet with him tonight in my dressing room...after tonight's performance." she answered, almost in a whisper.
"You're not going, though, are you?" Mme Firmin asked.
"What choice do I have?" she asked, "I have to go back to my dressing room to change before I leave. And, even if I didn't, I would. I don't want to make him angry."
"He can't force you to meet with him, though!" Mme. Firmin cried.
"Yes he can, Madame!" she replied, "You don't know what he's capable of."
Marc left the office and headed down the corridor. He was a bit curious as to the note his mother found. He knew it had to be from Chrissy's father. It didn't take an expert to realize that O.G. had to be the Phantom. Where else would Chrissy get the idea for O.A.? What he couldn't understand was why his mother was receiving letters from him.
"What could be so important that he has to speak to her?" Marc asked.
"Who has to speak to whom?" a voice said behind him.
Marc jumped and whipped around. His eyes came to rest on Annie. He took a deep breath of relief.
"Annie, you scared me!" he exclaimed.
"Good," she said, "Then today wasn't wasted on my part!"
She gave him a cold look and began to walk away, obviously not very interested in what Marc was thinking about.
"Don't tell me you're upset about last night." Marc asked chasing after her.
"Wouldn't you be if some mysterious girl got insulted by the littlest thing you said?" she replied.
"Annie!" Marc said, "She didn't know you! And, more importantly, you didn't know her. I'd be insulted two if you called me a high strung dangerous daughter of a mad man! Not that I'm saying her father is a mad man, it's just-"
"I get it!" she interrupted. "She just, I don't know, rubs me the wrong way!"
"That's because she's different!" Marc replied, "I know you, Annie. You hate anything out of the ordinary."
Annie turned to Marc. She looked at him with her green eyes, but realized he was right and didn't retaliate. Instead she changed the subject. "So, what were you talking about?"
"Nothing," he replied, thinking back to the note, "Nothing you can help me with, anyway."
He left Annie alone in the corrider as he went off to think things over.
A few hours later, Marc was still lost in his thoughts about Chrissy and his mother's note. He didn't even notice who was walking in front of him.
"Marc?" Raoul asked, "Are you all right?"
"Father!" he cried, coming back to Earth, "Yes, why do you ask?"
"You seemed preoccupied," he replied, "is there something on your mind?"
"Nothing of huge importance, Father," Marc answered.
"I see," he said, "Have you seen your mother?"
"Yes," replied Marc, "She was in the manager's office taking a note someone left her."
"Good," Raoul said, "I need to talk to her."
Raoul continued walking down the hall. Marc continued thinking about the note his mother had received. He forgot to tell his father whom it was from, but it didn't seem like much of an importance. He continued walking down the corridor, anticipating the arrival of the afternnon.
Christine read and reread her letter over and over. She could hardly believe it was real. What if he still wanted her to be his bride? What if he had a new plan to kill Raoul? What if he would kill Marc for being Raoul's son and not his? And, most importantly, how was she going to tell her husband?
"Perhaps you should alert the police of him!" Mme Firmin said, "Maybe they could protect you."
"No matter what precautions we take, Madame," Christine said, "He'll always be one step ahead. He always was."
There was a knock on the door. The two women jumped.
"Who is it?" Mme. Firmin asked timidly.
"It's the Viscount, I'm looking for Christine, is she in there?"
"Quick, distroy the letter!" Christine whispered to Mme. Firmin, thrusting the letter at her. Mme Firmin, with shaking hands, tossed it into the fire.
"Come in, Raoul, I'm here," Christine cried as Mme. Firmin whipped around, standing in front of the fire place as the note curled into ashes.
Raoul stepped into the room, looking suspicious. He looked from Christine to Mme. Firmin and back again.
"Marc told me you received a letter," he said calmly.
"Did he say from whom?' she asked, fear and panic shinning in her eyes.
"No," he said, "he didn't mention it. Whom was it from?"
"It was," she said, trying to find a cover "it was...no one!"
"It had to have been someone!" Raoul said, "Now who was it."
"It was...a mistake." she said, hoping that had convinced him.
"A mistake." he repeated. "Could this mistake have anything to do with what you were about to tell me last evening?"
Christine gasped. She placed a chilly hand over her mouth. She had forgotten about that. Marc telling them about his new love had whipped it completely from her mind.
"Christine, please tell me. What is wrong?" he asked.
Christine lowered her hand. She sighed and said, "Alright. The notes to M. Firmin and myself, they were from-"
"Is something burning?" Raoul asked, smelling the air.
Christine and Mme. Firmin sniffed the air. Sure enough, the smell of burning cloth hung in the air. Christine turned around and gasped.
"Mme. Firmin! Your dress!" she cried. Smoke was rising up from behind Mme. Firmin, still standing just before the fireplace.
Mme. Firmin turned around. Small flames were burning a large hole on the back of Mme. Firmin's baige dress.
"Oh, my goodness!" she cried as Christine ran over. She grabbed a book off of M. Firmin's desk and began trying to put the flames out. Raoul grabbed the water pitcher on a nearby table and threw it onto it, ending the catastrophic incident.
"Mme. Firmin," Raoul asked, "are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine!" she said, cluthcing her heart with relief. "I...I completely forgot where I was standing."
"I think we'd better find your husband." Christine said, "He can take you home so you can change."
"Yes, that sounds like the best idea." Mme. Firmin said.
The three left the room, completely forgetting about what Christine was about to say.
Later that day, mid-afternoon. Marc sat on the sunny roof top waiting for Chrissy. He was rather excited about seeing her. The only light he had ever seen her in was candle or moon light. He was anxious to see her in the sun's rays.
"Marc?" somone whispered from the shadows. Marc whipped around
"Chrissy?" he called soflty, "is that you?"
Chrissy stepped slowly out of the shadows. She was shielding her eyes from the sun light. Marc hadn't thought about how difficult this might be for her, concidering that she spent most of her life underground with candles as her sorce of light. He rushed over to her.
"Have you ever been in the sun before?" he asked.
"Not outside," she said, "I've only seen it through the small window in the laybrinth."
"Would you rather go someplace inside. Some place darker?"
"No!" she urged. "I've never been outside this time of day before. Please, let me stay!"
Marc leaned into her and kissed. Chrissy started to enjoy herself. She suddenly felt like everyone else in the world, kissing the man she loved in the bright light of the sun underneath a brilliant blue sky.
They let go a moment later. Marc pushed her hair away from her face. He felt the edge of her mask.
"Why do you still wear that mask?' he asked, looking into her deep brown eyes.
"Because it's the only way I can look without frightening anyone, even though you're the only person whose seen me, other than that Aniette girl." she replied.
"I hate to say it, but Annie doesn't like you very much." Marc replied, "She doesn't like anybody out of the ordinary, though, don't take it personally. And besides, you could never frighten me."
He went to remove her mask from her face. Chrissy grabbed his hand to stop him.
"No," she said, "I'm just not ready to be without it all the time."
"I understand," he said, taking hold of her hand and kissing it, "When you are ready, don't be afraid to, though."
Chrissy hugged him. "My whole life, I never thought I'd be so lucky as to find someone like you." she said, "This must have been how my father felt when he met my mother."
"I bet your mother was beautiful like you," Marc said, feeling her black curls upon his face.
Chrissy let go of him. She looked up into his handsome face. "I've never seen a picture of my mother. Remember, she died just after I was born, I never saw her face and my father has no photographs of her."
"Oh," Marc answered, "I'm sorry to hear that. She missed out on a wonderful girl."
They stood there for a while, just looking into each other eyes. The noise of people and carriages below in the busy streets of New York seem to vanish away as the two unseen lovers were in each other's arms.
"Marc, I can't stay long," Chrissy finally said, "My father would be furious if he knew I was here, and with a boy. But, I must speak to you about something."
"Well, I have a few things to speak to you about two." he said, "What do you have to say?"
Chrissy walked back over to the shadowy area of the roof and extracted the old box she had found earlier that morning. She opened the lid as she began to speak.
"I was pacing my room this morning when I found these hidden in my wall." She handed a few of the photographs to Marc and he looked them over.
"This is my mother!" Marc said, "Why were these in your room?"
"I have no idea!" Chrissy answered, "They were very dusty and they were there before I was born. See the date on this one."
"1881," Marc said, "My goodness! These were taken before I was even born!"
"What confuses me is why my father has pictures of your mother but has none of mine!" Chrissy exclaimed, "My father did say that she was a student of his, but something tells me there's more to it than that."
"She was a student of his?" Marc asked, "That's why he left her a letter this morning."
"He left her a letter this morning?"
"Yes," he said, "Something must have happened between them. If not, wouldn't they have met up again already. They must have had an argument of some sort."
"That would explain it," Chrissy replied.
"Well, we can ask my mother tonight when you meet my parents." Marc said.
"Meet your what?" Chrissy asked, panic showing its way into her voice.
"Oh, that's right," Marc said, "I...I told my parents a little about you. Nothing about you being the Phantess or anything, but...well, I said that they could meet you tonight in my mother's dressing room after the show. I...I hope that's ok."
Chrissy bit her lip. Chrissy had never known so many people in her life before now and now she was expected to meet more? All of this was very sudden and over-whelming. Chrissy was about to say no as she looked into Marc's hopeful blue eyes
"Please," he said, "Do this for my parents."
"No," she said, Marc looked shocked, "I'll do it for you."
Chrissy went over and kissed Marc on the cheek, feeling his warm breath fall against her ear. He moved over to her and kissed her against her lips again.
Little did either one know that another creature stood in the shadows as he watched the two young adults kiss in the afternoon sunlight. Neither one noticed, for nothing in the world seemed to exsist as long as they were together.