Okay. Third chapter. I hope this achieves as good a reception as the other two seem to have done. With that said, I don't own POTO or Groundhog Day. (Something tells me I'm going to get really tired of saying that.) Here we go.
Chapter Three: Christine's First Love
It had been two months since the coming of the Voice. Two glorious months where music was God and nothing else was ever spoken of...two brief months in heaven.
And now, with her childhood friend in the audience, returned into her life, Christine felt her happiness complete.
She practically skipped into her room, tossing her hair gaily and going directly to the mirror. "Angel?" she called. "I am here."
"I know."
"What shall we sing today?" she asked brightly.
"For today I think that might be your decision," the Voice answered benevolently. "But tell me, what has happened to make my beautiful Christine flower the way she has?"
Christine smiled. "Have not told you of Raoul? He was such a sweet little boy when I knew him, loving and caring and so funny...oh, how I loved him..."
And she went on, telling the Voice of how she had met Raoul and when and where, and what he was like and how much she loved him.
The Voice said nothing.
She continued, telling of the years they had grown up together, of her father and how he had loved them both.
The Voice said nothing.
When finally she ran out of breath and words, she thought this odd. "Angel?" she called. "Angel, are you still there?"
Silence.
Though the presence of the Voice had caused her fear at first, now its absence caused a fear far worse. She pressed herself against the walls and called out several times.
No sound.
"Angel? Oh, what have I done to displease you, that you have forsaken me? Oh, Angel, do not leave me, I beg you! Do not leave me!"
No answer, no sign that the Voice had remained.
She flung herself against the mirror and wept violently, calling out to the Voice, but it did not reply. "Oh, what have I done? If it is anything I have done or said, tell me and I will never speak of it again! Oh, how may I right the wrong I have done my angel?"
She buried her face in her hands in despair. "I cannot bear the silence...I cannot bear the silence." And she sank to the floor, weeping and lamenting into her hands.
Finally she leaned against the wall, her tears sliding down between the mirror and her face. "Angel...if you left me I do not think that I could bear it...please come back."
Silence.
Erik stayed behind the wall until her cries became soft weeping. He stayed behind the wall until the weeping became a silent presence. He stayed until she retreated, beaten, fromhis silence.
He had not thought that hearing once again the name of the man he hated in relation to his beloved Christine would cause such pain—so much pain that he was struck dumb, could not speak (a rare occurrence at the worst of times). He had not thought there was enough feeling left in him to hurt that much.
But, apparently, he had been wrong.
Staying in itself was torture. He longed to speak, to reassure her, but the hatred rose inside him like a huge and ugly snake preparing to strike...and so he stayed silent for fear of hurting her. Though her tears were agony to him, there was a small but powerful part of him that kept him from answering—a part of him that gloried in the pain she felt at his absence.
A part of him that said, "See how she loves you. See what power you have over her, what she feels because of you."
But the absolute power...no, that would never be his. He hated its name and he would never resort to it. Not to her...not for all the world.
So when she finally ceased her weeping and withdrew, he was there, crying his own silent, unshedtears without the comfort of release. And it was then that he finally retreated himself, back down into his prison.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Gabriel was waiting for him. "Not exactly the perfect approach, is it, doing things exactly the same way?" the angel asked.
"If you have nothing intelligent to say, then be silent."
"My, aren't we pleasant today," Gabriel commented.
Erik rounded on him. "Have you any idea," Erik hissed, "can you even conceive of what it is to be who—what I am? You play with lives as easily as I play with notes but I at least know the consequences of my actions. Do you understand at all what you have done?"
"Yes," Gabriel replied softly. "I can never know exactly because I am not you—no one ever can be. But I have an idea. There is such a thing as empathy in this world, Erik. Angels are not the only ones who bear it, but bear it we do."
"Then why?" Erik sighed. "How could you...knowing what you know of me, of her, of...of him...why?"
"Because no matter how you fight it," Gabriel said, "you still must learn...you still must grow."
"I know," Erik said, sinking into a chair and putting his face in his hands. "But must it be so hard?"
Gabriel said nothing, but extended a hand gently and rested it on Erik's shoulder as the man finally shed the tears he had held inside.
"...and then it...the Voice was gone! No matter how I called to it, how I pleaded with it, it would not respond. So tell me," Christine wept, "what have I done?"
Amelie Valerius was anything but stupid, and her memory was long and good. She was also analytical but superstitious, and believed in Christine's Voice as fervently as she believed in God. Regardless of its actions or its manner, the Voice could never be anything but right.
"Why, my dear," she said, putting her arm around the girl she had treated as a daughter for most of her life, "of course the Voice is jealous!"
"Jealous?" Christine said, raising her head. "Of me?"
"Yes, of you!" Amelie said.
"But why?"
The matron laughed. "Because you are its pupil, because it has chosen you to become an angel and you have rejected that promise of heaven for an earthly love."
"But Mamma Valerius," Christine murmured, "I do not love—"
"Oh, come now, I'm not blind nor stupid," Amelie said softly, stroking her charge's hair gently. "I saw the way you acted around Monsieur de Chagny, and I see how you are when you talk about him now. Don't tell me what I see in your face."
Christine looked solemn, wiped her tears, and sighed. "It is no use," she said, laughing mirthlessly. "To heaven I have pledged my life, and to heaven I will vow again, for no doubt he...no matter. It is enough to say that I am what I am, and to the Voice is my duty and to my angel is my love. I will hold fast; I will stay strong...and I will not think on him any longer."
"That oath is hard kept, Christine," Amelie told her. "Take care you are not forsworn, or God will punish you."
"I only hope it is enough," Christine replied, and fled.
And here we have the chapter numbered five...(three, sir)...three...yeah, I know my veiled references aren't funny. :D Humor me, will you?
Comments? Questions? Concerns? Reviews? Siobhan out.
