Chapter Twenty-Eight: Words Get in the Way

Where in the world,
have you been hiding?

"...et a contagiis mortalitatis exutam, in aeternae salvationis partem restitue. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen."

"Amen." Megan Giry said solemnly. Slowly, she walked over to the modest casket that her lay in front of her. It wasn't much, but it was the best that they could have afforded. She lifted her hand, and traced the sturdy wood with her delicate skin, before letting it fall to her side. It had been smooth, but not as smooth as the white rose she carried in her other palm. She looked closely at the flower that she held and thought about the last words her mother said to her on her deathbed. She reflected on the last four years, which had been hard on everyone she loved, but they had endured. They had been a team almost to the very end, and it wasn't until the woman with a sharp tongue and strict attitude who was a mother to all, finally caught a cold that even she could not handle, that their relationship was broken.

Meg could still hear her feverish voice.

"Where is he?" Antoinette asked her daughter, she was searching the room with her eyes, her hair which had normally been in a tight bun, fell to her shoulders, the blonde streaked with many silver highlights, her face was pallid, causing her green eyes to stand out rather brilliantly.

"At home, I couldn't bare for him to see you like this." Meg told her mother, sitting on the bed, pressing a damp cloth to her mother's forehead. Her mother groaned and swatted Meg's tender care away as she tried to keep herself conscious.

"No not him… Erik, where is Erik?" Her mother asked her. Meg frowned, this was the third time the older woman had asked for this 'Erik' and it would be the third time that Meg had to deny her that final request.

"Maman… I do not know any Erik, you keep asking me that, but, I…"

"Oh how silly of me, he's but a ghost, ghost's have no time to haunt the dying. Oh Erik, if you only knew my heart. Or did you? Did you and we both danced around the subject like only true dancer's could do?" She said, the fell into a fit of coughing. When the pain subsided she continued.

"Meg, did I ever tell you about where your name came from?" She asked her daughter.

"Yes maman, you've told me several times, how it was grandfather's mother's name."

"Did I ever tell you that your father never forgave me for not naming you Alexandrine, after his own mother? That he thought a foreign name was an abomination?"

"No… maman, you never told me that." Meg said brushing the hair out of her mothers face.

"Your father hated me after you were born Meg… I… I never told you because I wanted you to have this image preserved of him, of a gentle and loving man, but you need to know that Percival was nothing like my stories."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Meg asked curious and a trifle upset. Why after all these years would her mother come clean?

"I needed you to know what my intentions were." She stated

"I can understand now, maman. Just rest, please."

"Remember my dear," her mother said as kindly as she could.

"Remember that things are not always what they seem. The Opera Ghost may be dead but he is still alive..." She whispered to Meg leaving her to dismiss the last words as delirious ramblings.

She kissed the petals of the flower, as though it were her mother's weary head, and then placed it gently where her hand once lay. Her breath was shaky as she backed away and watched the coffin lowered into the earth. She had no idea how long she stood there, watching her mother be consumed by dirt and darkness, but it was then she chose to walk away from the scene; after all she couldn't stand there forever as dirt was shoveled over top. She turned around and began to walk away from the gravesite.

Her mouth pressed into a firm line like her old maman's, as people began to part for her to walk by. Most gave brief condolences, knowing she was not able to discuss the passing. Politely she nodded her head thanking them for coming with a sad smile. She was surprised to how many people had come to her mother's funeral. It seemed Madame Giry managed to touch the lives of many within the opera house, from the ballerina's to the managers. The only people not in attendance were Carlotta and her new husband Adolpho, the leading tenor in the Opera Populaire

"Megan, dear, I am so sorry." Firmin said to her quietly as he and Andre approached.

It was then that Andre began his small speech, "We just are thankful that you agreed to take your mother's position as the ballet mistress. As you know, the years your mother worked for us were always efficient and there is no one better then our own once prima ballerina daughter to..."

Andre stopped mid sentence when he did not get the reaction he had hoped for. Instead of listening intently and smiling appropriately, Meg's face had gone a pale white and her green eyes and widened in unadulterated surprise. He was worried; for it was obvious to both the men that she was no longer paying attention to them, but to someone behind them. Firmin watched her as she placed her hand on her throat and whispered a familiar name.

Slowly, he and his partner turned around and saw a man a few metre's behind him staring at her with an equally indescribable expression on his face.

"Hello Meg," The man said simply, as though he could not think of what to say to her in such times. It was then that Andre recognized who he was. It was the young Vicomte de Chagny, Raoul. He was a bit older yes, four years or so, with a moustache and a weathered face, nevertheless it was obvious he was still a man in his prime.

"Hello Raoul." Came the hoarse reply.

( ') '
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What new surprises lie in store?

Raoul could sense her surprise as he approached her. What had he been thinking coming to see her after 4 and half years? Their short relationship had been a tumultuous one, and both had not said goodbye in a very appropriate manner. Who was he kidding? He had hurt her more than words could describe by slapping her drunkenly, then falling to the floor to cry for his dead wife. No, they had not said goodbye at all really, He had just been too cowardly to apologize for his horrible behavior.

He had been too cowardly to tell her he was leaving for America.

Had she called on him when he was away? He did not leave an address he could be reached at, he didn't leave her anything, and after all she had given him. He looked at her closely, her beautiful eyes not meeting his, but staring to the ground. Her thick blonde hair was not down like he was so use to, but piled on top of her head with fine combs, some loose curls falling around her face. He looked over her attire and realized that in her mother's death that Antoinette still lived on through her daughter. If it were appropriate, he would of smiled at the black saffron dress Meg wore in mourning, for was practically identical to the old woman's

Her face was covered with surprise at his presence.

"It is... a surprise to see you," She said trying to regain her composer.

God he had missed her, not as much as he had missed Christine, not as much as he still did, but her friendship was something he did not realize was the only good thing left for him until he broke it severely.

The men in front of her took this opportunity to make their quick exit with a short goodbye, however her sad green eyes never left his for a moment. He had forgotten their beauty.

Slowly he walked towards her, hoping that even if she could not forgive him, he could make peace with her.

"I haven't seen you in..." She started but couldn't finish.

"Four years..." He finished for her, looking at his feet. He had broken the eye contact; he couldn't bear to see her anguish and wonderment.

"I... I tried to get in contact with you, I wrote you letters, but I was told later on... Philippe… Well you left so, suddenly." She finished.

"For America, I needed time to pull myself together. I needed time to grieve properly." He said quietly and looked her in the eye.

"For America, yes, I know. I needed time to pull myself together, I needed time to grieve properly." He said quietly and lifting his head to face her.

When he finally looked at her face again, he was shocked to find tears, falling down her cheeks, her full, bottom lip, quivering.

"Listen, Megan, that night..." he started, starting to feel that he shouldn't be there.

"Oh Raoul, There is no need..." She sighed, shaking her head and breaking their eye contact.

"No there is, I acted like an idiot, I mean you were there to help me..." he said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"It was merely a misunderstanding..." She said as he tried to explain himself.

"... And I acted like an utter child." He finished with her at the same time.

They stopped talking over each other for a moment to smile sadly at the awkward position they were in.

"I missed you Meg." He finally said simply, removing his hand and feeling uncomfortable in his own skin.

He could see her hesitation; she was uncomfortable too, he could tell as she bit into her lovely pink lip. He did not understand it. Had she not missed him? Probably not, for the most of the time they spent together he had acted as a child whining to her about Christine and the baby instead of helping her grieve for her departed friend as well.

"... And I you Raoul, I you..." She finally whispered to him.

He couldn't think of what to say, there was so much. His recovery from being an alcoholic, his un-endless search to find out the truth about his child and wife's death. But at that moment all he could do was look at her as though he was seeing her for the first time in years. Her blonde hair was still as thick and luminous as ever, she did not wear it as tightly as her mother did, but it was more tamed then the last time he saw it. Her eyes were not the deep emerald that his had been described as, but lighter. So many people referred to the sea as blue, but as an ex naval officer he knew all too well what the colour of the sea was. The sea was the color of Meg's brilliant eyes. Her frame was still quite small but he could tell by her cheeks that she had gained a little weight over the years. It was she who spoke next.

"I don't mean this in anyway offensive, but why are you here Raoul, why now?" She asked looking at him with pleading eyes.

"I... I came back because I received news about Christine and Danielle." He said simply, confused by his earlier intense scrutiny of her looks.

"Oh..." She said looking like he had let her down somehow, but made sense all at the same time. He had been gone four years, and he still did not understand the young woman in front of him. She was so quiet and secretive about how she truly felt about everything, that he was always puzzled in her presence. He reminisced on a time when her quirky smile and laughter would fill the room she was in, how her stories and presence always brought a happy feeling to whoever was around her. She had reminded him of a sprite; a little faerie that caused mischief accidentally, but could solve any problem with a smile. Now she seemed to have run all out of stories, and he would do a thousand tricks just to hear her twinkling laughter once more. He wondered if she still had the ability to make others feel that way.

Here, after four years, with that sad distant look on her face, he didn't know if she could. It killed a part of him to know that she may have lost that affect that was so deeply rooted in her personality. Had it been him who killed it? Had she had some other hardships that led her to such pressed lips and a slightly creased face? Had it been the death of her dear mother?

"I only heard of your mothers death through the paper, I would have contacted you sooner, but..."

"I know Raoul." She stated sadly. They stood there again for some time, how he could get started a flowing conversation, he did not know.

"Would you like to go for some dinner Meg? I have so much to tell you," he asked her hopefully. He did not want her to go, he did not want to leave the conversation at that, to allow everything to fall apart like it had so long ago. He wanted to take her out, to tell her of America and their custom breaking, about his journeys and his inner reflections. How he had gotten a lead on the murder of his wife and child. If he had thought that his offer would have brought a sweet smile to adorn her face, he was mistaken, for instead she looked at him in complete surprise.

"I would love to... but I can't, Adrienne is waiting in the carriage," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the carriage waiting for her.

Raoul was taken back, so his Meg had a suitor. His heart caved a touch and he felt a hint of jealousy. But why? He didn't want Meg, so why did he expect her to wait for him? Or was it the over protective feelings he had for her, as he would a sister? Was it that he couldn't handle the thought of anyone moving on and have a relationship after the death of his own wife. He shook the thoughts from his head and smiled happily at her. He didn't know how to feel about that, part of him felt elation at the thought of her finding happiness, and a small part of him felt rejected. He then smiled happily at her and went "Adrienne? Is he your betrothed? Are you married my dear?"

Her beautiful sea green eyes clouded over for a moment, and she blinked back the anguish, bemusement and happiness all at once. She smiled, but it was one of pride, love, and sadness. He was so confused by the vast range of emotions, that he took a step back. before saying," No Raoul, he is my son."