Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own characters.
Notes: Wow! Two chapters in one day? Go me! Hehe. I have been on a writing spree. Hopefully chapter 6 will be up soon . . . please read and review!
5. My power over you grows stronger yet . . .
Christine smiled as the carriage pulled up to the attractive town house that she knew was the home of her dear friend, Meg Giry, and her mother. Some of her fondest memories were of them. Meg had befriended her as soon as she arrived at the opera house – orphaned and alone. They had soon become like sisters and Madame Giry, though strict, had always treated Christine like a daughter.
They had lost everything when the fire had raged through the opera house, but Christine and Raoul had soon made sure that they were living comfortably. Christine knew that Raoul would never forget how Madame Giry had helped him to find Christine that night. Christine often wondered what would have happened had Madame Giry not aided Raoul in that way . . . but those sorts of thoughts would drive her to insanity. There were far too many 'what if . . . 's in her life to bear contemplating.
Lucy helped Christine out of the carriage and she quickly made her way up the stone steps to the large painted door. How surprised Meg would be to see such a familiar face. They had corresponded through letters of course, but Meg had never been able to visit Christine in London. She was not one for sea travel. Christine remembered how Meg had been so terribly ill after a mere boat trip on the River Seine when they were children. Those times seemed like an eternity ago to Christine - a different world all together.
She nervously knocked on the door, hoping that her friend would be in. Lucy stood silently by her side, having said very little to Christine after the incident on the boat, crossing the English Channel. Christine didn't know what to say to the girl, but she was sure that some of her past would come out in her meeting with Meg.
She smiled as she heard footsteps moving towards the door and held her breath as it opened. A young maid with vivid red hair and a kind smile greeted her.
"May I help you, Madame?" She asked, a feather duster in her hand.
"Yes, I am here to see-"
"Christine?" Meg's astonishment interrupted Christine before she could finish.
"Yes, Meg," Christine replied, smiling more than she had in years. Meg had changed little over the past three years. She had been only fifteen when Christine had last seen her and now, at eighteen, she still seemed as childlike as she had been. Innocence and childlike-joy beamed off her and Christine was immensely comforted by it. It was so good to see her again.
She quickly pulled Meg into a tight embrace and they both laughed softly. Christine could feel the tears form in her eyes and she did nothing to fight them back. For once they were tears that she did not mind shedding.
"Oh, Christine, what are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming to Paris?" Meg laughed, pulling gently back to look at Christine.
Christine, with regret, noted how Meg studied Christine's appearance with concern. The long journey had not helped Christine in concealing her illness and now it seemed that it was obvious to everyone.
"It was a sudden decision for me to come and anyway I wanted to surprise you!" Christine replied, taking Meg's hands in her own.
"And that you certainly did! I can't believe it . . . I didn't think I'd see you again for so long! But come in, come in!" She pulled Christine in through the door and smiled warmly at Lucy who followed hesitantly. "Clémentine, make some sandwiches, please. They are probably starving."
The redheaded maid curtseyed and hurried off towards the back of the house. Meg, still holding Christine by the hand, brought her to the foot of the stairs where she called up to her mother.
"Mama! Mama, come quick, you shall never guess who has come!" She spoke with delight.
Christine saw the figure of Madame Giry appear on the landing. "What is it Meg? Who- Christine! What on Earth?"
Christine smiled at the obvious shock on the normally so controlled face of the woman who had been her ballet instructor for so many years.
"Good day, Madame, I hope you are keeping well."
Madame Giry quickly made her way down the stairs as Meg continued to make her delight obvious.
"She has come from London, Mama, isn't it wonderful?"
"Yes, quite wonderful, Meg," she replied, lightly embracing Christine, "I hope your visit will be a long one."
Christine smiled. "I doubt it will be short. Raoul has much to manage after his father's death and I will stay as long as he is here."
"Ah yes, I heard of Monsieur de Chagny's death. You will give our condolences to your husband?" She sighed.
"Of course, Madame, he will appreciate it very much."
Meg, who had been smiling non-stop since Christine's arrival, took her hand again and led her into a small, but warm and light parlour. Christine was so happy that they had a comfortable home in Paris. Meg had lived in the Opera Populaire since she was a baby and it had been hard for her to become accustomed to living anywhere else.
"Please sit Christine, and you also . . . " Meg finished, not knowing the name of Christine's companion.
"This is Lucy, she accompanied me from London so that I would have someone with me when Raoul was away with business," Christine told her, not revealing how Lucy would also be her nurse if it came to that.
"Welcome, Lucy." Meg smiled and signified for her to sit also.
"Thank you, Miss," Lucy replied quietly and sat in a chair near to where Christine was seated.
The maid, Clémentine, came in with a tray of small sandwiches, which she laid on the table between Meg and Christine, who both took one.
"Well, Christine, come on, tell us everything about London! I am so sorry that I could not make it to your wedding, but it was so soon after you left and you know how I hate boats," Meg spoke and ended laughing once more.
Christine smiled and began to tell them of her life in London. She told them of how different the city was to Paris, of how she had made many new friends, and of course about the birth of Matilde. She explained that she had left her in London with her nurse, because she was still too young to travel, but the truth was that Christine was still not well enough to care for her daughter. She told them everything . . . but she made no mention of the dreams and how her thoughts continually drifted back to the cellars beneath the opera house and of that night when the Girys had lost their home.
When Christine had no more to say Madame Giry smiled and slowly stood. "If you will excuse me, Christine, I must go now for a couple of hours – I still teach ballet every now and then. But you will visit us again soon, yes?"
"Of course," Christine smiled and watched the woman leave the room.
As soon as the sound of the front door closing was heard, Meg turned to her friend and took her hand from across the table.
"You are not well, Christine . . . since the moment you entered I could see it," she whispered hurriedly.
Christine just sighed and smiled weakly. There was no use lying to Meg, it didn't matter if she knew. In fact Christine almost wanted to tell her friend everything, but she didn't know what reaction it would receive.
Meg got up and went to kneel by Christine. "You are so pale and your eyes look so tired . . . are you still not recovered from Matilde's birth? You look as if you might collapse any moment."
"Tillie's birth did make me unwell, yes . . . but it's not just that, Meg," she whispered, deciding that she could do nothing now, but tell the whole truth.
"What is it, Christine?"
Instead of answering her, Christine turned to Lucy, who sat silently but looked concerned and confused. What other reason could there be for Christine's ill health?
"Lucy, you must not repeat anything you hear me say here to my husband. Please, it is more important than you can imagine . . . please," she pleaded, praying that she could trust the girl.
Lucy stared at her in bewilderment. She hated lying to her master, but she also couldn't say no to Christine . . . she just looked so desperate . . .
"Yes . . . I mean, I won't tell Monsieur de Chagny . . . " she replied truthfully.
Christine smiled at her. "Thank you, Lucy, I don't know what Raoul would do if he knew the truth . . . "
Meg, exasperated, stood and went back to sit opposite Christine. "Enough of this secrecy, Christine! What is going on?"
"I'm here to find him, Meg," Christine said abruptly, deciding not to delay it any longer.
Meg looked at her, obvious confusion and worry etched across her young face. "Find who, Christine?" She replied, her troubled voice barely above a whisper.
Instead of answering her question, Christine began to say all that had been burdening her for the past three years. "I am plagued by dreams, Meg . . . dreams of him . . . and I am just so confused . . . I can't live like this any longer."
Lucy, who had no idea who Christine was referring to, simply sat silently watching her. Meg on the other hand could not remain silent any longer.
"I am not surprised that you have dreams, Christine – you went through so much that night. But to go find him would surely make it worse-"
"I at least have to try! Can't you see what this is doing to me, Meg? You yourself said that you thought I might collapse any moment . . . all these dreams and doubts and memories are slowly eating away at me and I don't think that I can survive much longer with them . . ."
At this Meg said nothing, but instead just took Christine's hand and held in tightly. Christine knew that Meg was trying to understand . . . but how could she? She must have only thought of him as an insane murderer. And surely there was more to him that that?
"I don't know if any of this will make sense to you, Meg . . . I doubt I would understand it if I were in your position, but this is something I have to do. I don't know what has happened to him . . . I know that the mob didn't get him – you told me that much. But if he escaped that night, where has he gone? Part of me feels that he's still alive . . . I don't know how I know it, but I just do. Someone in Paris must have some news of him . . . even after all this time."
Meg just sighed and, letting go of Christine's hand, stood up. She began to pace slowly around the room, obviously unsure what to say to Christine.
"Christine, what . . . what do you think will happen if you do find him? What will you say to him to make it better?"
"I don't know, Meg, I don't think I'll even know if I ever find him. Perhaps my mind will be eased just to be certain that he is living . . . perhaps it won't. Maybe my doubts will finally disappear and I will be certain that I . . . " Christine took a deep breath, " . . . that I made the right decision."
Meg stared at her. "You doubt that choosing to go with Raoul was the right decision?"
Christine sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, Meg. To look back on that night with hindsight makes me wonder how much my fear blinded me. I do love Raoul, Meg, of course I do . . . but I . . ." Christine began to feel a sob emerge in her throat ". . . I left him down there, Meg. I kissed him and then left him. You don't know how much I am haunted by the image of his face when I left him . . . I didn't think that I'd ever see that much anguish in a man's face."
"He threatened to kill Raoul, Christine, he had a noose around his neck . . . " at this Lucy looked startled and looked at Christine for an answer " . . . you had every reason to leave."
"I know that, Meg. I've dreamt about it countless of times and I don't know what would have happened if I had refused to comply with his demands. I don't know if he would have killed Raoul – he was certainly strong enough and . . . angry enough, but he also would have know that killing Raoul would have hurt me beyond belief . . . and by letting me go I have realised that he couldn't do that . . . " Christine whispered, finally understanding what she was saying. She had thought about it too many times to bear thinking about, but now she felt that she understood his motives that night. Of course she could never forget how he had killed all those people . . . but she didn't know how she would behave if she lived in a world utterly devoid of any compassion.
"You cannot imagine how painful it was for me to leave him there, in that cold and lonely place . . . you probably think me crazy, but I cannot go on without knowing what has become of him," she said, trying to justify her words and actions.
To Christine's surprise, an understanding smile appeared on Meg's face. Once again she knelt by Christine's chair and laid her hand on hers. "Part of me does understand, Christine. After I found out that he willingly let you go, my thoughts of him did change. I do not believe that Erik was utterly-"
"Erik?" Christine whispered, the name foreign upon her tongue.
Meg's eyes narrowed as she nodded slowly. "Yes . . . Erik. That is his name, surely you knew that? He tutored you for years, he-" But she stopped when she saw the tears falling freely down Christine's pale cheeks.
Christine just sat there, staring ahead of her at nothing. After a moment or two she flung her head down into her hands and began to openly sob. Meg could do nothing but place an arm around Christine's shoulders to try and comfort her, but it did no good. Lucy too got up and knelt by Christine's side, trying to understand what was going on.
Through the sobs, they could hear broken sentences coming from Christine.
"Oh God . . . my Angel had a name . . . he had a name and I never asked for it . . . forgive me, Angel . . . God, please forgive me . . . "
Lucy looked up at Meg. "Who is this Angel that she speaks of? I have heard mention of him before . . . what happened to her before she came to London?"
Meg shook her head and stroked Christine's hair tenderly. "She will tell you in due time. It is best that you hear it from no one's lips but her own."
"Yes . . ." Christine sat up, still crying, but having calmed down slightly, "I will tell you soon, Lucy. You know too much not to know the entire story . . ."
Lucy nodded and handed Christine a handkerchief from her pocket. Christine took it and, wiping her eyes, turned to face Meg. "How . . . how do you know his name?"
"Mother has always known it – he told her it when she first helped him escape from the circus . . . and she told me soon after 'Don Juan Triumphant'. She told me everything she knew of his past, just as she told Raoul."
Christine nodded. "Yes, Raoul told me what your mother told me . . . and presume it was the entire truth, but when it comes to . . . to Erik, Raoul does not like to speak about anything much . . . oh God, I cannot believe that I never asked his name . . . "
"Hush," Meg whispered, pushing a stray curl from Christine's face, "you thought of him as your Angel and we though of him as a ghost . . . you had no need to ask his name."
"But all those years, Meg . . . eight – almost nine years – and I never found out his name. Not even after he took me to his home beyond the lake . . . I never thought to ask . . . "
Meg let go of Christine's hand and stood up slowly and walked toward the door, speaking to Christine as she did. "I have something you might like to have, Christine . . . I shall just fetch it . . . I have had it all this time."
She came back after a couple of minutes, during which Christine and Lucy had sat in silence, neither looking at each other.
When Meg returned she held a parcel wrapped in black velvet. Christine simply stared at it. She had no idea what Meg could have to give her, but when she placed it on Christine's lap she began to unfold the velvet.
She felt it before she saw it – cold and smooth . . . a thing she had touched before. She stared down at it, trying to stop the tears from reappearing in her already drenched eyes. She ran her fingers along the contours of the mask, remembering how it had felt upon his face.
Still with her hands upon it she raised her head to look at Meg. "How? . . . I don't understand . . . "
Meg looked down at it and sighed once more, "It was there when we arrived that night. He was gone, but this remained . . . I do not think it was his only one. There was so much down there that there could have well been others, but we had to leave before I had a chance to look. The fire was raging throughout the building and we only escaped just in time . . . the passage was blocked behind us."
"He lost his home then . . . he probably isn't even in Paris anymore . . . how can I-"
"He's still here, Christine," Meg interrupted, "he still lives beneath the opera house . . . he has all this time."
Christine didn't know how to react to this news . . . if he was so close it meant that she could see him so soon . . . but perhaps she had wanted the wait to prepare herself. Now she could find him within minutes.
"How do you know, Meg?" She whispered, not sure if she could take any more revelations that afternoon.
"I've seen him, Christine . . . quite a few times in fact . . . he still lives there."
"When did you see him? Did he see you? Did you speak to him? What was he-"
"No, Christine, I didn't speak to him and I'm sure he didn't see me," she replied, preventing Christine from continuing with her erratic questioning, "I often return to the Opera Populaire simply to sit outside it and remember what it was like before the chandelier fell. And one day, a couple of months after the fire, I stayed until after sunset. It was foolish to remain there after dark, but I was well concealed and I couldn't bring myself to leave. And then I . . . I saw him. I was certain it was him. I recognised him immediately – I could never forget the way he moved . . . so slow and fluid – almost inhuman. His hood concealed his face, but I swear that I caught a glimmer of white beneath it in the moonlight . . . it was him."
"But how is he living there still if the passage to the lake was blocked by the fire?" Christine couldn't quite believe what she was hearing . . . Meg had seen him.
"That is what I thought too, Christine, so I followed him . . . " she revealed, quietly and calmly. "It seemed to me that he was returning to the opera house, so I followed him to see where he went in. He went right round to the back and I didn't think there could be anyway for him to get in . . . but there was. There was a small side alley that I had no idea existed – I couldn't believe I'd lived there my whole live and never noticed it – and he went down it. I was following him from afar so he didn't see me, but once I'd gone down the alley he was gone. There was only one way he could have got into the opera house – there was a grate in the ground, leading down into the sewers or some sort of tunnel system . . . I believe that's how he gets in."
Christine, who had been listening intently, nodded slightly and stood up. "I am going to go now, Meg . . . I must get it over with."
Lucy stood up too and tried to reason with Christine. "Ma'am, please, are you sure this is a good idea? I know I don't know the full story, but it seems dangerous . . . "
"Lucy, I need to do this. And I have no fear for my safety . . . if I find what I am looking for I do not think I have anything to fear . . . " She replied, only partially believing her own words. Who knew how much he would have changed in all that time?
Meg took her by the arm and led her out into the hall. "If you are sure about this, Christine, I will tell you how to find the entrance, but beyond that I cannot aid you. It could be difficult to follow the tunnels beneath the opera house . . . they cannot be the ones you went by before. They are all blocked."
"Thank you, Meg," she replied, and turning to Lucy, continued, "you can come with me to the opera house, Lucy, but I will go in alone. I have a few hours until Raoul expects me home . . . I have plenty of time. But you cannot tell Raoul of this, Lucy, you saw what he was like on the boat . . . even mentioning Erik was enough to put him in that rage."
Lucy, against all her own judgment, nodded. She didn't know what Christine was going to do, but whatever it was she seemed determined to do it.
Christine thanked Meg again and said farewell, promising to return soon. Meg watched her go, her mind drenched with concern - not for Christine's safety, but what was to come out of Christine and Erik's meeting. Christine was delving into her past, but perhaps it should remain buried . . .
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