Author's Note:
Alright. A few things I have noticed have become a bit cloudy for my readers. I forget sometimes, because the story is often so clear in my mind, that it may not be as clear to everyone.
I meant it when I said that there will be nothing of a romantic nature between Giselle and Erik. When she asked him to spend the night with her, they did not have sex or engage in any romantic behavior.To him, she is someone who has borne the same kinds of abuses as he has, and who understands him and sees him for who he is. They spent the night together to try and heal some of their scars, and to take comfort in their understanding of each other. There is nothing of a romantic nature between them.
Also, someone made a comment about Madame Giry's statement at the end of the last chapter: "Leave us be, leave her be." That is explained more in this chapter.
Just wanted to clear a few things up. I'm sorry that I didn't make the relationship between Giselle and Erik clearer.
Enjoy, and please review! The great deal of reviews that I have gotten lately have been very encouraging!
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Chapter 32: The Dream Will End Where It Began
There was a rhythm in the opera house, a constant cadence of movement that Christine had sorely missed. When she stepped onto the stage the next morning and began to quietly sing her scales, warming up her voice as the dancers stretched behind her, she felt a sudden sense of peace, as though she had come home after a long sojourn in a foreign country.
It was the same sensation that she had felt while kissing Raoul in the carriage, and it frightened her. It frightened her more than Erik's rages ever had, more than her first view of his face, more than that not-so-distant night when Raoul's life had been mercilessly placed in her hands. It frightened her for a different reason.
If she could love one man so passionately, so completely, and yet in another's kiss feel that she was home, then she did not know any longer where her heart belonged.
And she no longer knew herself.
Ah, she thought, if only Erik were here now. He would tell me—he has always known me, far better than I ever knew myself.
Her voice wobbled on a high note and Monsieur Reyer tapped his conductor's baton impatiently. "Mademoiselle Christine, you must pay attention! A woman so finely trained as yourself should not make such mistakes on her scales! Again, please, from the third sharp."
She put tormenting thoughts of both men from her mind and focused only on the notes, finding solace in that which would never leave her.
She put aside her mending of her broken soul and found her refuge in music.
-
Erik's arms were around her waist when Giselle awoke, his face buried in her shoulder. She wondered for a brief moment what Christine would think if she saw them, and stifled a laugh. She had shared a bed with both men that had loved and been loved by Christine. The ironies of her life seemed to have no end.
Raoul had needed to use her body in order to drown his memories of Christine. Erik had felt no such need. Another human's presence was all he needed, a feeling of companionship and understanding to chase away the guilt that brought on the nightmares, and who better than she—a whore from the slums of Paris who had committed enough sins without remorse to consign her forever to the deepest pits of Hell!
Erik had not needed to make love to her to know that she was someone he could trust, someone who could see past his scarred face and tormented soul to the man he could have been.
The man that he could perhaps still be, if only he would put aside the past.
But Giselle knew all too well that some things cannot ever be forgotten.
-
"Christine!"
Meg ran up to Christine en pointe, glancing apologetically at Monsieur Reyer. "Christine, have you seen Maman? I went to her room before rehearsals, and she was not there! I thought she had come early to the stage, but she is not here, either!"
Christine frowned. "I haven't seen her, Meg. Perhaps she went down to the kitchens, or out to purchase some forgetful rat some lamb's wool. She has done so before."
"Never has she been late for rehearsals, Christine! You don't think…" Meg's eyes rounded. "You don't think that Erik has taken her, do you? For ransom, perhaps, or as a hostage to try and win you back?"
Christine laughed. "You've been reading too many novels lately, Meg. Go finish warming up. I'm sure she'll be here soon. Erik would never do such a thing."
"He has before."
"Not to Madame. And besides, Meg, he has changed."
Meg lifted an eyebrow. "Has he really?"
Christine looked away. "Yes, Meg."
"Then tell me why he is beneath the opera house once again."
-
Giselle didn't realize that she had fallen asleep until she woke to the sound of voices. She looked beside her and saw that Erik was gone, and felt a strange sadness. She had never had the simple pleasure of waking up to find a man next to her, be he her lover or no. To wake up to see such a man as Erik beside her would be a pleasure indeed.
Christine was a fool if she did not take him back when she saw what abject apology was in his eyes. Giselle had seen practically all of Paris's men, and not one had the soul that Erik possessed. There were upstanding, law-abiding citizens who were far crueler than he. There had been men in her room that had never seen the harsher side of a jail cell, but who had no trouble abusing her until she could hardly stand the next morning, let alone work. Yet, a murderer had held her last night more gently than any man ever had.
Except for Raoul.
But if he had seen Giselle, and not Christine, would his arms have been as gentle or his kisses as passionate?
She thought not.
She rose then, eager to drive away the melancholy that the thought of Raoul had brought on.
But when she reached the door and looked out to the lakeshore, she saw Erik standing there, conversing with another woman, perhaps in her forties, Giselle guessed. Their raised voices reached her ears, and she no longer could term it a conversation.
"You've done her enough damage, Erik! Leave her be!"
"I love her, Antoinette! Everything I ever did was for love of her!"
"I'm certain it was love in your eyes that she saw when you held her fast to the bed and nearly killed her!" the woman that he called Antoinette spat back. "I'm sure that she was awed by the depth of your devotion and the sincerity of your affections! Spare me the theatrics, Erik. You've hidden behind them and your face for thirty-four years, and I will not see her be dragged down with you!"
"If I could only see her! She will forgive me when she sees how sorry I am! You must see how sorry I am!"
"I do see it, Erik. I have seen such sorrow in your eyes before, many times. I never doubt its sincerity, but I have seen you repeat your sins over and over again. Who is to say that the next time you doubt her loyalty, you will not kill her? I cannot sacrifice her life for your happiness, Erik. I am not Demeter, who willingly gave up her daughter to Hades. If you must dwell in the underworld, Erik, and leave your soul to rot in Hell, then you must give up Persephone, for I will not surrender Christine again to you any more than I would permit you to take Meg."
"But you would give her to the boy!"
"He would never harm her."
"He is the only reason I have ever harmed her!"
"So now what will you do? Will you begin to terrorize us again, with no thought for the safety and happiness of others, only of your own suffering and your own relief? You are not the only man who has suffered, Erik!"
"No one has suffered as I have!" He roared this, his voice echoing in the labyrinth. "Do not presume to think that you know anything of suffering!"
Antoinette smiled, a small, sad smile. "I lost the man I loved before his time, and have lived all my life alone. You think I know nothing of suffering? Christine is my only child besides my Meg, and I will not let her blood be on my hands."
"I thought that I was your son also, Antoinette."
"I do not know what you are to me any longer, Erik. No mother would turn away from her son as I have turned away from you. Your scars are not your fault entirely, Erik, I made some of the deepest cuts when I brought you here and then abandoned you. Perhaps if I had not forgotten you and married Monsieur Jules, perhaps things would be different. Different for you, different for Christine, different perhaps even…" she paused uncertainly "different even for us. I had great dreams for you once, Erik. You had potential to be one of the greatest men this world has ever known. You let the lies about your face poison you, when all it would have taken was a bit of backbone to swallow their hatred and then spit it back in their face with your success."
"You say I am a coward?"
"You have never had any courage, Erik. Murder takes no courage. In fact, it is perhaps one of the greatest of cowardices. You have hidden in shadows and trickery all your life because you are afraid to face who you are."
"If you were anyone else, I would have killed you by now."
"That would bleed you to death, Erik. I am your only ally in this world, the only woman who sees you for who you are and is unafraid to voice it."
"Yet you betrayed me to that boy."
"For your happiness and Christine's. I wanted better for both of you than what has happened."
"So you tried to have me killed?"
"After what I have seen of your life, Erik, it seems death would be a mercy."
He grabbed her arm. "I've changed, Antoinette, since we spoke last. I cannot prove it to you, but I have. Let me see Christine, only once, and I will prove it to you both! Antoinette, if you have ever felt any compassion towards me at all, then do not abandon me again!"
"I asked you to spare me the theatrics, Erik. The truth is plain for me to see—you will never change. You are who you are, and both the world and I have made you that way. I have made that sin my daily confession, and it will be the one that perhaps bars my way into Heaven."
"Such a saint as you would never feel the slightest touch of flame, Antoinette."
She laughed. "I fear sometimes we all have made our niche in Hell, Erik, every one of us connected in this strange tale of le Fantôme de la Opéra. We have all done things that we find hard to forgive in ourselves, and there is no rest for any of us. There is a curse on us all, I fear, or perhaps this opera house."
"Then the fire purged it, Antoinette, for my curse is gone."
"You said that when I congratulated you at your wedding, Erik. Some scars do not heal, and some curses do not die."
"Is there no convincing you?"
"There is not. You have made me a cynic, Erik, in that I believe no longer in human nature, and least of all yours. Christine is too precious to me for such a fate as this."
"At least tell her that I am here!"
"No, Erik." Her voice was firm. "Leave her be. She is the new prima donna here, and nothing will cause the managers to fire her more quickly than for her to be connected further with you if you take up your former doings. Leave her be, leave us all be, and let her heal. She has her dream, she needs her angel no longer."
"I was more than an angel to her."
"Perhaps." Antoinette reached up and touched the right side of his face comfortingly. "But put aside what you were, and if you must be a ghost or an angel, go back to Heaven, and watch her from there."
"There is no Heaven if she is not there."
"Then go away, Erik, before you consign her to Hell with all the rest that you have touched!"
-
Then tell me why he is beneath the opera house once again…
"No." Christine whispered. "How do you know this, Meg?"
"I heard his music coming from the basements. He is here, Christine!"
He's there, the Phantom of the Opera!
Christine looked away, and saw Madame Giry hurrying towards the stage. Christine's brow creased with confusion. Madame Giry never hurried anywhere.
She made no apologies, but walked briskly to the ballet rats and banged her cane against the wooden floor. They all leapt to their feet, and scurried into place.
"Scene one, then, Monsieur Reyer?"
The conductor looked rather miffed at the ballet mistress's unexplained tardiness, but said nothing and merely cued the orchestra.
Before Meg danced away, Christine hissed: "You must be mistaken."
The blonde only shook her head.
Could it be true?
-
Rehearsals went well into the late afternoon, and Christine was nearly dead on her feet when she made her way back to her room, all appetite for supper gone after Meg's continual chatter about the music that she had heard.
He couldn't be back. He had destroyed that part of his life.
Madame Giry always said that men never change.
Erik was no ordinary man.
She was startled by Raoul's voice behind her as she walked up the aisle.
"A fine rehearsal today."
"Raoul!" she exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"I patronize the opera house, I think I may watch a rehearsal if it suits me."
"What of your brother? It is your family and not you who is the patron, Raoul."
"My brother patronizes only La Sorelli."
"Speaking of that…" Christine began.
Raoul rolled his eyes. "Must we, Christine? I know a woman's penchant for idle gossip, but speak of such things with Meg. I have no desire to talk of Philippe and the little bastard that he has sired on Sorelli. My brother has always been a thorn in my side, and now he will become even more so."
Christine tried to hide her shock at the flippant way that Raoul confirmed Meg's suspicions.
"Oh, don't look so scandalized, Christine. You and I ought to be able to talk plainly, at least, after all that has passed between us. I do grow so tired of society's love of euphemism and fancy ways of maintaining the façade of propriety while indulging their baser natures."
Christine paused suddenly.
"There is to be a masque at the Comte de Renault's estate next week, and I was wondering…Christine?"
She put her hand out to hush him.
There it was again. The faint strains of an organ deep below the Populaire.
She spun and headed for her old dressing room.
"Christine! Christine, where are you going?"
"He's here!"
Raoul didn't need to ask of whom she spoke. He snatched up his sword belt from where it lay next to where he had been seated and hurried after her.
"Raoul, no!"
"I won't let him harm you again, Christine."
She only ran faster, but he grabbed her wrist suddenly and yanked her forcefully into his arms. "Listen to me, Christine. If you must see this man who so dreadfully wronged you, if you must speak to him, I will not, I cannot let you go beneath the opera house, into his lair, alone! Do you not see that I love you?"
She was silent.
"I would die for you, Christine."
"If you go with me, you well may."
He brought his mouth down on hers suddenly, crushing her lips to his own, his hands winding through her hair as passionately as he had ever dreamed. She resisted him for a moment, but he had waited all his life to kiss her like this, and there was no escaping him. His tongue parted her lips, sought the warmth of her mouth, and he held her there for a long moment before releasing her, his breath short.
"Now, Christine, at least I can die a happy man."
She said nothing, only turned and made her way to the dressing room.
It was a matter of minutes before they reached the lake, and climbed into the gondola. The strains of music were louder now.
This was where the dream began.
A sudden sense of foreboding filled her, the acrid scent of fear filling her senses like the heavy scent of blood.
Here is where the dream will end.