Chapter Thirty: If To Heaven's Heights I Fly

Leah

In his arms, she flew on wings of love.

"Is that what I looked like last night?" I wondered to myself.

From my accustomed seat in box five, I watched the action on stage with a dreamy fascination. During the break, Beth had taken to these secretive meetings with her beau quite frequently. Despite her mother's hawk-like watch, my friend had finally found love. They came to the quiet stage whenever they could for several hours of romantic dancing.

One would think that years of dance training would drain all the joy out of such an activity. But then 'one' would obviously not be a dancer.

Beth and Beval seemed to be dancing on air.

I felt a bit guilty for spying on them, but the dormitories were empty and uninviting. With Christine gone and Meg out with her parents, the hallways of the Opera Garnier were as silent as a tomb. Besides, it was a chance for drawing that was too good to ignore. I had done some of my best sketches during these afternoon trysts of theirs.

My favorite sketch had been scratched out while they had been resting one afternoon. They only dared to light a few small lamps on the edge of the stage when they came, so the picture was sharply defined by the light and shadow. Sifting through the pages of my sketchbook, I found the special piece.

I felt a small swell of pride as I swept my eyes over the dark strokes of charcoal. They were sitting together quietly, leaning against one of the larger props on the edge of the wings. Beth's dark skirts spread out on the floor around them both as she rested her head on his shoulder. The warmth of his arm around her, the trusting curve of her neck, every angle spoke of comfort and affection. With a convoluted pang of emotions, I gently closed the cover of my book.

I often wondered what it would be like. I had never been in love. Oh, Philippe was a perfect gentleman, but I knew that I was only a passing affair for him. It would be utter foolishness to love a man who would leave eventually. He was a young, adventurous nobleman and I was a student of the National Academy of Ballet. The relationship we shared was common place and our roles already predetermined.

But I was still determined to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. And I did. He was wonderful company, a real gentleman. He was a kind man with a fantastic sense of humor. Best of all, he defied the average attitude of a nobleman. He treated me with respect, as though I were an intelligent equal and not just another opera rat. He made it difficult not to care for him. But I had learned to be content with that, and perhaps I would find someone of my own class someday.

I could only hope for someone as wonderful as Beval Monet. Beth had been mooning over him for as long as I had known her, and no one could really find fault with her for it. He was graceful and talented, second only to Ingvar Armo, and he was a hard worker with a cheerful attitude. True, Beth's beau wasn't much of 'a looker' as Hortense had once so delicately put it, but Beth didn't seem to mind. Whenever teased about him, she simply muttered something about love being blind.

It was not long until they happily drifted backstage, leaving me alone in the dark with my lonely thoughts.

At least for a few minutes.

There was a quiet knocking at the door of the box, followed by a faint light and a familiar head. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Henry!" I ran with all my strength into his open arms. It seemed like ages instead of weeks since I had last seen him.

"Izzy!" He cried as I pounced on him. He swung me around in the open space of the hallway and my black fingers left smudges of charcoal on the snowy white of his crisp shirt. My brother's love filled my heart to overflowing.

But the happiness was not to last.

Later that night…

Eric

My plans were unfurling like a blooming rose.

There was a new spark in my step as I walked away from my view of the manager's office. Bonar had preformed his duties perfectly, feigning surprise and horror at all the right times. The man should have been a professional actor. He had handed off my note with ease. I could still remember every line.

My dearest Poligany,

I had hoped to begin this little relationship of ours with a greater spirit of cooperation. Or perhaps I ought to say 'renew' our relationship. However, I was sadly disappointed in you my old friend. I do hope my instructions were clear when we spoke earlier. But perhaps your memory is fading in your old age. I wouldn't know much about that though, as I never grew to such a ripe old age. Forty two years is such a very short time.

Oh, you'll have to excuse me. Even in my present state of limbo, it seems I am still a bit bitter about that whole sordid affair of my death. But again, I shall attempt to start afresh with you. No sense in dredging up water that's already under the proverbial bridge. That is, unless you are disinclined to comply with my requests. In that case, I fear we shall have to relive the past. As I already informed you my dear partner, my reach does indeed extend into the land of the living. You see, I am just as capable of ending a life as you were when you picked up that gun all those years ago. Therefore, I suggest you comply with my business plans as you did when I was alive, or I shall be forced to recreate history.

And your lovely daughter will be the first to reminisce with me. She would look stunning with a pair of angel's wings.

Your humble partner, in this life and the next,

A Ghost

It was a perfect scheme.

Laurent's combination of deep guilt and a superstitious nature made him the perfect target for my manipulations. Earlier in his career, Laurent Poligany had killed his partner. They had been selected to manage the Garnier when construction began, but when work halted they had used their persuasive skills to mastermind a smuggling ring on the side. They had even used the unfinished opera house as a base for their shipments, constructing extra tunnels in the walls for easier concealment. Affluent and stupid, they were little different than any of their peers at the time. But an important narcotics deal had gone terribly wrong, and Poligany had shot his partner in a drunken rage.

Being a good, penitent Catholic, Laurent had carried the guilt of his act for years despite confession. And now, I was graciously giving him a way to relieve it. The way I saw it, we were both getting something out of my little arrangement.

A sudden sound caught my interest.

A guttural yell, followed by a crash.

"The dormitories" I mused. As I was headed in that direction anyway, I decided to investigate.

This particular tunnel was full of pinpricks of light, peepholes into each room that was built against this wall. It was very familiar to me, as this was my main route from the upper layers of the Garnier down to my home. But only one room's light was strong. The glow of the other rooms must have come from the streetlamps, as it was late at night.

"It's Christine's room." I whispered under my breath.

I should have kept walking. Despite all my attempts, singing the child to sleep had only made her more dear to me. Worst of all, she had made 'her angel' promise never to leave her. I would never escape. I felt trapped between my intellect and my emotions, and it was obvious which one was winning.

So I succumbed, stooping a bit to peer inside and discover the source of the commotion. My heart beat faster as I wondered if the child could be injured.

The sight that greeted me was not at all what I had expected.

The room held two tense young women in their nightshifts. Neither was Christine, I was relieved to note. I was about to continue my walk when I noticed a glimmering light reflecting from the floor. A wash pitcher lay in several pieces on the floor. That must have been the cause of the crash. But what of the scream?

Interested, I scanned my memories for names to pair with the faces, wondering why these two would be so violent. One of Bonar's girls, and Christine's bedmate. Leah, wasn't it? I had never observed aggression from either of them. Now I was paying attention, my curiosity in full swing.

"How could they? They made me a promise!" Roared the younger girl.

The force of her voice shocked me. I had not expected such a low, menacing tone to come from such a thin little frame.

She paced the short length of the room in a way that reminded me of my days with the gypsies. I had only seen that attitude once before, from the lions as they paced their cages at night. I shuddered at the memory. She slunk from one end of the room to the other with straight-angled shoulders and tightly balled fists.

Bethany sat on the bed, obviously concerned but unsure of what to do. She also appeared to be a bit frightened, and I saw a glimmer in her eye that reflected a small boy of long ago. She too, it seemed, was uneasy about being caged with a dangerous cat.

"Leah! Please dear, stop that pacing. You're going to wear a groove in the floor." She tried to laugh weakly at her own quip, but failed miserably.

Leah threw up her hands in exasperation and turned to face the girl on her bed.

"I can't help it!" She returned to her pacing.

"They left me Beth! They abandoned me! My own family. The first chance they get, they move back without me. They are gone!" She was gesturing wildly with her hands.

She turned about in her track, glaring vacantly at the wall for an instant. For the first time in years, I felt a shiver of something that bordered on fear running down my spine. She seemed to be looking right at me, and her eyes … her eyes saw deep into my soul. They were full of a dangerous passion, one that threatened to overflow her trembling body, yet at the same time cold and detached, achingly filled with a feral glow of anger.

"Please try to calm down. You're going to make yourself ill." Bethany murmured with a hint of worry in her voice.

With a furious grunt, Leah spun around to face her, breaking our non-existent eye contact. I was almost relieved.

"Calm down? Calm down? My mother runs away with her new beau and gets married, my grandparents leave the country with her, and you expect me to remain calm?" Her voice rose with every question mark.

Beth stood to comfort her, but Leah spun away to face the window. She braced herself against the window with her hands on the sill, and spoke in a bare whisper.

"Calm? I am alone, Beth. Alone." Though her voice was low, all her emotion remained just as strong.

Each word was hollow, like a stone dropped in an empty well.

Leah

I could feel Beth's eyes on the back of my neck, but I did not care.

"Calm? I am alone, Beth."

"Alone."

All I felt was anger. Burning, terrible, all consuming anger. Anger for my mother. Anger for her husband, a father that I had longed for since birth and I would never know. Anger for my abuelos, for taking advantage of the politics of the marriage and returning to their hacienda in Spain. Anger for the whole world. I had been betrayed and left alone. No one would be there to take care of me from afar. No one would send me secret roses. No one would ever come to see me. I was lost, my rudder was broken and my sails limp.

I should have been sad, hurt, or in pain, but I couldn't bring myself to allow those emotions to touch me. They were too dangerous, too easy to turn to tears. Anger was safe by comparison. I felt strong, even while this emptiness ate away at my insides like heaven's plague of locust. Anger was powerful, and that was all I could hang on to.

Apparently Beth was also aware of this, for her next words were not those of comfort, but exasperation.

"Blast Leah! You are NOT alone! What am I? Chopped liver? And what of your brother? Didn't you say that he planned to remain in France? You are not adrift at sea, you fool. You are among family here too."

I turned to return fire on her heated words, but was stopped by the quiet sadness of her face. She was on the verge of pain, and I was the cause. I felt my rage grow dim and gray in the pit of my stomach.

I turned back to the window, wrapping my arms around myself and vacantly gazing at the distant forms of late night revelers in the street. I couldn't bear to see that expression on the face of the woman I would gladly call my sister. Indeed, she was my hermana in all but name. I had gone so far as to tell her the real story of my past.

She was right, and I knew it, but that did little to ease the pain in my gut. How was I to keep living, knowing that the most important people in my life had completely discarded me like a piece of trash?

"I'm sorry Beth." I could barely whisper, leaning my head against the cool glass. "I'm sorry."

I would not cry. I would not! Even if she would never see or care, I would make mama proud of me. I allowed emptiness to fill my inner cavities, a cold, hard determination that stilled my hot tears before they even began.

More silence followed. The only sound in the room was the gradually slowing tempo of our breathing.

In a soft, cautious movement, Beth finally broke the stillness. She slipped her arms around my own, and rested her cheek on the top of my head, taking advantage of her height.

"I should not have raised my voice." She burbled softly.

I began to speak, but was cut off.

"All is forgiven. For both of us, oui?" I nodded my head, struggling to cling to that strong, freezing anchor in my mind.

"You know, I forgot something before." She confided. "There is another who stands with you. The Lord."

I didn't know what to say. I was still unsure about this loving, intimate portrait of God that she painted. And the events of the day had done nothing to improve my candor for him.

"If God is with me, then why did he send my family away?"

"Oh, my little hermano." She sighed. "He didn't send them away. He let them leave. God does not make choices for us."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she had just called me her brother.

"That doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I know, I know. He never said we would understand all of the difficult passages of life. He only said that he would stand with us through every moment, good and bad. I find that knowing he is near takes a little of the sting away. You can feel that too, you know."

"I know." I answered simply. I was still so confused by my own emotions. I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a razor.

Beth let the matter drop, and began to sing a quiet tune instead. It was comforting, but the lyrics only served to further convolute my thoughts.

If to heaven's heights I fly,
You will stay close by me.
Or in death's dark shadows lie,
You are there beside me.
If I flee on morning's wings,
Far across the gray sea,
Even there your hand will guide.
Your right hand will lead me.

"Whatever you choose, Leah, I will always be here. I am not going to leave you."

"Thank you. That means more than I can say." I bumbled as my breath left a white fog on the cold windowpane.

"Goodnight dear." She said awkwardly, for what else was left to say?

"Sleep well." I returned vacantly.

I only half heard the door close behind me, still watching the stray party goers stumble about the street drunkenly. But my mind was far away from the dim streets of Paris. I felt even more confused than before.

What did I believe? Should I hate God, or let him comfort me? Could I let go of my doubts? Would this pain ever stop? Could I ever let go? What was supposed to happen next? Where was I to go from here?

I needed to get out of that room. I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I had to do something, had to take my mind off of all the questions I couldn't answer. It was difficult to decipher just what I was feeling.

Eric

I had never felt this way before.

She aggravated me. She fascinated me. With out realizing what I was doing, I had been drawn into her peculiar mystery. I harbored an intense need to understand her, and I was infuriated that anyone could force me into such a state.

She had only looked my way for an instant, but that instant had been as damaging as the hours of singing to Christine. Both of them had a hook latched deep inside me that I could not remove. And I faintly wondered if I even cared.

Seeing the depths of her soul bared open in those sharp gray eyes had roused my curious nature. What emotion had that been? Hate, fear, sadness … emptiness? Years of observing people from afar had taught me to read even the faintest facial expressions, but for the life of me I could not place that look. What strange thoughts lingered inside her head? What was this loss she spoke of?

Never before had I wanted to understand someone as I did this girl. I had analyzed the emotions and thoughts of many individuals, but always with a reason. I had used my findings to manipulate them as I desired and nothing more. But somehow she was different. I felt no urge to view her as a tool, to bend her to facilitate my plans. She was completely useless to me, yet I wanted to understand.

I wanted to take her apart and examine the things that made her tick. I wanted to grasp the root of what motivated her in life. Why was I so engrossed by her? Why should I care?

A movement from the window halted the vicious cycle of my thoughts.

I had no idea how long she had stood there after Mademoiselle Giry quitted the room, but it must have been decent length of time, for she appeared stiff.

Her movements were determined, as she glided to the wardrobe and removed several articles. I was startled as she began to remove her nightshift, and torn between giving her a bit of modesty or enjoying the sight. My body easily won the fight, and I examined her form with an appreciative eye as she changed into a tattered blouse and a pair of men's trousers. She was quite thin, a trait that most of society found rather unattractive. I, on the other hand, was slightly less inclined towards the heavyset, so the sight was even more appealing. Her small bosom and the slight curves of her buttocks were like ripening fruit.

While I did welcome the view, she was nothing truly spectacular. I occasionally used my hidden vantage points for such purposes, so the prospect was not a foreign one. What was rather odd was the fact that part of my mind was still gnawing away at the enigma of her driving forces. What caused her to be excited? What brought her sorrow? What made her laugh?

"Who are you?" I silently queried.

I had never before thought to ask that question in such a context. How would she answer if I did? How would anyone respond to such a subject? What reply could fully satisfy it?

How would I answer?

I refused to confront that inquiry, labeling it rhetorical as Leah made for the door.

I rushed silently to my passage near the hallway just in time to see her turn the corner into the stairwell. Much to my chagrin, she headed to the little attic above the subscriber's rotunda which I had privately dubbed the little Sistine.

As I followed her, I made a mental note to extend that passage into the walls of the circular room. I very much doubted that I would have much luck convincing Bonar to provide the muscle for such a task, though I would have rather had it that way. The man had been quite helpful during my original adaptations to the earlier smuggling tunnels, providing me with access to nearly every room in the building. But back then he had been doing his brother a favor, and I feared that my latest scheme had drained the last dregs of that little arrangement. Even his brother's debt could only ensnare his loyalty for so long.

But no amount of wishing would alter the secret hallway tonight. I could only hope that she would leave the door open.

But I had no such luck. She slipped the knob quietly back into its place in the door frame. I could hear her movements inside, but only a flickering light at the keyhole gave any visual clue.

After several minutes of a strange, rhythmic noise inside, I decided to take a risk, sliding open the well-concealed panel in the wall. The faint sounds grew stronger as I crept up to the key hole.

Fencing. The girl was fencing. That was a novel sight, even for one as widely versed as myself. Her form was fairly impressive, if a bit underdeveloped. She grunted with exertion while dueling an invisible adversary. I had done the same thing many times before. A small fission of unexpected emotion shot through me.

Where I would have expected sympathy similar to what I felt for Christine, Leah evoked a sense of mutual understanding. Strange, considering so much of her remained mysterious to me.

Hours later, she slumped down on a worn piano bench. Her face was damp with perspiration. The few strands of hair that escaped her black snood were plastered to her skin and her thin blouse clung snugly to each of her slight curves. The light of a nearing sunrise served as picturesque backlighting as she rested her elbows on her knees. Her head hung down, heavy with exhaustion. She fidgeted a little, appearing somehow indecisive. But indecisive about what?

After a few moments, I received the answer to one of my many question.

She lowered herself to her knees on the rough wooden floor, clasping her hands in her lap and bowing her head.

"God, are you there?"

Author's Notes: Sorry about the wait, this chapter was hard to write. I wanted to set the scene for Leah's new outlook on faith. I also wanted Eric to really SEE Leah for the first time. Not as a pretty face and a female body, or a backdrop for Christine, but another human being. As you can kind of tell, he doesn't really see anybody besides himself as human, as a person with feelings and a life story. Right now he kind of just sees everyone only as they relate to himself, as enemies or tools. Even his current feelings for Christine are merely a projection of his own feelings of loss, even though he doesn't know it. It was hard to figure out how to begin to alter his perceptions.

In other breaking news, I've finally got some of my poetry posted on my site at colormegraydeviantartcom (you have to replace the with .)

I've decided to postpone Leah's big turning point for a chapter. Sorry, too much left to write before that.

Beval is a French name which means 'like the wind'. Bevel is also the name of a certain kind of cut that a jeweler uses on a gemstone. I'll let you in on the meaning of Monet a little later. I don't want to spoil the plot. Armo is a Finnish name for 'grace'.

The song is a slow, simple one. I heard it on a Chris Rice CD, but it's an old folk song. The melody is really haunting and beautiful.

Did I get you when Eric started off saying "I had never felt this way before"? Did you think he was in love? He's not. I fooled you. Oh, I am devious. Yay.

Responses: Fish: Sorry, I haven't gotten around to readdressing Ch.29 and all its errors yet. I hope today (or tonight as the case may be) finds you happier and in better mental health. :D Those classes sound taxing. How did they go? How is da puppy? And is your computer less sick? Hope this chapter finds you less stressed. Much love.

Avid: Thanks as always for reviewing! I hope I'm not on your bad author list now after not updating for a few days.

JPT: Oh, I've really been a bad person this chapter. I didn't answer your questions, and worse, no meeting. Please don't hate me cause I'm slow:D I'll try to make it up to you with writing more of these long chapters.

Bananas in Pajamas: ¿Hablas Español? I'm glad you liked it. Your review made me blush profusely. :D I must give credit where credit is due though, as the piece would not be half so good without my wonderful beta fish, allegratree.

ALC: I apologize for not responding sooner. I would be happy to help, at least for the next month or so. My life's hectic level is going to shoot through the roof at the end of June, so I may not be able to continue my duties at that time. But for now I'm all yours. I don't have IM or anything, but my e-mail is under my profile on this site. Hope to be of service!

phtmangl1013: Another newbie! Huzzah. (She hands you a slice of chocolate cheesecake) Wait no more.