Fallen Angel
New York City
April 1871
"Well, Bess, let's get out of these parts," Old Zeke said to his mare and turned his cab around. "Nothin' down here but trouble and more trouble."
The docks along New York City's East River were a dangerous and vile place. With taverns and bawdy houses, drunk sailors and cutthroats, Zeke tried not to visit this side of the city any more than necessary, but sometimes a customer came down this way on business. He was more than happy to drive back to the more familiar streets of Manhattan.
Zeke had no more than turned his cab around than he heard yelling and cursing. Out front of a broken down tavern a shabby, unkempt youth was beating a tall figure dressed in black. His head was wrapped in a shawl or scarf for protection from the cold, misty weather. He was weakly trying to protect himself, but the assailant was fired by rage and pummeled him with brutal punches to the head and abdomen.
"Don't you have anything worth stealin'?" He was screaming.
Zeke whipped Bess' back and charged her at the robber. He saw a flash of steel in the dimming daylight. The victim staggered as the blade disappeared out of Zeke's sight. The mare hit the thief with a blow from her shoulder, sending him screaming and rolling into the alley beside the tavern. He struck his head on an abandoned barrel and lay still, knocked out cold.
Zeke hurried down from his perch on the driver's seat as quickly as his aging body would allow and saw that the tall man was unconscious. The knife protruded from his right side, just above his waist. Blood was soaking his dark clothing.
Zeke pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it around the hilt of the knife to help slow the flow of blood. With considerable effort, he manhandled the man's body to the cab and lay him on the floor inside. He wouldn't take any more passengers tonight, because he had to tend to this one. He shivered as he climbed back onto the driver's seat. His old bones didn't like the chilly April night.
Zeke took up the lines and clucked to the mare as the cab continued down the street. "Another stray for Katie, aye, Bess?" He spoke to the horse as one might to an old friend. He knew where this poor stranger could get the best care in town.
The small bed was empty! Erik looked around the dim room. The little girl named Christine was gone!
His heart battered his ribs as he began a frantic search of the gloomy corridors and backstage rooms of the opera house, then went to the towering boxes. For an even better view of the cavernous auditorium, he walked the catwalk past the clouds painted on the domed ceiling. His sharp eyes picked up no sign of the small figure in the rows of plush seats, however.
Suddenly, a blur of white caught his eye. On the stage, she sat huddled in her nightgown, her arms hugging her knees. He had to get to her before she roused anyone…especially the lecherous scene-shifter, Joseph Buquet.
Erik dropped from the flies above the stage like a silent shadow. Seven-year old Christine had begun to rock back and forth and sing in a sweet, soft voice. Erik remained still, unsure how to proceed. He didn't want to frighten her or let her know his identity.
He watched as she rose to her feet and began a slow twirl. She danced to her own song, her eyes closed. She was dancing in her sleep! As she spun, he started toward her on silent cat's feet.
Suddenly, the floor beneath her small bare feet opened, and she descended out of sight in a flash of billowing white.
"No!" Erik screamed.
Heat, torturing heat…
Embers falling from overhead…
The opera house burning…
Christine wouldn't know the way out…
"Christine! Christine! Come back! I can show you the way!" Erik screamed as he searched his rooms to find her. She had followed Raoul up into the flames above.
"I've killed her!" He sobbed, thrashing into the red glowing waters of the lake.
Give in, Erik, it's all over, let the water end the darkness…blessed cool water.
The water closed over his head and peaceful darkness overtook him…