I'm RIDICULOUSLY sorry this has taken so long to update. What has it been, a month? I'm so sorry, I've been doing some professional theatre work this summer and I haven't been a good author. Bad author, bad!
Um, here's the update (sheepishly decides to end tirade.)
Solitary confinement was quite possibly the worst prison sentence Christine could have been given. Although she was often terribly shy and quiet, she drew energy from the people she chose to surround herself with.
Now, the only thing to keep her from becoming truly insane was the Bible. Christine read the passages with a newfound vigour, forcing all other thoughts out of her mind as she passed the time.
Dr. Giry visited her every day. At first, their time together had been for psychological therapy, but now it seemed as if they were old friends. Dr. Giry used to be a very gifted ballet dancer, before she went back to school to become a psychiatrist. As Christine also had a strong background in ballet, the two discussed their favourite works together. It was Christine's favourite part of the day.
One day, Dr. Giry came into the room with a proud smile.
"Christine, I have arranged with the psychiatry board to allow you out of your room twice a week. Once they have determined your behaviour with the other patients, they will review your case, and you may soon be out of solitary confinement and into a regular cell."
Even though this wasn't exactly the best of news, to Christine it seemed like a message from heaven. "Oh, thank you, Dr. Giry! Thank you!"
She threw her arms around the older woman. Dr. Giry hugged her back awkwardly.
"You remind me of another patient here," she murmured into Christine's curls before drawing back. "A very sweet, innocent girl. She was never as strong mentally or emotionally as the other girls, but in her right mind she would never harm a fly." Dr. Giry's face saddened for a moment, and then she twitched it back into its regular, disciplined look.
"Come, Christine. You may come out into the common room, if you'd like. We'll try you out there for an hour, and see how you do."
Christine nodded, meek as a lamb, and followed Dr. Giry out of the dreaded Room 5.
Erik's face swelled with fury as he watched Dr. Giry announced to Christine the good news. Or not so good news in Erik's case. Christine needed to stay where she was. When he finally came to her, it would be much easier to take her from Room 5 than an ordinary cell. As well, her desperation to go to the common room proved his theory. She was craving human contact. It would make her mind even more susceptible to his words.
It was time to take action. He could not just sit by and let Dr. Giry prove Christine was innocent. No, that would not do. Dr. Giry owed him a few favours, and he figured it might be time to make good use of them.
Angrily, he grabbed his eagle-feather quill and dipped it into his favourite blood-red ink. He quickly scribed a message to Dr. Giry, and then dropped it back into the well. If the woman would not stop meddling now, then he would be required to take more action. Until then, he hoped that would do.
Now, as for the psychiatry board, what could he do to persuade them that Christine was not sane? It would be like trying to convince someone that an angel wasn't good. Christine was obviously in her right state of mind.
Angel…his mind flashed briefly on one of the stories Christine's father used to tell her. The story of Little Lotte and her Angel of Music.
Erik's green eyes took on a diabolical gleam. He went to his main switchboard and checked if he had the proper wiring and connections to carry through with his scheme. He did. Laughing, he began to wire his project that would convince any doctor that Christine still needed to be in solitary confinement.
A ringing phone awakened a sleeping deputy detective from his slumbers. Spilling papers all over the place as he tried to unearth the phone, he finally located it and answered in a deep, accented voice.
"Nadir Khan, deputy detective."
"Hi, this is Benjamin Reyer from the county morgue. I have the autopsy and post-mortem shots that you requested. May I fax them to you?"
Nadir dug around on his desk and found a fax machine buried even deeper. "Sure," he replied. "Here's the number." He shot off the digits and hung up the phone, waiting for the prints to come through.
Scattered on his desk were stories and newspaper articles he hadn't read for years, most of them in Persian. They were right from before he was forced to flee Iran as a refugee, right before he had met Erik.
That was what was troubling him now. The Daaé case had seemed like any other, and he had passed it to a junior detective without blinking an eye. But one night, as he looked over the shoulder of the officer who was handling the case, he was forced to do a double take.
"Are those from the Daaé case?" He had asked the officer.
"Yep," the man had replied. "Open and shut case. The girl snapped and murdered her ailing father's caretaker. She had a history of depression and suicide. The case was closed in a month."
Nadir's eyes had narrowed. "May I see those prints?"
"Of course," the man answered. "I filed most of them away, though, and you know how bad the filing room is. You'll never find them. You can call the morgue, though, they have much cleaner files."
Nadir nodded. "Thank you."
Now, pictures were floating in from the fax machine. He had spent his extra budget money on a colour fax, simply because he had felt like it. The best tool in that office was his mind. Everything else in there was simply clutter. He had a habit of collecting clutter the way a magpie would collect shiny things.
As he looked at the pictures of Joe Buquet's body, he felt his suspicions taking on a new force. The bruises around Joseph Buquet's neck were huge, with finger marks much larger than the Daaé girl's must have been. She was a petite ballet dancer. Those markings looked like something a wrestler would have made.
Then there was the manner of Buquet's gutting. It was executed in a way that he had seen only in one other place, done by only one other man. It was too clean, too polished to be done by a young woman. This was the work of an experienced killer. And Nadir Khan had more than just a small suspicion as to who it was.
Sighing, he picked up his fedora and grabbed his trench coat. He was a fan of 1940's movies, and he had bought the ensemble to suit his career. He glanced at the mirror on his way out, and gave himself a wry smile.
"Here's looking at you, kid," he told the reflection, before stalking out the door. He knew what kind of person he was about to be dealing with, and made a quick prayer in his head. Erik was not fond of those who interfered with his plans.
Christine walked into the common room of the psychiatry ward wide eyed and stunned. The patients milled around, under the patient supervision of doctors, and seemed completely oblivious to their surroundings. There was a large window, covered with bars, that Christine was instantly drawn to.
As she made her way to the window, she examined some of the patients around her. One had bandages wrapped all around her fingers, and kept trying to scratch at her arms. Instead, she could only managed to claw at the teddy bear she held. It was missing an eye, and the stuffing was falling out where she tore at the seams.
Another sang, "Ring around the Rosie," softly and eerily, and Christine found herself shivering as she listened. Another girl performed graceful pirouettes, her neat blond hair streaming out behind her as she performed a complicated ballet routine.
"You're very good," Christine told the girl gently, in an effort to break the near silence that plagued the common room.
"Thank you. I cannot give you any autographs, but I am glad that you enjoyed the performance!" The girl smiled back with empty blue eyes. Christine did her best to return the smile.
"Do you dance ballet?" The girl continued to talk, as she fell to the ground, landing in the splits. "You look as though you have had training. My agent may be able to get you a job here, as long as you don't mind dancing in the chorus. Would you mind doing a pirouette for me, followed by a plié?"
The girl looked so hopeful that Christine obliged, and for a moment, her orange jumpsuit seemed like a flowing costume. The girl nodded.
"Lovely. Simply lovely. Well, if you come back in another few days, when I'm not so busy rehearsing, I'll get you an audition. You deserve it much more than the little rats who usually dance in the chorus." She giggled. "My husband, Paul, really likes those foolish young women, though. At least, he used to. He went on vacation to Bali, and he's not coming back for a long time. He used to love to spend hours with those little tarts, promising them auditions and fame in exchange for kisses and more. I'm not sure if I miss him, or not. Oh well, he'll be back sooner or later, I'm sure. Whenever he decides to be a good boy."
Christine gulped, and nodded. "I see."
"At least while he's still away, it won't mean walking in on him and all those tarts together in the dressing rooms! He might have found you attractive, because you are, but I don't think he'll be finding anyone attractive but me, now. Sorry! Better luck next time! But here! I think I hear the producers saying that our rehearsal is over! Why don't we two stretch and warm-up, and see what we can come up with! Perhaps we can work some new choreography into the second act."
Christine made a pathetic smile. "Okay."
She sat on the ground and began doing pike stretches with the girl, reaching down and touching her toes, opening her legs wide and spinning her torso. It had been months since she had last danced, since the trial demanded all her attention, and her body was alerting her to that fact.
She spent the rest of the hour stretching with the girl, stealing glances out the window whenever she could. Out in the courtyard, she could see the other female inmates playing basketball and skipping rope. She longed to get out of solitary confinement and become a regular prisoner, but her visit with this girl was helping ease her mental struggle.
"I don't know your name," Christine said suddenly, as they did grand plies in fifth position.
"Oh, how silly of me!" The girl giggled. "I'm Meg, Meg Barbezac. You do not know the name? Of course not! I danced for years with a different name before I got married. Perhaps you are familiar with the name Meg Giry?"
Christine gasped, and Meg tookit as a start of recognition. "I thought so," said Meg merrily. "I danced as principle dancer for the New York Ballet for five years before I married Paul. He was a producer, and that's how we met. I don't know what he's doing in Bali, though. Maybe he's still producing. He hasn't sent word yet, but I'm not worried."
"Christine?" Dr. Giry's voice interrupted her very confused thoughts. "Your hour is up, dear. Time to go back to your room."
"Oh, must you go already?" Meg pouted. "Oh dear. Well, come back another day, preferably after rehearsals are done, and we will work together again! Goodbye, Christine!" Meg looked at Dr. Giry momentarily. "You know, you look very much like my mother, ma'am. That could not be, of course, since she died so long ago, but there is something in your face that reminds me of her. You must come by my dressing room sometime, and we will have tea together!"
Dr. Giry gave Meg a sad smile. "Of course, dear, I look forward to having a nice cup of tea with you there."
Meg nodded graciously, and began to jeté around the room. Christine hurried after Dr. Giry.
"I see you have met my daughter, Christine," Dr. Giry said wearily. "She was the patient I described to you. The innocent one. She was probably the world's finest ballet dancer, the best anyone had ever seen. Then, she married Paul Barbezac." Her hands balled up into fists at her sides.
"What happened?" Christine asked, almost afraid of the answer.
Dr. Giry sighed. "She began to suffer through bouts of schizophrenia. Their marriage was already very rocky, and he was extremely abusive, but with the schizophrenia, she began to change. He beat her more and more frequently, and she desperately reached out for the world that she had created in her mind.
"I'm not sure if you know what schizophrenia is, Christine, but she was convinced that there was some sort of organization after her. She didn't eat any food that she herself did not prepare, for fear of poisoning. She dropped out of the ballet, though in her mind she still went to rehearsals every day. Finally, she 'discovered' that Paul was an 'agent,' and stabbed him forty-three times with a carving knife. Horrified with what she had done, she retreated into the world you experienced today. A world where she is the prima ballerina, her husband is vacationing in Bali, and her mother is dead."
They stopped outside of room 5, Dr. Giry looking very weary. "I had her transferred here as soon as she was declared legally insane. I do not want you to think I became a psychiatrist just to spend more time with my daughter. I was working here long before she got sick. I am not even allowed to diagnose her. But you dancing and spending time with her will make her very happy, I'm sure. Even if you are not allowed out of solitary confinement yet, I will do all I can to ensure that you may continue to visit the common room on a regular basis."
Christine nodded. "Thank you, Doctor." She looked at the door wistfully. "I wish I didn't have to go in there."
"I know, dear," Dr. Giry murmured. "But we'll have you out of there as soon as we possibly can."
Christine managed a tight smile, and then entered the room.
Dr. Giry slid her electronic key through the door, locking it. She was now more convinced than ever that Christine was sane.
Dr. Giry walked into the observation room, just in time to see Christine disappear into the adjoining bathroom. She sat down at the desk and added notes about Christine's interactions with Meg. She was deeply involved with writing when a note floated down into her lap, seemingly out of nowhere.
She jumped with surprise as the note fluttered in front of her vision, and then frowned at the skull-like wax seal upon the envelope. Her brow knitted as she opened the messageshe knew Erikhad sent her.
Dear Madam,
It has come to my attention that you are under the belief that Miss Daaé is ready to be released from solitary confinement. However, there is great danger if you chose to push her case forward. From my observation, she should still be quite safe to dance and play with your daughter, no more than twice a week. But be warned: it will not be safe, for you or for anyone, should she leave that room at any other time. She will not be relocated into a prison cell if the psychiatry board knew what was good for them.
I remain yours, great lady,
The Phantom of the Opera,
Ghost of the Prison,
The Lover of Trapdoors,
Erik.
Dr. Giry set the note down on the desk, stunned. He had signed it with all of the pseudonyms he had been known by in his lifetime, including the one she recognized.
However, there was a matter of pride and debt. She owed Erik everything. She had saved him, and he had saved the one thing in life she loved more than anything. She could not betray him or his trust.
She looked up as Christine entered back into the room, her curls damp and her face freshly scrubbed. She could see the tear stains on her face that the cheap prison soap could not erase, and knew the girl was probably experiencing a feeling of hopelessness.
Dr. Giry sighed heavily and cradled her head in her hands.
"Oh, Erik, what are you planning with this poor girl?"
Tee hee, the plot thickens. Please review, and enjoy! I will do my best to update within the month, but it's frosh week at university, so I'm not sure how well I'll do. I hope you like it! Actually, I hope you love it!
