In the previous chapter, I was mesmerized by Julia's kiss to my cheek. I noticed a scar for the first time, a small trianuglar mark from her husband. Just before I touched her lips with my finger, the doorbell rang.

Damn it.

Ch 34

The doorbell rang again, echoing through my ears, raging into my mind. Of all things, of all the times in the world it had to be at that exact moment, when I was so close to Julia, when redemption had been palpable for once. Even without the door being open, I knew who it was. There could only be one person who would intrude on such a moment. Julia, I think, knew as well.

My eyes darted around the room as I contemplated what I would do. Of course, I had to do something. I couldn't sit in this room and idly listen.

But I feared leaving all the same. Even though I swore to myself that she meant nothing to me, I didn't want her to see me like that; so disheveled, so utterly naked. I needed something. The mask was still upstairs. I wondered why Julia hadn't brought it back down to me. I blamed her for keeping it away from me. My hair still lay disjointed on the dresser, flopped to one side like a ridiculous black spider. That, she kept from me as well. It was close enough to see but far enough away where I couldn't obtain it.

Slowly, my gaze went back to the dresser and the bloody mass of rags with the wax doll in the center. How appropriate it seemed that she sat on a blood-covered pedestal. I had bled for her, my little prima dona. Not voluntarily, but it was poetic nonetheless.

My heart raced. I saw my own trembling hand snap out and grab the figurine. I could repair it, I thought suddenly, erratically, hopefully. I was becoming mad with hope, with desire, with…with all of the potential that I could see but knew didn't truly exist. Melt it over fire, I thought, and meld her back into one, make her whole again, repaint her face, make her mine, make her…

No, I couldn't. That was a foolish thought, I knew. Christine was a mirage. She was nothing. She had betrayed me. She had denied me. She had insulted me. Why did I still want her? Why was my heart racing at the thought of her, my palms sweating as I pictured her standing outside the door in a wide-brimmed sunhat and elegant lilac dress. Why did I dress her—and undress her—in my mind?

Purposely, I pressed my hand to my forehead as a reminder that I had been stitched up. The debilitating pain should have been more than enough to convince me that I wanted nothing to do with Christine. Yet still I wanted another damned chance.

Julia sighed loud enough to where I could hear it through the closed door. The ringing had turned to a rap upon the door.

"Lisette, upstairs right now and don't make a sound. You either." Alex must have been downstairs at well. They were closer than the front door. They must have met Julia almost outside of the bedroom door.

"Mama, who is she?" Lisette asked.

"No one."

Perhaps in Julia's mind that was true. Her response made me grin wryly while I sat alone in my little guest room. She is no one indeed, Madame Seuratti, I thought. This was no one but a vicomtess and beloved singer calling at her door. Secretly, I hoped that it was raining outside and that her wide-brimmed hat covered her eyes and sank onto her head. I hoped her dress…no, I didn't hope anything about her dress other than it was ruined. Damn her and her dress.

"May I stay with Father?" Alex asked.

"Not now, my dear. Go, both of you at once. Not another word until she is gone."

Two sets of feet tromped up the stairs, heavy with disappointment. Once the bedroom door closed and several heartbeats passed, the front door squeaked open.

Oh God, she was here. I just knew she was at the front door. The scorpion before the grasshopper.

"Yes?" said Julia.

"Hello, I'm sorry if this seems a bit odd—" That was her. I knew from the first word that it was her. That was Christine, beautiful, talented, ungrateful Christine. Julia didn't even let her finish.

"Who are you?" As if Julia didn't know.

An awkward laugh escaped Christine's lips. Served her right to feel awkward for once, I thought. After how she had disgraced me time and time again, for once she should have been the one to squirm.

"My name is Christine."

Silence on behalf of Madame Seuratti. Quite clearly she was unimpressed by the woman I had lusted after for so long. Or was she regarding her in a different light, perhaps? Maybe she realized my longing, perhaps she justified my behavior? No, no she wouldn't do that. She was unimpressed by this rose I had worshipped, this flower that couldn't fade.

"I'm looking for someone."

"There is no one here."

"No, there is."

The door creaked. She was shutting the door, Julia was shutting the door on the most famous soprano ever to come out of Paris. What gall that woman had! My brow rose. She had impressed me.

"Good day," Julia said.

"Wait! Wait, please."

My feet slid over the edge of the bed and onto the cold wooden floor.

Julia sighed. "I'm sorry, Madame, but there is no one here besides myself and my daughter. Perhaps you have the wrong door."

"That's not true," Christine blurted out. She either hit the door with her foot or her hand by the sound of it. "Please, I know that's not true."

I paused before the dresser mirror, black strands dangling into my eyes as I pulled my hair into place. The pain was nauseating from the pressure of the band against the stitches but I suffered through it.

"Are you insinuating that I, a widow, have a man hidden in my home? Do you dare insult me, Madame?"

"No! No, please, give me one moment. Please, I have walked several streets to find you."

That, I expected, was a bold-faced lie. She would have taken her carriage down the street, not walked. She couldn't have walked. Someone would have seen her and I suspected her husband would have protested her roaming about alone. It was some sort of trap, I concluded. In my mind I could see Christine at the door and her precious vicomte looming in the Hydrangea bushes.

Really, at just the sound of her voice, I was at my wit's end.

My mind painted pictures of a cavalry of horses lined up on the street, led by the vicomte. They sat in their saddles with sabers drawn as they waited for Madame Seuratti to release the prisoners for execution.

Christine was clearly still driving me mad.

"Madame, I will ask you once to leave if you do not say something of worth at once," Julia replied.

"He's here."

Julia said nothing. I froze before the mirror, staring over my shoulder at the closed door. My insides began to betray me. Hearing Christine's voice was making me ill. She knew I was here. Or was it Alex? I couldn't even concentrate, couldn't keep my own thoughts straight. If she was here, then her husband most certainly had to be near. And if he was with her…Alex wasn't safe.

"I saw him," Christine continued. "You brought him here. From the alley, you brought him here."

My mind reeled. Both of my hands grasped the dresser to keep me from falling to the floor. She was talking about me. She was asking about me. She knew about…but how? How would she know Julia had brought me here? Madeline? No, Madeline wouldn't dare do such a thing for fear of Alexandre being hurt. She must have followed us that night. But why? What in the hell did she want with me?

"Madame, with all due respect, you have only given me your first name and nothing more. Now you tell me that you are looking for someone. No, you don't tell me, you insist that I have brought someone here to my home, from an alley, and you haven't given me a name for this person. Now please—"

"Oh God, he's possessed you, hasn't he?" Christine gasped. "He's inside your head. He's claimed you."

The bedroom door creaked open and signaled my disobedience. Julia didn't bother to turn, though by how she stiffened, I knew she had heard it. She had to have expected that I would not stay put, especially since I could hear everything from my little prison.

"I apologize, Madame, but you are speaking nonsense. No one has claimed me."

"His voice. His voice is hypnotizing, soothing almost if you close your eyes and just listen. It's only mesmerizing and dangerous if you listen and don't see him. Oh God, if you see him…Please, Madame, he is dangerous, he is very, very dangerous."

"Perhaps I could call you a carriage?" Julia suggested.

"You know who he is. You know exactly who he is, that monster."

"Monster? My dear lady, monsters are nothing more than ploys to frighten children. They are not real." Julia stepped back from the door and crossed one ankle behind the other. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye as I stood at the end of the hallway, my hand over the right side of my face, lingering no more than ten paces from the door.

"Yes, yes you're right and you're wrong. Monsters are meant to frighten children, and in my childhood there was no bigger threat, no darker shadow than what he was. But he is coy, Madame. I had no idea what he was until it was too late. He is real but he is not." She was raving. She sounded like I had often sounded. "He is a coy one, a conniving one. Please, you must help me. You don't know what he is, not really. You don't know what he's done. He has killed, he has…"

"Good day, Madame."

"Wait!" She smacked the door with her hand. This time I saw her attempt to continue the conversation. Julia reached out to push her hand away but Christine managed to lodge her foot up against the door, making it impossible to close without Julia shoving her to the ground.

Clearly, she didn't know Julia.

"Give this to him," Christine said quickly. She held out an envelope. "Give this to Erik."

She used my name. She had only used my name a handful of times. My heart skittered at the sound leaving her lips.

"What is it?" Julia asked.

"It's a note."

"For this monster you speak of?"

There was no reply.

Julia snatched the letter from Christine's hands but didn't say a word. When she looked down to examine the sealed document, Christine leaned forward, peering into the house.

She saw me standing in the hallway almost immediately. She stared at me as I grasped onto the wall to keep from falling. My legs were still weak, the pressure of weight against bruises almost unbearable. By how they felt, I could have sworn that my shins were on fire. Even breathing seemed to hurt as well and my head was spinning. But I ignored the pain and stared at her, watching as her lips parted and eyes widened.

Scream, I dared her. Scream all you want, my little princess, at the repulsive beast you came looking for. Take in each macabre detail, fill your heart and your mind and your soul, if you ever had one, with my wretchedness. Be grateful that your bed at night is filled with a perfect angel, I wanted to shout at her.

The first night she came to me, when she allowed me her body, I remembered it then when I saw her. I recalled what for so long I had shoved into the deepest place in my mind. She had insulted me even then, even when she let me touch her. The thought made me shudder, the rush, the suddenly flash of memory made my knees buckle.

"Please, would you give this to him still sealed?" Christine asked. Her voice gave me strength, gave me something fueled only by how much I resented her.

She would never have sung a single note had it not been for me. Christine would have been nothing more than another chorus girl, a dancer on the stage blending in with the rest of the little beauties. It was my work that had set her apart, my genius that had set her free, my life that had been exchanged for hers.

You ungrateful, sniveling brat, I mouthed at her, amongst other things that no gentleman should ever say to a lady.

I hoped she took in each bruise to my face. I hoped that she understood each word I mouthed to her in silence. My blood boiled with disdain for her. For once, I looked at her and hated everything that I saw. She cared nothing for me and nothing for Alex. She had left us, buried us, turned us into nothing. She had turned us into refuse.

Suddenly, I could have stood in that hallway, bruised, battered legs and all, and stared at her disparagingly for all of eternity.

Without even thinking, I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and rolled up the sleeves so that she could see the marks on my arms, the bruises and scrapes and welts from her beloved little husband and his darling aristocratic friends. I started to unbutton my shirt so that she could see the marks on my chest but stopped.

My eyes stared past her to the street beyond. Her husband, from what I could see, was not with her. My body tensed. I didn't trust him, but he hadn't attempted to enter the house yet. He must not have come with her. I sighed in relief, then turned back and stared at Christine. She grasped the doorframe several inches above her head, allowing her sleeve to hang down, exposing her wrist.

She showed her own bruise. He had bruised her. Everything stopped. Another feeling for her emerged, one that shamed me. I cared for her still when she had proven beyond doubt that she had never cared for me.

I was a bigger fool than I would have liked to admit.

"Very well," Julia said at last, snapping my eyes away from Christine. She tucked the note beneath her arm and began to close the door again.

Christine startled and turned back to Julia, who had glared at me from the corner of her eye. She knew exactly what had happened. She knew we had both seen one another. I had no idea why, but she ignored me in the hall and said nothing to Christine.

"If you will excuse me, Vicomtess de Chagny," Julia said in the bitterest tone I had ever heard escape her mouth. "I must make lunch for my daughter."

"Thank you, Madame. I have one last request, if you would be so kind."

Julia sighed and waved her arm, a rude gesture if there ever was one.

"Tell him that I want to see my son."