Hysteria rose in my throat at the prospect of Erik's death.
And I realized that if he were dead, I should never forgive myself. I would run in front of the first carriage down the street and join him wherever he was...in hell, probably...
"Erik is not dead," Brett assured me. "At least not that I am aware of."
I took a deep breath of relief and sat down, feeling faint.
"You care very much for this man, don't you?" Brett's eyes narrowed as he perused me. "He is truly your husband?"
I ignored his prying.
"So he is well then?"
"I don't know. Indeed, no one in Paris knows of his whereabouts. That night of the opera, the police confiscated his home and all of the possessions in it...but apparently Erik had already escaped."
"So the police are all still looking for him?"
"Well, that is the curious thing. From all accounts, he was not the one responsible for the crimes during Beauty and the Beast."
"What!" I shouted in surprise.
"Yes. This was the big news in Paris. Apparently, the culprit was Monsieur Firmin. He had some sort of a breakdown and confessed everything to the police himself."
"Monsieur Firmin!" I cried out. Although my visits with the man had been few, I only remembered him looking like a furry nervous rat. "That is ridiculous!" I scoffed. "Even if that little mouse of a man were capable of murder, why on earth would he do such a thing?"
"That little mouse of a man was Carlotta's lover!"
"Oh, now I've heard everything!" I cried out.
"It is true. Think about it. You have told me time and again how much you disliked Carlotta on the stage. How you could not imagine how she had kept her career going for as long as it had. Well, he is the man who financed her success. He is the one responsible for her fame as he has bribed and blackmailed critics and directors for years to keep her on the stage.
"Monsieur Andre, on the other hand, felt much like everyone else about Carlotta and was ready to see her retired. This had been a sticky point in the working relationship between Andre and Firmin for some time. Andre wanted Christine back as it would boost the ticket sales for the opera house and revive the Opera Populaire. But of course, Firmin would never agree as Carlotta was his mistress.
"Apparently, when Carlotta had once again been replaced by Christine, that set the wheels in motion for this mad scheme. Firmin disguised himself as the Phantom and was trying to scare Christine off of the stage permanently."
"But, Brett, what happened that night was more than just a prank to frighten Christine. What about Deveraux and Raoul being thrown into the underground lake to die?"
"That was mainly a tactic to undermine the police. Apparently, Monsieur Firmin knew of their plot to entrap Erik and did not want that to interfere with his own plans. He claimed that he did not intend for things to go as badly as they had, that he thought the police would find them before anyone truly was hurt. But poor Christian could not swim and never had a chance."
"But if Raoul knew that Firmin was the culprit, why didn't he say anything?"
"He did not know. All he saw was a man in a mask disguised as the Phantom. And his encounters with Erik had been so few that he was not able to tell the difference."
I could not help but be enraged by Raoul's foolishness. Erik was a good deal taller than Firmin! Surely, anyone would have seen that with half a brain!
There were too many things that did not add up with this story.
"But what would Firmin hope to gain by killing me?" I pondered.
"What do you mean? He tried to kill you?"
At Brett's expression of shock, I remembered that I had never told him of the doll with the skeletal head and the Punjab Lasso.
"In Box Five, someone had given me a frightful scare..." I paused. I did not care to go into all of the details about the "Phantom's Whore" dress to Brett. "...And then I suffered a blow to the head."
"I had no idea! Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was quite all right as Madame Giry found me and took care of me. And then with all of the events later in the day, I could only surmise that it had been Erik. Did Firmin say anything about me?"
"No...nothing...so you thought your husband had tried to kill you? No wonder you were so hysterical that night. I did have trouble believing you were so upset about Christian Deveraux. Although he was a pleasant enough fellow, you never seemed all that close to him at the gala..."
My head was still reeling with unanswered questions. I remembered seeing Erik on the catwalk that night. He had been there! And what of that doll? Why would Monsieur Firmin attack me?
"There are still so many things I don't understand," I said, shaking my head in confusion.
"I am sorry but my knowledge of the whole matter is sketchy at best."
"And the police believe Firmin's confession? They do not think that he has been forced in some way to confess to crimes he did not commit?"
"Christine de Chagny had also accused him and testified against him. That was all of the affirmation that the police needed."
"Christine!"
How did Christine know anything about Firmin when she had spent the night with Erik? And Erik had her completely under his spell and in love with him. She would probably have said anything to protect him from the police!
"That's how I have become so well schooled in the matter," Brett said. "Shortly after I arrived in Paris, I was asked by the police to give corroborating testimony regarding the rescue of Raoul de Chagny and my association with Christian Deveraux. During that time, I had luncheon with Raoul...and that is when I learned of the existence of this man named Erik."
"What did he say about him?"
"Very little, I'm afraid. Just that he was a deformed man who had lived under the Paris Opera House for many years. That he was the one who had abducted Christine the first time during Don Juan Triumphant. That he had been the true Phantom of the Opera. Raoul seemed just as confused as you are about this revelation regarding Monsieur Firmin. Still, he tells me that Christine is adamant that Firmin was the culprit, despite the fact that she was discovered at Erik's hideaway that night."
I remembered the words exchanged there.
Erik, I love you...
Oh, Christine, you shall always be my Angel of Music...
Raoul de Chagny might be easily duped but I was not!
"Your name came up during my discussion with the Vicomte."
"It did?"
"Yes, Raoul voiced his concern about you. He had been most grateful for your aid. When trying to contact you, he was dismayed to find that you had virtually disappeared off the face of the earth. Having given him the information that you had, he assumed the worst. That Erik had found you and exacted his revenge upon you for betraying him.
"He proceeded to tell me of the rumors that you had written an opera with the Phantom, that you might have been his mistress, that Meg Giry had spotted you together. It was all quite enlightening.
"I felt the only decent thing to do to was to ease his mind by informing him that you were now working for me in Atlanta. I trust that does not displease you?"
I said nothing.
"My business in Paris has not ended. I am sure that I will have to return there at least once more within the next month. Perhaps you would like to come with me?"
I wanted to go back to Paris so badly that I could almost envision the beauty of the city beckoning me. But it was no use.
"Did you forget that we have an opera to open in another month?" I snapped.
"I am sure the Atlanta Opera House could struggle along without you."
"After all of the time and effort I've invested in this place, I'm not going to leave right before the premiere performance!"
"But your heart is not in your work, Angelica. I can see how you are becoming more bitter by the day and I hate it! You have so changed from the woman that I met at the gala. You never smile anymore. You are always on edge all of the time."
"I'm trying to run an opera house, not a charm school..."
Brett ignored my sarcastic retort.
"And now I know why...because you miss this Erik man deeply. Perhaps it is foolhardy of me to suggest that you return to him. Even if he was not responsible for the events of that night, he does sound like a dangerous character. But I've seen my share of men who have sinned...and I've seen some of them reform. And as miserable as you are, I would say that you would be no worse off. You obviously loved the poor wretch enough to marry him. And if his life has been as sad as Raoul led me to believe, he must be in agony without you."
"I hate to disillusion your romantic ideals, Brett, but Erik does not love me." As I said the words I knew to be true, I wanted to cry. "Perhaps he enjoyed me as a companion, but his heart will always be with Christine."
"Would it help to know that the Vicomtess is expecting a child soon?"
"Is the Vicomte sure that the baby is his?" I asked with a hint of cruelty.
"That was unworthy of you, Angelica."
I shook my head in denial.
"I saw them together, Brett. The night before I agreed to your offer. She had spent the night with him."
"Everything was in chaos that night. You were terrorized and had suffered a head injury. Perhaps things were not as they appeared. And do you really think that Christine de Chagny would be so dishonorable as to pass off Erik's child as her husband's?"
I shook my head. Knowing what I did of Christine, I did not think that was possible.
"No," I acknowledged. "But it doesn't matter. I will always be in her shadow where he is concerned."
"I find it hard to believe that you could be in anyone's shadow."
"That's kind of you to say, Brett. But you weren't there. You don't know. It is true that sometimes he was the sweetest husband a woman could have. But other times, when he was angry with me, he would be so cold."
"But, Angelica, every married couple has their quarrels."
"He would never speak of Christine. Yet she seemed to always be there. It was what he didn't say about her. Like she was some goddess on a pedestal that no one could touch."
"I am sure that for him, she was some sort of ideal lover in his dreams for many years. Yet, consider this, Angelica...the poor wretch never knew true love from anyone until you came into his life...probably not even from his own mother. Perhaps he had to learn how to love and to be loved in return. Perhaps he had to learn how to cast aside his old fantasies of Christine in order to find a real love with a woman who could truly return his feelings."
I hated Brett Watling for giving me hope. But despite all reason, I did.
"If that were true, I would search every street in Paris to find him again."
"I think it is true."
"How did a spoiled rich brat from Georgia become so perceptive?" I asked.
"You know I wasn't always spoiled and rich. But I've learned a lot from my father over the past few years. Although he would kill me saying for it, he has never gotten over the loss of his ex-wife. When I recall the stories my mother used to tell of him, he now seems a broken man. I worry about him the same way I worry about you..."
"How sad for your father..." I mused.
"Yes. Your stories are similar in a way. His ex-wife had fancied herself in love with another man, a Southern gentleman who had grown up at a neighboring plantation. For years, she dreamed of this man and shunned my father, even after they had married. By the time she realized that her love for this other man was only a fantasy and not real...that she truly had always loved my father...my father had walked out on her, unforgiving. He moved away from Georgia and resided in Charleston. And so many wasted years have been spent for the two of them apart and in misery. I fear it is too late for them. But it does not have to be too late for you. But you must put aside your pride...and you must be able to forgive..."
"Thank you for everything, Brett. I will think on the matter. I promise."
Yet once he had left, my spirits sunk again.
It was all well and good to dream, but I knew that a reunion with Erik was not possible. Even if we somehow could track him down, even if Brett were right in his speculations, too much had happened. We could not turn back the clock.
How would Erik ever get past the fact that I had betrayed him?
How could I ever get over his tryst with Christine?
And I still had my doubts that Erik had not been the culprit during Beauty and the Beast.
Besides, I was no longer the woman that I had been. I was no longer Aphrodite, dancing in a ballroom. I was the stern Miss DuBois of the Atlanta Opera House, the feared artistic director who inspired mean jokes and frightened glances.
There was nothing left of that girl in Paris.
And I would not go back there.
