Goodbye
"Christine."
The voice that called her was hollower than the darkness itself.
"Songbird…"
She opened her eyes. The clouds were above, amorphous and white, floating softly against the night sky, and the shape of the moon rippled as if it were only a reflection of itself.
"Songbird," the dark shadow that loomed over her called again. There were only two glowing stars in that sky. She turned her head. She saw nothing. She glanced the other way. Nothing. The only way to look was up and the only sight to greet her was that of the floating clouds. Floating… She was floating too. She could feel it. Languid strands of her own hair drifted past her eyelashes.
"Come to me." Where had he gone? Her burning eyes could no longer find his shadow, and his voice was muted. It cut through to her ears from another world. It called to her and she ached to find it. Her whole body ached. Her chest was screaming.
She blinked slowly, and then finally exhaled. Silent bubbles rose to join the clouds, pushing them across the dark sky, obscuring the swimming moon. They were her own shivering bubbles, and she watched them slip away and take endless time to disappear. They were her life's breath. And now they were gone.
Her lips parted to breathe again. She paused only to close her eyes and shut out the night.
"Songbird!"
She inhaled. She choked. Her entire body spasmed and she shot up out of the water. Gagging and sputtering, her trembling hands gripped at the edge of the bathtub and she leaned over it, gasping for air. Water poured from her mouth and nose and she squeezed her eyes shut against the raw, tearing pain in her chest as she coughed, her nails breaking with how tightly she clutched at the marble.
"No," she finally rasped once she could breathe again. Shakily, she surrendered her hold on the edge and put her wet and wrinkled hands to her face, clumsily pushing back the clumps of hair that stuck there. The pendant of the silver necklace bounced against her cheek. She froze, then lowered her hand, looking at it. "No…"
She drew her bare knees up to her bare chest and wrapped her bare arms tightly around them as she fearfully looked about the empty bathroom.
"I…" she barely whispered. "I cannot come to you…"
There was no reply. There was nothing at all. Christine was quite alone.
She remained that way until all the white foam on the surface of her bathwater had long evaporated. She remained that way just until she began to shiver again. And then she pulled herself out of the bathtub and fell to her knees where her dressing gown remained where she'd left it on the floor. Shaking, she tugged it about herself, its folds sticking uncomfortably to her wet flesh, and then she pushed herself to stand again and approached the double doors with soft, wrinkled footsteps that left a trail of watery prints upon the dark marble of Erik's bathroom. She shuddered at each cold drop from her hair that dripped icily down her back, but she did not move to take a towel until she was securely out of the bathroom and the doors were closed behind her.
Inside Erik's dressing room, the temperature was finally at its usual warmth. The opposite doors were closed and a full set of clothing was neatly waiting for her. He had brought for her absolutely everything she would need, from her outwear for the cold March weather down to the combs for her hair. If only there had been a mirror…
The act of dressing was mind-numbing to Christine—a numbness she more than welcomed. By the time she returned to the drawing room where Erik was waiting for her, also dressed to go, she was in such a dazed state that he reacted at once with alarm.
He instructed her to sit by the fire, but when she simply asked him why with frightened eyes, he only told her that she must let her hair dry before he would take her out of doors. Then he went straight to the kitchen.
While she waited, with nothing to study but the mantle before her, she noticed that Erik's book was gone. She shuddered, then in sudden recollection, looked over to where she earlier dropped her shawl and nightgown. They too were gone. She exhaled slowly and clasped her hands, sinking into the cushions of the sofa and resting the heels of her boots against its base.
"You will rest more easily once you are home."
She glanced over her shoulder. Erik had returned.
"And I want you to do nothing but rest," he continued. "You are not to go out. I will inform the management not to expect you to return for several days at the very least."
"I will miss so much," she murmured.
"Your health is your first priority, Christine." He came around the couch to stand before her. "And mine."
She tilted her head to look up at him, and the drying of her hair tickled at the back of her neck.
He studied her expression, then handed her a drinking glass. "Be careful. It is warm."
She clasped it gently with both hands and looked down into it. "Is it tea?" she asked softly.
"It is for your health," was the only answer he gave her.
She took a sip and grimaced at the taste, looking back up to Erik feebly.
He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest.
She looked back down and finished it.
He took the glass from her and set it aside, then took her gloved hand with his to help her stand, and he led her to the door. Outside at the false dock, she stopped, hesitating as he steadied the boat for her to get in.
"Erik… I…" She met his eyes with sudden anxiety. "I want to see her… Before I leave."
"No, Christine."
"Please, Erik?"
He stepped back from her before she could even consider clasping onto him. "Christine, you do not want to see her. Not as she is now."
"As she is…?" Christine tugged at the edges of her cloak.
"You cannot think that after a person has been taken apart she is simply put back together without a mark."
Christine paled slightly. "I… You…put her back together?"
He took up the oar irritably. "Would you have preferred me to leave her as she was?"
She shook her head. "I… How?"
"With a needle and thread, Christine." He sighed and gestured for her to get into the boat. "Just like a rag doll."
"Erik!" she gasped.
He met her eyes suddenly with a look that brought with it instant flashes of his horrific, unmasked expression of the night before in the laboratory. Christine at once found her place in the boat, and it was not until they were some distance upon the lake that she dared speak again. "Where is she?"
"Still here, Christine," he answered softly. "But no longer in the house so that we may have some heat."
"I want to see her…"
"No, Christine."
"Where is she?"
"Do not ask me… She is safe."
Christine wrapped her arms about herself, watching the dark water of the lake slip past the side of the boat. "Will she… stay there?"
"Do you want to bury her?"
She sighed sadly. "She deserves better than this."
Erik remained very silent for several moments, but Christine distinctly noticed how his strokes of the oar at once had become more rigid. When he finally did speak, his tone was distant and his eyes too were set upon the waters of the lake. "We could bury her in Averne."
Christine gasped and turned to look up at him. "No! No, Erik! I could not bear that! Every time we came across, then, I would know she was down there. I would know she was underneath us in the water and I couldn't… No… I couldn't bear that…"
Erik tilted his head very slowly to look down at her desperate expression. "You couldn't bear that."
She shivered at the sheer iciness of his tone and looked away from him. "No…" Her voice was almost too soft.
She felt Erik stop rowing the boat then, and she stiffened where she sat, but she dared not turn to him again. But he did not speak, and so, finally, she did. "Where is she, Erik? I want to see her…"
"If you ask once more about her, Christine," he spoke softly now, but with the most measured severity, "I will become more than seriously concerned for your mental stability. And I will take action. She is safe. Be at ease. Rest in peace." And then he began to row again and Christine did not dare so much as open her mouth once more for the remainder of their crossing.
How filled she was with questions! She had been so certain she would be content once she knew how Elainie died, but she still did not understand why. Why had Elainie come to her? What was it she still wanted from Christine? Where were the answers? And now she was gone somewhere where Erik would never let her see her… How Christine longed simply for one last chance, if only to say goodbye.
When she and Erik parted ways once above the cellars, the only goodbye he offered Christine was another stern instruction for her to rest. And then he was gone and she was alone again.
The hour was still fairly early in the evening, but it was not a performance night and the Opera seemed almost deserted. Perhaps rehearsals had ended early… Perhaps the workers were at dinner… Christine made her way through the empty halls towards an artists' exit slowly, for she was finally warm again and in no hurry to step into the frozen winter's air.
It was as she left one corridor to turn into another that a soft voice startled her nearly off her feet.
"Songbird…" It rose from the shadows behind her.
Christine caught her balance by a hand to the wall and turned about quickly to meet the eyes of an equally startled Jacqueline Galerne, who stood alone in the dim corridor.
"What…?" Christine stammered as she pressed a hand to her throat to catch her breath.
Jacqueline nodded to her with hurried politeness. "Good evening."
Christine shook her head, uncertain of her own senses. "What… Did you just call me?"
"Oh!" Jacqueline gasped softly and smiled nervously. "It is what they called you in the papers once. More than once."
Christine's brow knit in confusion and she leaned against the support of the wall. "They…?"
"The Swedish Songbird… They spoke of you as if you weren't Parisian at all. And now that I've met you, I cannot understand where they would get such an idea." She offered Christine another smile.
"I…" She shook her head slowly. "They called me that?"
Jacqueline nodded and approached her. "You don't read the papers? I always read the papers. Though I know some performers think it is bad luck to read their own reviews…" She stopped herself then before saying anything more, blushing slightly.
Christine stared at the girl blankly, as if she was not quite certain if she were even actually there. And then she shook her head again, exhaling softly. "No… I suppose I just don't… have the time."
"I didn't mean to imply that you were superstitious!" Jacqueline gasped, but the soft tone of her voice did not rise. "I hope I did not offend you—I would never want to offend you! I was just coming from my fitting… Oh! They've made me your understudy's understudy. I don't know if you have heard? So if she has to take your place, I will take hers. But I've just been finished being fitted for her costume, and I was surprised to see you, and all of a sudden I remembered those articles…"
Christine tried to reassure her with a smile but couldn't quite manage it. She spoke with gentle quickness to cease the girl's rambling that had begun to make her aching head spin, "You have not offended me at all…" But then her words trailed off into uncertainty and she only stared at the stranger's face in slight confusion.
"Galerne," the girl prompted with soft helpfulness. "But I would be most honored if you called me Jacqueline. And I won't call you The Swedish Songbird if you don't prefer the title; I would never want to offend you."
Christine did manage to smile this time. "Yes, I remember… We met at lunch."
"Yesterday." Jacqueline nodded.
Christine lost her balance slightly. "Was it only yesterday?"
She nodded again. "We wondered where you were today. Some of us were worried. Especially after… yesterday."
"I…" Christine shook her head. That incident in the café seemed like weeks ago to her now. But she tried to compose herself. "Yes… Galerne. Of course I remember… You don't believe in ghosts."
She smiled brightly. "I did say that, didn't I? And then everyone else tried to convince me this theatre is haunted."
"Oh…" Christine lowered her eyes. "But it's not. The Opera Ghost, he…" She shook her head.
"What?" Jacqueline asked, half in confusion, half in curiosity.
"He's not real," Christine finished, very softly. "This Opera isn't haunted… but…" She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself.
"But?" Jacqueline asked now with concern, and she took a step closer to the trembling Christine.
Christine looked up again to meet the girl's eyes. "Don't go into the cellars. Never go into the cellars."
"Oh?" Jacqueline glanced about for someplace she might offer for Christine to sit.
"Yes," Christine breathed. "For they are."
Jacqueline looked back to her. "They are…?"
"Haunted." Christine felt the threat of teardrops prick at the back of her tired eyes.
"Ah. I…" Jacqueline shifted nervously. "Are you quite all right? You seem…"
Christine shook her head and leaned more heavily against the wall, and sighed, "I am ill… I think… I am not well. But it is nothing. All I need is rest. I may not be at rehearsal for a few more days."
Jacqueline nodded quickly. "Of course." Her smile was almost too charming then. "I would say I supposed that would make your understudy happy… But she is far too sweet to be the type to think thoughts such as that."
Christine nodded and said softly, "She is only ever compassionate and caring." But she could not help but wonder then if Jacqueline herself, despite her never-ceasing softness, was the type to think thoughts such as that…
"You are pale," Jacqueline said with concern. "You don't look well. Will you need help in getting home? I could walk with you…"
"Thank you." Christine shook her head. "But I will take a cab." Then she pushed herself away from the wall to stand solidly, which she did for almost a full moment before swaying as the sudden dizziness of the movement claimed her.
Jacqueline gasped and took Christine firmly by the arm in fear that she might fall. Christine caught the wall again with her other hand and breathed slowly until the faintness passed. Then she turned and tried again to smile a little at the concerned girl who held her up.
"I just need to rest," she assured her. "I will be fine."
Jacqueline patted her wrist comfortingly. "Yes… You must be under a great deal of stress…"
Christine nodded and brushed a hand across her forehead, smoothing back her hair.
"Oh!" Jacqueline gasped softly.
Christine turned her gaze to follow the other girl's and saw that Jacqueline's hands on her wrist had found the little silver pendant that peeked out between Christine's glove and sleeve.
Christine blushed and withdrew her arm, clasping her own hand about her wrist.
"So they do call you that then," Jacqueline smiled. "Songbird... It is very beautiful." She nodded to the pendant now concealed by Christine's gloved fingers.
"It's…" Christine glanced at it, turning it slightly. Songbird... "Yes… It is…" She then met the girl's eyes again. "I am sorry, but I must go!" And without even leaving a moment to say a goodbye, Christine turned and continued quickly on her way to the exit, leaving a mystified Jacqueline behind, alone in the dim hallway.
Once out of the Opera, Christine used the last of her strength to hail a cab and then sank back into its seat, saying with only just enough volume for the driver to hear, "Rue Notre Dame-des Victories."
It was as she approached the doorstep of her home on the Rue Notre Dame-des Victories that Christine realized she did not have her key. In fact, she had absolutely nothing in her possession save for the clothes she wore which were not even her own, but those which Erik provided for her. The bell she rang was answered by her very surprised serving maid who at once ushered the pale and shivering Christine into the small, dark sitting room, all the while pressing her with improper questions.
Christine could only answer with a shake of her head and a request for something warm to drink. The maid hurried off and Christine remained seated on the settee for several long moments, doing nothing but staring at the wallpaper until she suddenly remembered herself and rose again, rushing at once to the door of her mama's room.
She entered quietly in case her invalid benefactress might be asleep, but stopped short in the doorway at the sight that greeted her within.
Mama Valerius was not only awake, but also seeming to be greatly enjoying herself in the company of the young Vicomte de Chagny. Both turned to look with utmost shock to the door upon Christine's entrance and the vicomte rose at once from where he sat by his elderly friend's bedside.
The good woman gasped in almost child-like joy and her bright eyes sparkled as she pressed her hands together. "Oh, Christine! Monsieur de Chagny and I were just speaking of you and now here you are! Come and kiss me. How I have missed you!"
Christine blushed and her eyes darted to Raoul.
He greeted her properly then, but only said in a soft murmur, "Mademoiselle…"
"Monsieur." Christine nodded to him, hesitating a moment, but then made her way to her mama's side and returned the old woman's eager embrace, giving her the kiss she requested. "I have missed you too…"
"Oh, don't put on airs for me." Mama Valerius laughed. "I can't imagine you have so much as given two thoughts about me while you were with him."
Christine reddened and she pulled away. "Mama, I have told you not to mention it… Never speak of it aloud. Please…"
From the corner of her eye, she saw Raoul shift in response, and she purposefully looked away before she saw any more.
Madame Valerius laughed again and caught Christine's hand, pressing it warmly. "Well, now. Then may I mention the fact that I do believe Monsieur de Chagny has been lingering about a ill old woman's bedside for far longer than he can possibly reasonably take pleasure in with the delicate hope that tonight might be the night you would return home?"
"Madame…" Raoul's voice sounded as if it was doing all it could to reflect good nature.
"Well can't I speak of anything?" she sulked lightheartedly.
"Mama, please," Christine said again with tentative faintness.
"I did wish to speak with you, Christine," Raoul said softly.
She shook her head, pressing a hand to her weary brow. "I…"
"Oh, Christine," Mama Valerius cut in. "It could not harm you to give the gentleman but a few moments of your time." She gave a gentle wink of her bright eye. "I am certain even he could not object to that. And Monsieur de Chagny has been waiting so anxiously."
Both of the young people blushed then at her words but neither acknowledged Mama Valerius's illicit reference to the mysterious he, and Christine only nodded slowly, keeping her eyes downcast.
"It has been a pleasure to visit with you again, madame." Raoul nodded to her politely before he followed Christine out into the sitting room and the maid took their place at the old woman's bedside. But once they were alone, Raoul commanded Christine's attention with the most heartfelt of gazes.
"Christine, I… You…"
She turned away from him. "Raoul, if you so much as mention it, I will not speak another word to you. I have warned you not to spy on me."
He shook his head. "No, Christine… But that is not why I am here. I want to speak to you about her."
Christine turned back to him quickly, her eyes widening, and she shook her head. "Her?"
Raoul nodded and reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small packet of papers. "Christine, you must tell me…"
Christine glanced about the room nervously. "Tell you…?"
He caught her gently by the arm to pull her attention back to him, looking into her fearful eyes severely. "Yes. Elainoire Pinson. Her."
She shook her head fiercely then, practically hissing, "No, no, no."
"No?" He released her arm and unfolded one of the papers he held. It was newsprint. He turned it over then to show Christine the picture—the perfectly drawn portrait of a very alive little girl.
Christine gasped, "No…"
Raoul stepped closer to her, lifting the paper before her eyes as Christine's hands remained limp at her sides. "No?" he asked again. "Tell me no, and I will never mention this again. Tell me this isn't the child you say you found dead in the cellars below the Opera's stage."
Christine shook her head and stammered, unable to speak.
"Tell me this isn't her."
"Oh, Raoul!" she suddenly sobbed, and she pressed her hands to her face, unable to look at the picture a moment longer. "It is! It is, it is, it is! She… Oh!"
And as she groaned in anguished despair, Raoul quickly tucked the clippings away and took her gently in his arms to sit with her upon the settee.
"It's her!" Christine continued to sob. "It is! It was… She's… She's not… Oh!"
"Christine," Raoul soothed. "I am sorry… Please don't cry…"
She pulled back from him, meeting his eyes suddenly. "Raoul, what do you know? You must tell me everything you know! You must…"
He leaned toward her. "And you must tell me everything as well."
"Please…"
He nodded. "I…" But then they both jumped where they sat and turned at the creaking of a door behind them.
Christine lifted a finger to his lips, silencing him before he could speak again, and she whispered, "But not here."
"Christine…" he murmured.
"There is the park nearby," she said in an even softer whisper. "Where we can be alone."
"Oh, Christine…" He barely breathed.
She stood then, either ignoring his reaction or not noticing it at all, and she moved to go outside. He gathered his hat and followed her at once. And neither of them spoke another trembling word until they were in the snow-covered park and rather alone in a still golden evening of the post-twilight.
"The air is so still," Raoul said softly to himself as he glanced about the small park at the distant bundled figures enjoying the last of the dusk. Most were on their way out and none so near enough to overhear any words he or Christine might speak.
He turned back to Christine as he felt her apprehensive tug at his sleeve.
"Let me see," she whispered. "Let me see her again."
With his free hand, Raoul reached for the papers in his pocket. "I know I promised not to mention this again, but there have been articles, Christine. After I saw the one in the Epoque yesterday after we spoke, I looked back through the previous days' papers and found there has been one almost every day since the day you first told me of this. I would have never paid them any mind if it had not been for what you told me. People are talking about it everywhere too. What they're saying, Christine…"
She tugged again, the high pitch of her whisper all the more desperate. "Please, let me see…"
He sighed softly as he looked into her anxious blue eyes for a moment, the paper clippings crinkling in the fold of his hand.
She pressed her lips together and, unable to wait another moment more, reached to his hand, taking the folded papers from him. She turned away from him and immediately found the picture. Clutching its edges between her hands so tightly that the thin paper trembled, she stared down at it in such paralyzed fixation in the dim light of the park lamp that the monochrome of the rendering soon swam and she could have sworn she saw the shades of blue and gold and pink and white.
She felt Raoul move edgily behind her and she jumped, dropping the papers onto the snow-covered path. He stooped at once to retrieve them before they could become too wet, and Christine wrapped her arms about herself under the warmth of her cloak.
Raoul brushed faint droplets from the clippings. "It's not her."
Christine was too stiff to even shake her head in denial. "No. It is her. It is her in every detail."
He met her eyes again. "It is her sister."
Christine gasped. "Her…?"
He nodded. "Helene Pinson." He flipped through the papers to find the article that was meant to accompany the picture. "Who has been absolutely inconsolable since the abrupt, mysterious, and sinister disappearance of her twin sister, Elainoire."
He offered the article to Christine, but she did not unfold her arms to take it. She moved closer to Raoul again, leaning in to peer at it, but the words swam before her vision.
"Elainoire…" she stammered.
Raoul waited a moment, but then withdrew the article, scanning it for her. "Their fifth birthday is next week. The Marquis de Pinson and his family have raised the value of the reward they are offering for the safe return of their beloved child." His eyes roved over a few more lines. "But this says nothing new that the older articles did not mention." He flipped through them again to find the first one.
"The Marquis de Pinson!"
Raoul looked up to meet Christine's eyes again. "Yes."
"They were patrons of the Opera! Until…"
Raoul nodded.
"The disagreement. And they withdrew their patronage… The management was most offended. It was all anyone could talk about for a week last month."
Raoul nodded again. "I heard of it from my brother. They had been friends, but now Philippe refuses even to speak of him or his wife."
"Their daughter…" Christine shivered and stepped to Raoul's side where he stood under the snow-filled bare branches of a plum tree that grew next to the path.
He put an arm around her back and looked down to the article he had uncovered. "This was the first. A report the day after her disappearance. It reads that there had not yet been a ransom note, but the reward offered was already substantial. The second one was published after still no notice of any kind had been received and the reporter gives these possibilities… The police suspect more than an accident. Certainly the child has been a victim of foul play considering all the family's recent new enemies…"
"Two little girls went out to play," Christine read the headline aloud in a trembling whisper. "Only one returned."
Raoul's eyes found the article she'd noticed.
She looked up to him. "Why were they alone?" she demanded. "So young… Who could ever leave them alone?"
He shook his head. "They were with their nurse, taking a walk by the river that day she disappeared when the weather was warmer than it has been and the snow had melted the night before. The old woman stopped to rest on a bench. They quote her as saying she closed her eyes for but a moment upon two little girls and opened them upon only one. She has of course since been relieved of her duties. When they questioned the sister, all she would say was that she was the one counting. She is too young to understand…"
"They were playing a game," Christine gasped.
Raoul sighed and pressed his hand a little more firmly against Christine's back. "A game of hide and seek that has yet to end, it seems." He then folded the papers and looked down to her most seriously. "Or has it?"
She turned away from him. "The air does not feel so still now…"
"Christine, I have told you what I know. Now it is your turn."
She shook her head and pulled the hood of her cloak up over her hair. "I don't know what happened to her. I don't know how she died. I…" But she did know how! "I don't know why…"
He took her by the arm again. "But they do not know she is dead, Christine. Her family still hopes that she might be alive. They… We must tell the police, Christine. I know you said you… lost her, but they must know at least as much as we do."
She looked back to him quickly. "No! They will investigate…"
He frowned. "And why shouldn't they? If there is something you're not telling me…"
"No, no," she continued to shake her head, but instead of pulling away from him, she moved closer so that she might see him better in the lamplight reflected by the snow. "There is nothing more I can tell you. I swear to you, Raoul, I do not know where she is. There is nothing I can do. Please… The only thing I can tell you is I… She…"
"What?" He pressed her arm where he held her.
"Nothing," she whimpered suddenly. "There is nothing I can tell you. I can no longer even separate the reality from the nightmare… I don't know what is real anymore. I don't… I…" And then her tears began to fall once more.
"Christine…" Raoul glanced about the dark park to see who shared their lamp-lit path, but there was no one, and so he took Christine into his arms and bestowed upon her every ounce of comfort that was in his power.
"She haunts me…" Christine's burning tears felt about to crystallize on her cheek where she pressed against the rough wool of his coat. "She will not leave my mind… Whenever I am in that room, I feel her there."
"What room?" Raoul's soothing hold about her tightened gently.
"She calls to me," Christine did not answer him. "She comes to me and she came to me."
"Dreams," Raoul whispered.
"Too real for dreams, Raoul." She turned her face where it was against his shoulder to meet his eyes, the vaporous cloud of his breath for a moment obscuring her vision. She spoke very softly then as her trembling lips were very close to his, which were set so perfectly in his warm and handsome face. "I don't know what she wants from me… I don't know what she is trying to tell me. I don't know where she is anymore… He…"
"He?" Raoul stiffened and those lips of his set into a firm line.
Christine turned her face away again.
"What does he have to do with this?"
"Nothing," she whispered. "He only ever does as I ask. I only asked… I wanted to know how… And now I know who… But I don't know why." She clung to Raoul then with sudden fierceness. "Why has she come to me, Raoul? What does she want from me?"
He did not move. "She is dead, Christine… Or so you say. Her family has the right to know."
"Do you think…" She gasped. "Is that what she wants from me?"
"We might inform the police anonymously," he suggested softly, making no move to discourage how closely Christine pressed to him.
"Oh…" She nodded. "But… But what if that's not what she wants? What if…?" She released him and began to wring her hands, her teeth chattering in the silence of the park. "Oh, Raoul, I am so cold…"
He reached out to her again. "I will take care of it, Christine. You can be at ease now."
She noticed his hands then and stepped back with sudden modesty. "I shouldn't be out. I was supposed to do nothing but rest in peace."
Raoul frowned at the morbidity of her phrasing and his hands fell to his sides. "Christine…"
She glanced about the park, noticing a new figure in the shadows of the distance. "Lilies don't grow in winter, do they Raoul?" she whispered distractedly.
He almost sighed. "No, Christine, they don't."
She looked back to him again. "Please take me home. I should not have come out again."
He agreed politely and walked with her back to the door of her small apartment. She did not touch him again, but before she could escape inside, he caught her with a word:
"Christine."
She stopped and glanced back to him, but did not release the doorknob.
"Please send for me the moment you need anything. Absolutely anything." He withdrew one of his cards and held it out to her. "If you need help. Day or night, any hour, I will come to you."
She hesitated a moment, then took the card, nodding. And then she was inside and the door was locked behind her before either of them had even said goodbye.
She tucked the card away to be found again a couple hours later, after Mama Valerius had gone to sleep and the maid had retired for the night. In her nightgown and readied for bed, Christine sat at the writing desk in her bedroom to study the black script of Raoul's embossed name against the pristine white.
"Help," she murmured to herself. She could not imagine how Raoul could possibly help her, and she considered for a moment tearing up the card and throwing it away before the nosy serving maid might find it. Or worse, Erik. But she could not bring herself to do it. As small as it was, she found it gave her comfort just to have it. She turned it over, her fingers testing the texture of its blank side, and then she picked up her pen and slowly wrote the word "Help" so that it filled up the entire back of the card.
"Help," she read it aloud again to herself, and it was only then that she remembered she forgot to say goodbye to Raoul. Had she been cruel? After all he had told her about Elainie…
Elainoire de Pinson… The name did not seem to suit such a little girl. Elainie…
She thought again then of the Marquis de Pinson's so recent insulting affair at the Opera and the distasteful events that had led to the withdrawal of his patronage after years of previous devotion. It had all been a grave offence to the Opera as an establishment and he had thereby successfully managed to make an enemy of almost every person connected to it.
Erik, in particular, had been volatile… He had not even tried to hide his anger over the matter from Christine. He had vowed vengeance in her very presence. He had… But then… Shouldn't he have known who the child was? Shouldn't he have known, if not the moment he saw her, at least in the days following? So closely connected… How could he not have known? Christine dropped her pen. He must have known! He must have—He had known all along and he had not so much as mentioned a word of it to Christine! He had paraded the front of absolute ignorance, when all along… His vengeance… Oh!
Christine pushed back her stool, standing immediately in the shock of the realization that gripped her. But as her eyes darted about her room, she remembered just where she was and that Erik was nowhere near and would not be for several days at the very least.
She shuddered and wiped nervous perspiration from her brow. It was too warm in her room. She could not breathe! She darted to the window and pushed it open, at once quivering in the night draft that greeted her.
It was too much. All of it. And her weary frame felt as if it were sinking desperately under the weight. She was drowning in a bathtub of her own fear. Only able to keep herself up until she reached her bed, she collapsed hopelessly and wept herself into a fitful sleep.
Shapeless nightmares gripped her in the shades of blue and gold and pink and white against the black night of death and a silver moon that rippled beneath the river's currents. The stream roared too loudly, the wind blew too coldly, and the bathtub would not stop overflowing its bloodstained waters.
This time, when she screamed herself awake, it took her several very long moments before she understood that she was not in Erik's house in the Louis-Philippe bed.
She was shivering and she glanced to the window she had left open. She jumped as she saw something white move across it.
"No! Leave me alone!" She pushed herself to sit up completely in her bed.
The curtain. She shivered all the more. It was only the white curtain, stirred by the breeze. She rose and crossed to close the window again, but took a few moments to glance out to the street. It had begun to snow with the soft gentleness that made one forget that winter could ever be harsh. A cab passed in the street and for a moment she thought she heard the sound of laughter, but then it was gone again. There was a lone figure moving in the direction of the park and a stray dog nosed near a lamppost.
Christine sighed and closed the window, but as she did, the white card fell from where it had been tucked under the silver chain at her wrist. She bent to pick it up, turning it over both ways.
"Help," she whispered and then smiled nervously to herself before turning back to the room.
Elainie smiled back at her.
The card's corners pressed so sharply into Christine's palm, she would have wondered if they had broken the skin had she not been instantly paralyzed.
"Oh…" she stammered.
Elainie's smile fell and she tilted her head, golden curls falling over the bare pink shoulder that was swathed in nothing but the white sheet she held wrapped about her like a Grecian dress.
Christine felt her tears again. "Why...? Why?"
The little girl's blue eyes blinked as if she did not understand, but she seemed to already be moving closer to Christine.
Christine took a step back. "I wanted to say goodbye," she whispered. "I wanted… He would not let me… You… Please…"
Elainie stopped mid-step and her little child's brow knit suddenly in the most tormented anguish.
"No," Christine breathed and she moved back again to where she had been. "I'm not running from you… Please, tell me why."
The little girl's hands fumbled with the folds of the sheet that now seemed uncomfortably tangled about her and her head fell as tears began to pour from her eyes and pool about her feet, soaking the edges of the sheet that trailed across the floor.
"No." Christine could barely speak. "Don't cry… I… I just wanted to say goodbye."
Elainie's features could no longer be seen for the strands of hair that fell across her down-turned face as she continued to weep with silent violence. Christine noticed then that the hair too was soaking up the tears… In fact, the child's entire form had become drenched.
"You'll freeze!" Christine gasped. "You'll catch your death! You'll… No… It was in your brain… But no… Erik…"
At the mention of his name, Elainie's head shot up. A scream caught in Christine's throat.
The now dripping hair had fallen away in clumps and a dark line circled the girl's entire scalp. Her sunken eyes bored out from deep sockets and her pink lips had become blue and shriveled beneath hollow cheeks and a crumbling nose. Her mouth dropped open, revealing the teeth that dangled in shrunken gums, and the sheet about her had already begun to soak through with blood.
This time, Christine's scream rang through the entire house and she fled the room with a slam of the door that could have woken the dead.
"Holy mother in heaven help me!" Mama Valerius's fearful shouts from beyond her own bedroom door called out to her, but Christine had no voice to answer and no mind but to run out the front door, barefoot into the snow.
She kicked up the soft powder that had been slowly gathering and droplets melted against the burning flesh of her ankles. A cab was passing at the street and she ran to stop it. As it already held passengers, the diver at first made no move to slow for Christine who had already spooked the horses with her white gown and windblown hair and they whinnied against the whip.
"Please!" she cried, and the driver, now concerned, stopped his carriage and peered down at the shivering Christine.
She thrust Raoul's card up to him, choking, "Help! Please!"
He took it and glimpsed the name. "Mademoiselle," he said with troubled doubtfulness as he glanced back in the direction of his passengers.
Christine stumbled backwards towards her doorstep, wrapping her shaking arms about herself and trying to see him through the strands of hair that tangled about her face and stuck to the dried cracks in her lips.
"Hurry!" was all she managed and then she turned away, staggering to the shelter of the doorframe where she realized once more that she was not in possession of her key.
But the sound of a whip, and hoof beats behind her. The cab was gone.
She lifted a hand to the bell, but her fingers shook too much to press it at the thought of what was waiting for her inside. She began to sob again and could do nothing else then but lean heavily and helplessly against the door.
"Christine!" The reproachful voice snapped through her and abruptly finished her weeping.
She whirled about to see Erik's dark shape against the falling snow approach the step. She did not bother to wonder at the fact that he was at her doorstep on the Rue Notre Dame-des Victories in the middle of the night, for she was very glad that he was there just now, and she flew at once into his arms.
He responded stiffly, but she only clung to him all the more fiercely.
"Never leave me alone again!" she sobbed. "Please! Please, I cannot escape!"
"Hush Christine," he said as he pulled the folds of his heavy cloak about her against the softly falling snow and the cold midnight air.
"Please, Erik! Please! Whenever you leave me alone, it happens! I cannot bear it. I am going mad! Please, please promise never to leave me alone again!" She sobbed feverishly. "Please!"
He delicately brushed the drops of melting snowflakes from her hair, bending protectively over her as she refused to release him from her desperate embrace.
"I won't, Christine," he said very softly.
"Please!"
"I promise you."
She buried her face against the strange warmth of his clothing in the darkness beneath the enclosure of his cloak, and her lips parted helplessly several times before she could speak again, her hysterical words muffled.
"Ghost! The ghost isn't haunting the opera! The ghost isn't haunting the Louis-Philippe room! The ghost is haunting me! Me! Me, me, me! Haunting me!"
"I am here, Christine," Erik said in a strangely even tone, and she suddenly became aware of the sound of his heartbeat.
"She's… Oh, Erik! Erik!" Christine pulled away from him slightly so that she might wipe at her tears, and as she did, she was able to look up to meet his eyes that burned down at her through the dark of the night. They glowed as two frozen stars in the black sky, timeless among the drifting snowflakes that disappeared against the black fabric of the hood of his cloak. In those shadows, the features of his black mask were indistinguishable and it was as if he had no face at all surrounding those two eyes of ageless fire, and his hood was filled with nothing but the dark air of the night.
It was then that, with crashing clarity, all that had been revealed to her about Elainie's death since she had last seen Erik came flooding back to the forefront of Christine's thoughts, drowning her in its overwhelming realization.
She froze, though she shook brutally with the burning need to move, but her bare feet had become numb on the stone steps and Erik's hold on her, she realized, had become as viselike as marble.
"You," she gasped. "And she… She… You!"
His hand clasped over her mouth before she could say anything more. "Hush Christine," he said again. "Sleep now."
She tried to say something. She tried to shake her head. She tried to pull away. But she could do nothing but inhale the faint leather scent of his glove. Christine felt his other hand press against her back and the next whisper blew through her like the hollowness of the wind—the voice of the night itself.
"Goodbye."
And then she knew no more.