The streets were vacant and still. No people inhabiting them. Water steadily poured onto the street. The weather had taken a drastic turn from the day before. It had gone from bright, cheerful and balmy to bitter, dreary and damp. The weather was, actually, a good parallel to Emiliee's mood. Sure the theatre was spectacular and breathtaking, and sure there were many passageways and doors to investigate. But after awhile of this exploration it all became monotonous. The farther Emliee walked the more aware she became of her imminent boredom. It became more and more prominent, until it felt like it totally plagued her. So finally finding her mothers old dressing room she collapsed on the bed. Eyes shut tight, letting slumber overcome her.
Emiliee opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She had no idea how long she had been sleeping, or how long she had ever been at the Opera Populaire. But she knew that she had a splitting headache that didn't seem to waver. Was this what every day was to be like? Emiliee didn't find it to be at all pleasurable and dreaded the fact that her whole summer would be spent alone with nothing but her throbbing head to accompany her. She sighed and propped herself up on the headboard, her auburn eyes glancing slowly around the room. It was big, and roomy. It was also very clean. Andre and Firmin had probably got somebody to clean it out as she was aimlessly wandering the opera house. Hadn't they told her she was the first one to use this room since her mother? That thought brought a weird feeling into her. Her mother grew up in this very Opera House. Emiliee hadn't heard many stories about it though; her mother didn't like talking about the Opera House. She didn't sing anymore either. That bothered Emiliee…whenever she met someone her mother knew in her youth they would always tell her how her mother sang like an angel. But she would always change the subject almost automatically.
Emiliee couldn't sing to save her life. She enjoyed going to the odd opera once and awhile. The whole spectacle of it all excited her. But the actual singing sometimes bothered her. She remembered long ago her father took her to the opera FAUST. She was only young but she remembered it well. How she clung to her father's hand as she admired the elaborate gowns and suits of the wealthy nobles. Being in awe of the magic on the stage. How the sets moved, people appeared out of no where…it was all fantastic. Emiliee became obsessed with the music. She listened so intently that she could recite certain lines from certain songs. She ran around the house, belting out a few words to each song and driving her parents insane. Emiliee soon lost interest in it all as her older years began.
A soft knocking at the door jolted Emiliee from her thoughts. Her voice was weak from not having said a word for hours…maybe even days. Had it been days?
"Hello?"
Emiliee sat up straighter. She hadn't the slightest idea who the mystery person behind the door was. She hardly knew anyone at the opera. A muffled voice answered back at her. It was a female's…high and sweet, sweeping politeness rolling softly off her tongue.
"Hello Emiliee. It's Meg Giry…may I come in?"
Emiliee smiled. She knew Meg, of course she knew Meg. Meg was her mother's best friend. Or used to be anyway, she hadn't seen her for years. But awhile ago her visits to their home had been quite frequent. There came a point where Emiliee even considered her as a sister. Imagine that…a sister that was old enough to be her mother.
"Of course Meg! Come on!" She spoke enthusiastically.
The door creaked open and Meg entered. Her dress was plain and simple and her blond hair was tied back neatly in a bun. She smiled as she saw Emiliee on the bed and walked over to her.
"I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?" She asked sweetly
"I'm pretty good. Here pull up a chair" Emiliee said motioning to a nearby chair in front of the long mirror.
Meg nodded and walked slowly over to it. She stopped in front of the mirror and stared at it carefully. Her expression unreadable. Emiliee watched her with interest, whatever she was doing it wasn't because she was checking her reflection in it. Meg turned around and looked back at Emiliee lying on the bed. She looked just like her mother. It was just all too bizarre for Meg to take.
"Actually Emiliee they need your help at rehearsal…" She said nodding slightly
Emiliee's raised her eyebrows "Rehearsal? Why do they need my help?"
"I'm not sure, they just told me to come and get you" Meg shrugged
Emiliee nodded and stood up. She was baffled, she was useless really. But she might as well try and contribute to something. It would keep her mind off how incredibly bored to death she was.
Emiliee walked down the corridors silently. Meg a few paces behind her. She wasn't sure what to say to her. They hadn't seen each other for such a long time that she didn't know where to begin. She couldn't even remember anything interesting about her life that Meg would be remotely interested in.
The silence was incredibly awkward but both people pretended not to notice it. As soon as they swung open the doors to the stage a whole other atmosphere surrounded them. A much more hectic and stressed atmosphere. This calmed Emiliee, she now would not need to worry about talking to Meg. It was too loud to do so anyway.
Emiliee wandered out onto the stage right into the middle of where the company was rehearsing. A tall, aged woman turned to look at her sharply. Her makeup was heavily done, caked on and peeling off her face. At first Emiliee thought she was wearing her stage makeup but after a quick glance to the other principle actors she realized that is wasn't. The woman's features contorted into an angry glare and Emiliee half expected her to explode.
"THIS GIRL IS RUINING MY CONCENTRATION! I AM TRYING TO REHERSE! I CANNOT WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS! I CANNOT!" She screamed
Emiliee just starred at her, shocked. She had never been talked to like that in her life.
"I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to interrupt…."She stammered clumsily
"GET THIS GIRL OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW!" The woman pointed an accusing finger at Emiliee.
Emiliee felt herself clam up. She didn't much like these confrontations. She didn't know how to react, what to say, what to do, who to turn to. Should she leave, stay, smile, laugh? Was all of this a joke? Was she joking? Emiliee couldn't tell. But she WAS an actress.
Emiliee looked around her quickly, she felt her breathing quicken and her face burn a dark shade of scarlet.
"Emiliee come on over here." A male voice filled her ears. It was reassuring to her, almost familiar
She turned seeing Marcello standing there. A rag tossed lazily over his shoulder. He walked up to the stage calmly and grabbed Emiliee on the arm.
"Thanks" she murmured to him softly
"We are sorry to have disturbed you La Carlotta. Please continue with you rehearsal. Oh and I highly advise you not to talk to a de Chagny like that in the future."
Carlotta froze in mid scream. She turned slowly to face Marcello, her eyes widened as he spoke. As she moved her eyes over to Emiliee her face slowly slipped into a shade of a hideous mauve.
Inwardly Emiliee cringed. There that name was again the de Chagny . She didn't want people treating her differently just because she had some stupid title.
"You….Your……You're……CHRISTINE'S DAUGHTER?" She asked, enraged at the mere thought of that chorus girl taking over her position.
Emiliee nodded slowly, glancing warily at Marcello. But he wasn't looking at her.
"Yes she is. So I would advise not to talk so vulgarly to those families of higher esteem them yourself" He smiled elatedly.
Marcello led Emiliee off the stage and around into the audience. Emiliee smiled at him.
"So that's Carlotta"
Marcello nodded and laughed to himself.
"Yes it is. Sorry about that. It wasn't personal don't worry. Emiliee, I actually called you here to see if you could help me with a few things" His tone changed from jubilant triumph to businesslike superior.
Emiliee, noticing his immediate change in attitude, nodded. "Sure"
He looked around him. Contemplating what task would be best to tackle first.
"Could you do me a huge favor and polish out each box? It's a pretty straightforward job…"
Emiliee smiled and looked around her. The smile soon vanishing in spite of herself. There were so many boxes.
"Thanks" He said before she could even answer his question. He tossed the rag over in her direction and took off into the backstage area of the stage.
Emiliee found herself standing alone, in the midst of confusion. She sighed and began making her way up to Box 1. As she saw it the faster she started. The faster she would be able to finish.
With every box Emiliee grew more and more tired, more and weaker and more and more bitter. She found herself muttering angrily under her breath. Hadn't Marcello just told off Carlotta for talking to her poorly because she was a Chagny and then what did he do? He goes and sends her off on a million hopeless and tedious tasks like she were a housemaid.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Emiliee traveled from box to box polishing silently. She didn't see why they even had to be polished. People went to watch the opera not to inspect the….
Emiliee froze, her heart stopped beating. Her hair prickled up on the back of her neck. She heard something, something soft like someone had been moving. She also had that sickening feeling that someone was watching her. Emiliee slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. Her head pounding in her ears, and her breath catching and becoming shallow. There was no one there.
But they she heard a voice, a soft voice. A voice that made her heart want to explode. It was beautiful, like a haunting melody that would not fade. It was just a whisper.
The words were unrecognizable, Emiliee's appreciation for the whisper grew to terror and she turned and ran straight of the box. Box 5.
Christine opened her eyes slowly. It was late in the day, she slept in. Oh how long it had been since she had last got a good night sleep. No nightmares plagued her dreams the night before. Only thoughts of happiness, joy and love filled her head and she was content with that.
She looked turned her head and readjusted it on her pillow. She gazed on her husband who lay sleeping beside her. He was such a noble man. He was so loving, so trusting, so loving… so predictable. She stopped herself as she thought those words. It wasn't true she loved him….even if he was a little predictable.
Christine rose slowly careful not to wake Raoul. She tiptoed silently down the long staircase and entered the kitchen.
It was empty, the sunlight streaming in welcomingly through the open windows. The day was fresh and warm. Christine smiled to herself, it was so peaceful. Without realizing it she began humming quietly under her breath, the humming turned to tralala-ing and that tralala-ing turned to singing.
Even though she didn't realize she was singing. She sang. She sang the first time in years…
Past the Point of No Return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question, how long should we to wait before we're one…
The harmless singing turned into playful day dreaming. She felt his breath on her neck, His face in her hair, His strong arms wrapped possessively around her body. She couldn't help but smile.
Christine dropped the glass she had been carrying. Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what she had been singing, and who she had been dreaming about…almost yearning for. She scolded herself for such a thing.
She bent over to pick up the broken pieces of the glass when she saw Raoul's feet. Raoul was standing in the doorway, pain evident across his face. Christine did a quick intake of breath before speaking.
"Good Morning Raoul…" She began but she was cut off by Raoul. His voice was wild and uneven
"You we're singing….singing THAT song. Christine I thought we had gone over this. I don't want you to sing ANYMORE. Never. Listen, we have to forget the past and move on. Forget about it. You're safe now. No need to fret. Christine…Christ Christine. How could you sing that? THAT SONG! Don't you realize what song that Is? It's HIS song….that monster…" Raoul looked at her angrily.
At the beginning of the speech Christine nodded. Ashamed of herself for singing, ashamed of herself for remembering. But as his speech reached the closing she felt her whole body tensing up, rage bubbled within her waiting to explode.
It was her turn to cut Raoul off.
"Don't you ever insult him EVER again..." her voice was strained
Raoul looked at her taken aback. He stared at her hard before turning and stomping up into their bedroom.
She could hardly believe what she had said. She didn't understand why she reacted that way, but Raoul did. And it hurthim so badly.
