In scant two weeks time, Christine Daaé would once again be in Paris, and Erik was still unsure of what he should do. He had thought that in the intervening years, he had come to terms with what had happened on that night. It had been his primary motivation to get away from Paris, the place he thought of as his home. With the funds he had saved from years of extortion, he had booked himself passage to London, and later moved on to Spain and Italy. He had been surprised that he enjoyed traveling so much, as his last experience with it had been as an attraction in a gypsy circus. Certainly this time around, the accommodations were far better. Instead of cold smelly hay, he had slept in featherbeds with silk sheets. He didn't even want to think about the food.
For months he had dreamt up complicated revenge scenarios by which he spirited Christine away from her husband, brought her to his bed, and only released her once he could be certain she was with child. Then he would cast her off, and she would have to learn what it meant to be an outcast in society. Time and distance had mellowed those thoughts so that when the streets of Paris called to him, and he was sure that he was prepared to deal with all the memories it would bring back. He had not counted on his senses being aroused so powerfully by a young woman he barely knew or that the one woman who had so thoroughly rent his heart into a million sliver-like pieces would return. She was supposed to stay in the country, making a life with her husband. She would give birth to, and raise his children, never to darken the door of an opera house again. He should have known better.
It was only natural that she would want to go back to Paris. The only family she had to speak of was Madame Giry and Meg, and that was where they were. Christine had grown up with opera and music, and despite the past, it was inevitable that she would not want to divorce herself from that part of her life. The greater surprise was that the vicomte was willing to let her venture into the city. He would have thought the boy would forbid she come in person, and insist that they come to her. He must be confident that he had not survived to make such a gamble.
Erik was unsettled that a course of action was not clear. In the months that had followed his downfall, if he had thought this opportunity would arise, he would have seized on the chance to use it to woo Christine. Now it all seemed so muddled. He walked over to the sketches he had made of her; some dressed as a Spanish peasant girl, others in the negligee she had worn to his lair. One was even of her in the wedding dress that he had personally designed and brought to the finest couturier he could afford. It had cost him nearly one month's salary, and she ruined it to bestow him with his first kiss. In each he had tried to capture the innocent light in her eyes and her soft, yielding expression. Would she still retain that after two years of marriage?
Did he even want to see her if she had lost it? At least now, he had his cherished memories of her, if that illusion was destroyed he might not survive. As he retreated to his organ, his inner voice whispered softly to him in the darkness, "Gianna." After tonight he could admit to himself that his lust for her was not a passing fancy. Not far beneath the cold exterior she had constructed was a fire that burned as hotly as his own. She wanted him but she would not admit to that.
From those stupid books she insisted on reading, she was undoubtedly confused. One wasn't supposed to feel desire without love. Sex had no place outside the marriage bed. Erik knew otherwise from some the manuals he had consulted over the years. Lust was just as powerful, if not more so, and it was something he had learned to harness years ago. He had channeled it into his music, but now there was the opportunity to make use of all he'd learned over the years. With some prodding, she would be a willing partner in his bed. And considering her ardent response to the infliction of a small amount of pain, it spoke of dark desires that he was intrigued to explore.
If he was careful, she would beg for him to take her in any way he wanted. He would stoke the flame, as he had with Christine, only this time there was no rival for Gianna's affections. Even better, the only in heart in danger was not his.
He should give her something, a token of affection she would appreciate. Flowers would be too easy. It took a moment until he settled on the perfect gift. Tomorrow it would be waiting for her, along with a message from him. With that thought he began to play, losing himself in the sound and fury of the music only he was capable of creating.
The early April morning dawned chilly, but the sun was bright. It was a Saturday, and today there would be no rehearsals. Gia shuddered as her feet touched the cold floor and made her way over to the vanity where her mirror hung. She examined the mark on her neck. She had hoped it might fade during the night or had been a product of her imagination, but if anything it was more prominent. It was a livid purple against the whiteness of her skin. "How could such an ugly thing have come into being from such pleasure?" she mused aloud. She had enjoyed his attentions last night, even though initially her only thoughts had been to hurt him.
She flushed scarlet as she recalled the dreams she'd had last night. In them they were both unclothed and he touched her in her most intimate areas. There had been no fear, only acceptance. He had told her she was beautiful and that he loved her just before he had united their bodies in one powerful stroke. In return her hips rose to meet his and she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper and harder, all the while her skin was alive with awareness and a pressure was building inside her. Suddenly it had exploded and all the muscles in her body contracted, waking her. The ripples cascaded for a few moments, and then they evaporated and all that was left was a strangely empty feeling.
She needed guidance, and if she hurried she would be able to speak to Father Lessard who would be hearing confessions. She quickly dressed and grabbed a black lace veil to cover her head and made her way to St. Etienne's parish, which was only three blocks away. There were a few people waiting quietly by the confessional, and with only the sound of mumbled prayers and the occasional opening of the door, she waited her turn. All too soon, the door opened, and she found herself kneeling before the priest beginning the ritual of reconciliation that she had been taught long ago.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."
The kindly voice on the other side urged her on, "Continue my child. Tell me your sins, and God shall forgive them." Father Lessard recognized the voice of Gianna Burnside on the other side of the screen. She came regularly usually to assuage herself of small sins, and he was certain this confession would be no different.
Her voice wavering, unsure of what to say, she could only stammer, "Father, I have been having lustful thoughts of a man who has recently become known to me. We have . . we have done shameful things together. I cannot stop thinking of him. I even dream of him."
This was certainly an interesting turn of events, he thought. Who could this man be? But that was not his place to ask. "Have you compromised yourself?"
"No Father. But I fear I want to."
"You must resist this temptation. The Lord does not present us with anything we are not capable of resisting. I suggest that you avoid this man's company. A gentleman would not proceed in such a manner."
"I regret to inform you I cannot avoid him. He is at the opera house, and I see him each day." Gia wanted to tell the priest that the man was the Phantom of the opera, knowing that the sanctity of the confessional would protect them all, but she could not bring herself to say it aloud. He might think she was mad.
Puzzled, Lessard added, "Do you care for this man?"
"I do not know, father! I hardly know anything about him. I only know what he makes me feel when we are alone together," she sobbed.
"There is a reason why lust is one of the seven deadly sins, my daughter." He continued sagely, "You know where this can lead from experience. I know you have seen what happens to those girls who fall into the arms of men without the sacrament of marriage. The next time you are alone with him, remember that, and it will cool your ardor. Now for your penance, I want you to say 10 Aves and make your Act of Contrition."
The confession concluded, she recited the Latin words that tripped off her lips with ease. He excused her, and she took a place in the nearest pew where she kneeled and completed her penance. After crossing herself a final time, she made her way out of the church and back to the opera house. On her way in Gia spied Madame Giry who was wearing a fashionable navy walking dress, and looked to be leaving to attend to some errands. Gia hoped that the ballet mistress would not notice her, but the observant woman waved at her, and arrived at her side before Gia could scurry away unnoticed.
"Mlle. Burnside," she called, "Have you just come from St. Etienne's? I need to make some calls this morning. Goodness knows when I'll get the chance if I don't do it today. Why don't you join me?" the woman warmly invited. Gia wanted to turn it down, but she sounded so sincere that she found herself saying yes and tagging along as Madame Giry marched briskly along.
The first stop was at a small dress shop where Madame Giry was looking for material for new dinner dresses for her and Meg. They had been invited to dine with the Chagny's following the premiere, and such an auspicious occasion necessitated a small splurge. Giry fingered some pale rose fabric and considered it for Meg. She noted that Mlle. Burnside was singularly uncomfortable in the confines of the shop. Seeking to draw her out, she inquired, "Do you think this would look well on Meg? I think it would suit her coloring, but she will most likely say it is too young for her."
"You will find, Mme. Giry, my knowledge of fashion to be most limited. I am afraid I will be of little assistance," she replied coldly. She prayed she did not sound jealous, and instead merely indifferent. Gia had often wished for a pink dress, but her mother had dismissed the idea saying that girls with reddish hair should never wear the color. Instead she had often worn pale blue which had made some of the more uncharitable girls whisper that she dressed like a boy.
"Why does she keep pushing people away?" Giry wondered. She might pretend she did not care, but few women truly had no care for their appearance. The child probably could not afford expensive clothing, and she would not accept charity having once been relatively well off. Knowing the conversation would proceed no further, she brought her selections to the counter, a dark plum for herself and the rose for Meg. She gave the girl a few instructions on what she wanted done, and when she turned around she saw Gianna eyeing a stunning red silk, the bright shade that was often reserved for cardinals of the Church. It would look stunning on her, but even Giry could not afford to have a dress made of it, and her salary was quite handsome. The young woman was so entranced by the fabric that Giry had to nudge her to get her attention.
Next they proceeded to a specialty shop that catered to dancers. Gia went there to buy practice stockings and lamb's wool when she could afford them. The proprietress bestowed a sunny smile on both women and welcomed them heartily. The two older women slid into easy conversation, the kind that comes from years of close association.
"Antoinette, so good to see you again! I see you have made the acquaintance of Mlle. Burnside. Perhaps you can persuade her to buy something besides stockings and lamb's wool. I don't think she's bought a pair of shoes in months. They must be in terrible condition if she uses them regularly."
Gia overheard her, and shot her a nasty look. Gia silently resolved to find another place to buy her meager supplies. Giry was there to purchase some toe shoes for Meg, one pair in crimson that she would wear for her solo during The Magic Flute. Yet another thing Gia had coveted, only never to be given the opportunity to indulge. She heard Giry quip in response, "Surely, Madeline you know that Mlle. Burnside is not a dancer. What need would she have of shoes? I'm sure she was only making those purchases for someone else."
"I suppose you are right. It never did make much sense. That is something you have always had in spades," she said with a laugh. Following this remark, Gia and Giry left the shop and as they exited Gia thanked the ballet mistress for her quick thinking.
"You are most welcome." She then used the woman's name for the first time, "Gia, I'd like us to be friends. I want you to trust me. I promise you, I will do nothing to betray your confidences."
The veil of suspicion lifted, and as they made their way toward the bakery, Gia began to recount the events of the past evening to Madame Giry, this time without obfuscation. They were both so engrossed in conversation that neither noticed the dark cloaked figure slip into the shop as they turned the corner.
After making the last few stops that included the bakery and the grocery to purchase a few sundry items such as fruit and cheese, Madame Giry insisted on treating Gia to lunch. As it was still too chilly to eat outdoors, they took seats at a small booth indoors where there was room for Madame Giry to set down her parcels.
A waiter came over and took their orders, and once he left, the discussion returned to the subject of Erik. "I want to be sure of one thing, my dear, at no time did he force you to do anything?" she gently inquired. Gia only nodded in the negative. "And you have enjoyed his attentions, haven't you? That's why you went to St. Etienne's. You were feeling guilty."
"Shouldn't I feel guilty? I do not love him and yet when he is near I have nothing but shameless thoughts about him. I have not even seen what lies behind that mask. At this point, I think it would make little difference to me. I know he cannot want me. He still loves the vicomtess. I am ignoring my better judgment in favor of some momentary elusive bliss."
Giry could no longer contain her laughter, and set down her coffee into its saucer before she spoke again, "Are you made of some other substance than the rest of humanity that should make you impervious to his charms? He is a most handsome man, and he uses that to his advantage. It is most wicked of me to say, but do you not deserve some male attention? You are far too young to be so resigned to a life alone."
Gia averted her eyes, unable to look the older woman in the face. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she answered in as low a voice as possible, "Madame Giry, I do not deserve any male attention. I have nothing to offer him."
"I think you underestimate yourself. You are not unattractive. Mayhap if you dressed—"
she would have continued but she was cut off, "Mme. Giry allow me to put this most clinically, I am no longer a virgin. I cannot even give him my good reputation. "
Momentarily stunned into silence, the two women focused on their food for several long minutes until Giry gathered up the courage to speak. "Tell me how it happened. It could not have been by your choice of that much I am sure. Why do you punish yourself for the actions of one wretched man?"
"I am not blameless. I should not have lingered in the hallway so late after practice. Mama warned me that it might encourage unwelcome suitors, but I laughed at her. No one would be interested in a woman as big as a man with wide hips and a plain face. I should have listened to her, she knew what was best for me," her voice had grown distant and the blood drained away from her face as she recounted the events of ten years previous. "A stage hand grabbed me, forced his tongue down my throat. I gagged and tried to call out, push him away, but he was stronger than I, even though I was taller than him. He tore the bodice of my practice dress and pinned me to the wall. He kept telling me to relax, that everything would be fine. It would only hurt for a moment. I felt him push something inside me, and then I just hoped it would end. Then he jerked away from me, and he ruined my skirt. It was almost brand new. Mama had to throw it away. His name was Joseph Buquet."
Giry's heart ached for this woman who had been raped by one man and then made to feel culpable for his actions by her harpy of a mother. Silently she thanked Erik for hanging that dreadful man. He deserved death for what he had done to this woman. No wonder her feelings for Erik were so confusing. Between the circumstances of her birth and the events of her own life, sex had only wrought pain. She reached out across the table and took her hand, "He is dead you know. Buquet." She would not tell her his manner of death or who was responsible for it. "I know this is difficult to hear, particularly since she is dead, but your mother should never have told you any of it was your fault."
The rest of the meal passed without a word, and when they reached the opera house, they parted ways almost immediately. Gia went to check to see if Monsieur Dupoix was looking for her, and Madame Giry sought out her daughter. Dupoix was not in his office so Gia decided to return to her room.
When she opened the door she found lying on her bed a bundle of purple tulips tied with a yellow ribbon, a note, and a small brown paper package. The note read:
I believe you have some need for these.
I look forward to your next performance,
Erik
His name was Erik. The name suited him. Like a child on Christmas, Gia tore open the parcel to reveal a brand new pair of pink ballet slippers and toe shoes. A brief glance at the inner label told her the size was perfect. He had gone through her closet and God knows what else during her absence. Her insides quaked at what else he might have uncovered besides her shoe size.