After the performance that night, Marc went home with his mother and father, daydreaming about Chrissy. He ate supper and went to bed soon after. He couldn't help remembering how just twenty-four hours ago, Chrissy was safe and his arms and, strange as it seemed to him, he was safe in hers.
As he lay in his bed with his night cloths, he looked out onto the balcony and to the sky. The stars were shining brightly over the city. Late at night, when alot of the street lamps had gone out, it was eaiser to see the stars. He rolled onto his side and looked out of his open window. He heard the rustling of the leaves in the trees. The soft sound of horse hooves as a carriage road by on the cobble-stone streets. Soon, the rain started again and he could her the pitter-patter of it hitting the streets and sidewalks. There was the sound of a soft tapping from a bird. It was all very peaceful.
"Tap tap tap," the bird continued. There was silence for a bit as the rain continued, "Tap tap tap," what was the bird looking for? "Tap tap tap!" it was getting louder and more annoying. "Tap Tap Tap!" How was Marc expected to sleep with this noise! "Tap! Tap! Tap!"
Suddenly, Marc realized that it had not been the sound of a bird on wood, but that on glass. Glass close by.
Marc sat up and looked around. A dark creature stood on the balcony of his bedroom, tapping on the doors, begging to come in. But who could this be. The rain was pouring now. The creature placed its hands on the window. Marc could see the water streaking down from it's hands.He lit a candle to see who this intruder was. The light streaked across the room and rested upon the visiter. He recognized her at once. Of course, who else could it be?
Marc rushed to the balcony doors and opened them. "Chrissy!" he cried, seeing her standing in the rain with the same simple dress he had seen her in before and her bare feet. "Get in here before you catch a cold!"
Chrissy came inside, dripping wet. Marc rushed over to his closet and pulled out a pair of his pajamas and a few towels. Chrissy was crying.
"I'm sorry, Marc," she said, "I didn't know where else to go. I found out where you lived from the records in the Firmins' office." She paused for a second, along the rain and the tears to run down her face. "I've run away from home!"
"Chrissy, why?" Marc asked, handing her a towel.
"My father...no, he's not my father anymore...Erik, he found out about us."
"How?" he asked.
"He's been spying on us." Chrissy replied, drying off her hair, "For the past three days. He's seen you! He..he told me that I wasn't allowed to see you anymore. He said if I didn't leave you, you would...eventually break my heart."
"He said that?" he said.
"Yes," Chrissy replied, still crying, "Oh, Marc, I knew he was wrong! I know you won't hurt me! I would never hurt you. That's why I left! But...I'm so sorry, Marc, for coming here. You're my only friend. I didn't know where I could turn."
"Chrissy," Marc said, picking up a towel, "You were right to come here. It was dangerous for you to leave home like that, but...at least you'll be safe here."
"But what will your parents say?" she asked.
"We'll worry about that in the morning." Marc said, "Right now, let's get you changed into something dry and warm."
Chrissy nodded, starting to calm down.
Marc left the room for a few moments while she dried off and changed. He returned with some hot soup and wine. Once she had her fill. He set her tray aside. She looked much better.
"Thank you," she said, "I hate to be a burden on you, Marc."
"You are no burden to me, my dear." he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "Listen, while you were eating, I was thinking. Tomorrow morning, before the sun comes up, you and I will return to the opera house and go down to see your father. Together. We'll talk to him, explain to him what has been happening. I'll tell him how we feel about each other and how I would never hurt you or leave you."
"Erik is a very strict and stubborn man, Marc," Chrissy replied, "What if he still won't accept us? He won't let me see you! I will not stay with him."
"If he does not accept us, no there is no way you can stay with him." March said, "Hopefully, that will be the worst chance. But, if he does not, you are welcome to stay here with my family and me."
"But what if your mother and father don't accept me either?" Chrissy asked.
"Well, then," Marc said, "I guess we'll just have to find that home in the country with bright sunshine sooner than we planned!"
"Oh, Marc," Chrissy exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me! I love you so much, my darling!"
"And I love you, Chrissy," he said. He kissed her again. The kiss was passionate. Marc began laying her down on the bed. The wind and rain poured in through the open window blowing the candle out and casting the room into darkness.
The next morning, Marc had awoken early and made Chrissy a small breakfast. He brought it up to her so she could eat peacefully and quietly. Chrissy's dress had dried in the night. When she had finished eating, she dressed while Marc left a note in the dinning hall telling his parents he had gone to meet Chrissy and would meet them at the opera house later. He pulled out one of the horses from the barn and they rode through the dark streets of New York.
Chrissy felt like a princess as she rode through the streets, her arms wrapped around the man she loved. Marc, her prince, steered the horse as well as a fox hunting champion. But then, knowing of his life and background, there was no doubt that he had had riding lessons when he was younger. Chrissy breathed in the smells from all around her. The soft puffs of smoke from small shops already preparing for a day of business, other horses who were awaiting for their masters to come and give them their feed. How she wished she could be among all these things all the time in the daylight. The country must smell and look even better than the city. She wondered what it was like there. Marc and her would be so happy there. Living in a wonderful house where no one cared about her face. Perhaps they wouldn't even mind if she lived her life without her mask. A place where even she wouldn't mind to live without it.
"We're here," Marc said.
Marc jumped from the horse's bareback. He tied the stallion to the fence that kept the pastures blocked off for the opera's horses. He reached up and helped Chrissy down from the horse's back. Hand in hand, they rushed up the stairs of the opera house to, surprisingly, already find it open.
Cautiously, Marc secretly snuck Chrissy inside where she wouldn't be seen. Here in there, from the shadows, they saw a few of the ballet rats running around with nervous looks upon their faces.
"Why aren't they in their dorms?" Chrissy whispered in Marc's ear.
"I don't know," he said, "The girls usually sleep for a few more hours."
Marc stepped from the shadows when he noticed another ballet rat pacing by. Chrissy listened silently, unseen.
"Excuse me, Mlle.," Marc said, "but what is going on? Why are the other girls rushing about this morning."
"Oh, M. Viscount," the rat said, "A terrible thing has happened, sir, you see...the Firmins never went home last night with their daughter. They asumed she was staying here with the rest of us in the dorms. They arrived just half an hour ago. We told them that Mlle. Firmin did not stay with the other student ballerinas last night. We had not seen her since the morning prior. The stable men...they just told us...just a few moments ago...Mlle. Firmin is...is...Mlle. Firmin is dead."
"Dead?" Marc asked, "As in...dead?"
"As dead as a person can be!" the rat answered, "I have not see her body, but they say she hung herself. Just in the stables. She was as cold as ice. Mme. Firmin fainted from shock. I've just seen M. Firmin talking to the police. He looks as cold as ice!"
"But how on earth did this occur?" Marc asked, "Why did this happen?"
"The question is not why, my dear Viscount," the rat replied, "But who,"
"Who?" Marc said, "You believe she was murdered."
"As do the rest of the rats in the dorms." she said, "We all have an almost certain knowing of who did it!"
"Who?" Marc asked, intriqued. Chrissy moved closer to listen.
"Why the Phantom of the Opera." she said, "You've heard of the story, haven't you?"
"Not entirely," Marc said, raising his voice, as if trying to tell something to Chrissy. She could not completely udnerstand what he ment, but she leaned closer just the same.
"Well, everyone knows how the phantom was in Paris and created the horrific disaster of so many years ago. Well, he moved to America just a few years ago. Some say he kidnapped a young ballerina from another opera house in Europe and is keeping her hostage with him. They say he's up to his old tricks again, trying to distroy the opera house because he is mentally insane from his facial disfigurement."
There was a pause. Chrissy wanted to step out of the darkness and slap that terrible rat. How dare she? She knew nothing about Erik...her father. And what was this about keeping another rat from Europe hostage? Could that rat possible be a rumor about her? People really were empty headed.
"Mlle.," Marc said, "I do not believe the story of the phantom and neither does anyone in my family. I lived in Europe for twenty years, since I was born, in fact and my parents longer. In fact, in a few months, we are planning to return there." He raised his voice a bit again, "My fiancee will also be acompanying us."
Chrissy smiled when she heard this. Did he really mean fiancee?
"Believe what you will, Viscount," she said, "You, your family, and your fiancee. But people didn't just start to mysteriously die until the Phantom of the Opera became angry in Paris and people didn't start dying until he came here."
She said not another word, but continued walking. Marc moved back into the shadows. He took her hand and they continued through the house.
The reached the Firmin office. Watching, unseen, the police were questioning Mr. Kilishkoff, the orchestra conductor, who was the last to leave after the opera that night. M. Firmin, white as the ballet rat had said, was leading an also white and shaking Mme. Firmin from the office. Tears running down her face. They noticed the streaks of tears on M. Firmin's face. Marc thought best if he didn't speak with them. "They have enough to worry about," he said. Chrissy nodded, thinking along the same lines.
As they walked, Marc voiced another opinion. "Chrissy," he said, "Do you think it's possible that your father did this?"
"What makes you think that?" Chrissy asked, appalled.
"Well, this is just a theory, but perhaps he went looking for you, furious that you had run away. Aniette could have somehow found her way down there. Your father could have found her and...well, taken his anger out on her."
Chrissy said nothing. She was think things over.
"Or..." Marc said, and Chrissy, through the dim light of the shadows, saw the color drain out of his face, "Aniette might have somehow found her way into the laybrinth and your father killed her thinking...thinking she was you."
"No!" Chrissy exclaimed a bit louder than was wise, "No, I know my father. There are many theories as to why Aniette died, but...Marc, he is capable of murder but he wouldn't hurt an innocent young girl and he certainly would not hurt me! Whomever killed Aniette Firmin, my father is certainly not responsible."
Through the opera house, down through the basement, down through the hidden door, down the stone steps, across the lake, and finally to Chrissy and Erik's home.
"Are you ready?" Chrissy asked, sounding nervous.
"Yes, my dear," he replied.
Squeezing his hand, Chrissy slowly opened the door. The candle light streamed through the ajar door. Chrissy pushed it open in full.
"Still must be sleeping." she replied.
"Then we'll just wait for him to wake up," he said.
"No!" she cried, "No! I will not wait that long. I will wake him up now!"
Chrissy and Marc slowly made their way down the stone steps. Marc sat down on the couch while she knocked on his door. Silence. She knocked again. Silence still. Slowly, she pushed open the door.
"He's not here!" she exclaimed.
"He's not?" Marc asked.
"No!" she said, "No candles, no embers, no fire, not even a wrinkle in the bed cloths!"
She shut the door, stunned. Her attention absentmindly went over to the piano.
"Oh my goodness!" she said, running over. She bent down and began looking underneath it.
"What's wrong?" Marc asked.
"All his work!" she said, "His operas, his music, my music lessons, it's all gone!"
"Could he have burned it?" Marc asked, "Perhaps he was bored with it."
"No!" Chrissy exclaimed, standing up, panic on her face. "Some of those operas and music has been here since before I was born. He would never destroy his work, never!"
Chrissy placed a hand on her head, strainning her mind for a solution. What could possibly be happening? Then, on the table behind the sofa, Chrissy's eyes feel upon an envelope. A note with her father's wax seal. Curious, Chrissy picked it up. Written in her father's writing spelled out Chrissy.
With shaking hands, her mind filled with fear and curiousity, Chrissy opened the letter and began to read aloud.
My Angelic Daughter, Christine,
I am sure, by now, you have noticed that I am not at home. I am no where in the laybrinth. In fact, I am no where in the opera house. I have left, taking my operas and all of my music with me. This is your home now. I have many things to sort out and decipher. I am so sorry you had to find out this way. Do not think that my leaving is your fault. Far from it my dear. I love you very dearly and you shall be in my thoughts every moment of my days. However, I must be alone now. If what you say is true, as you told me, I am sure this boy of yours will protect you until I have returned. I do not believe that he is such a person. Perhaps he will prove me wrong. I sincerely doubt it however. I do not know when I will be back or even if I will be back. I love you very much, my sweet daughter, and the angel of music will always be with you.
Your loving father,
and obidient servant,
The Opera Ghost
Chrissy had finished. Tears began dripping from her face. They fell onto the paper in her hands, making her father's ink run. She turned to Marc.
"He left me, Marc!" she cried, "He left me!"
Marc said nothing, but rushed to her side to hold her. She began to sob on his shoulder.
"How could he just leave me!" she cried, "How! I thought...I thought..."
"He does, Chrissy," Marc soothed, "He does love you, or he wouldn't have said so. I'm sure he'll be back someday."
"But what if he doesn't?" Chrissy asked, "You heard what he said. He's not even sure if he's coming back."
"But you can't just give up hope." he said, "If he loves you like he says he does, and I know he does, then he can't bear to leave you and never see you again."
He pushed Chrissy back so that he could look into her soft brown eyes.
"He will come back."
Chrissy said nothing, but continued to sob. She rested his head on his shoulder again. Marc said nothing. He could only hold her, trying to soothe her pain.