To all the new reviewers, welcome aboard! To everyone who's been here since Chapter 1, thanks so much for sticking with this story. A bit of Phantom angst in this chapter and the reason for the story title is revealed. Enjoy!
Twisted Reflection
The Phantom watched as Madame Giry wandered about his lair, her sharp eyes taking in everything. She laid a bundle of papers down on his work desk then entered the bedroom, picking up Christine's bedding from the floor and folding the blankets, all while trying to be quiet. "I'm awake, Cecilié," he finally said, startling her.
She turned around, her hand on her chest, shaking her head when she saw the smile on his face. "Erik, you are impossible. Sometimes I don't know how Christine puts up with you. Or do you save this side of you only to harass me?"
"Only for you," he answered with a small laugh then his expression changed.
Cecilié crossed the room and took a seat on the edge of the swan bed as he sat up slowly, his injury, though getting better, still aggravated him if he moved too fast. "Are you in pain?" she asked sympathetically.
"No…and yes. What you just said, about Christine putting up with me, I've been thinking on that myself lately. And it hurts…in here," he said, putting his hand over his heart. "I'm a murderer, Cecilié. A blackmailer, an extortionist, and I never felt any regret until now. I always thought the world deserved whatever pain and suffering I gave back in exchange for my own. Now…now I see at the heart of all this beauty–" he waved his hand to encompass all his music, his art, "–nothing but blackness. And I wonder, why does Christine stay with me? If I truly loved her, I should make her leave me, shouldn't I?"
He turned his face toward Madame Giry, the tears in her eyes matching his own. "Oh, Erik, welcome to the human race. You're finally feeling the last of the great human emotions. Born into hate, you learned to love. And now, you finally know guilt."
"Guilt?" he asked, frowning. "That's what this ache is?"
She nodded, leaning over to squeeze his hand. "Guilt has ruined more lives than love and hate combined, I think. It will either change you for the better—or destroy you and everything you hold dear."
"Christine…" he whispered.
"Talk to her, Erik. Tell her what you've just told me. Give her the chance to show you how she truly feels. I think it will surprise you."
The sound of the portcullis raising signaled Christine's arrival.
After Cecilié left to speak with Christine, the Phantom got out of bed and dressed for the first time since he had been injured. If he was going to have a serious conversation with Christine, he at least wanted to be attired in something other than pajamas.
As he dressed, he thought back over the past few days and the things he and Christine had discussed. They had spent hours planning their escape from Paris, starting with the letters he had been writing to opera houses around Europe.
A brilliant idea had come to him that first night, and he had asked Cecilié to get him samples of both Monsieur LeFevre and André and Firmin's handwriting. She had done so without asking what he was up to, but he was certain she suspected. As with most things requiring an artist's hand, the Phantom had picked up forgery rather quickly and was soon turning out letters of recommendation for himself and Christine. So far, he had not heard back in response to his inquiries for a position, but it could take weeks for a reply from the theaters furthest from Paris.
He buttoned his waistcoat and put his cravat around his neck, remembering the conversation he had had with Christine the night before.
They had been lying in bed together. Cecilié would have been furious as she and Meg had carried a pallet all the way down to his home for Christine to sleep on. She mussed the sheets up every day then slept in the swan bed with him. He had a feeling Cecilié knew the truth, but kept silent, preferring the illusion of propriety.
Somehow they had gotten into a conversation about the time Christine had spent with the boy, and while he did not care to hear about the gifts and physical attention the Vicomte bestowed upon her, the Phantom was interested in how the other half lived.
"I learned a good deal about how life for a noble is very different from ours," Christine told him. She was lying on her stomach, her head resting on her folded arms. "Money and power are everything to them. And there are different kinds of power. Beauty is one kind. If you're beautiful, but lower class, you can marry someone like Raoul." She shuddered and he reached over to stroke her shoulder.
She rolled onto her side and grasped his hand, holding it to her cheek. "But beauty is very low on the power scale. It eventually fades. Money though, money trumps everything. Even the illusion of money trumps everything. All we have to do to escape from Paris is appear rich and act loud and obnoxious; no one will question us." Snuggling up next to him, Christine closed her eyes.
The Phantom was left with a question he dared not ask. If money trumped everything and beauty was power, then why was she with him?
He tied his cravat, thinking that perhaps he shouldn't be turning to Cecilié for advice. It could lead to finding out things that he would be happier not knowing.
When he finally got up the nerve to leave the bedroom and go down the short flight of stairs, the Phantom found Christine had cleared off his worktable and covered it with a red cloth. She had apparently pilfered two place settings of the opera house's best china and a bottle of wine. She was lighting the candles she had placed on the tabletop when the sound of his footsteps made her glance toward him. "Oh! I'm not quite ready!"
"It's beautiful, Christine," he said quietly, touched deeply once again by the simplest gestures of love. He hoped he would never come to take them, take her, for granted. Then he remembered that she might not be there to take for granted after their conversation. Watching her dish out food onto each plate, the Phantom made the decision to keep quiet, to let sleeping dogs lie. Maybe Christine had forgotten what lay hidden behind the Angel of Music's mask.
Opening the wine, she set the bottle down on the table to breathe then eyed the display. Turning to him, she said happily, "I think we're ready now. Will you join me for dinner, Angel?" Crossing the room to him, she tucked her arm through his, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
They sat down to supper. The Phantom stared at the food on his plate then at Christine, knowing that she had done all this out of love for him. It was a love he was feeling more and more he didn't deserve. Any appetite he had disappeared as warring emotions roiled through him: fear, love, shame and the most insidious of all, guilt. He reached for his glass, his hand shaking, and knocked the goblet over, spilling wine into his lap. He cursed.
Christine jumped up, righting the glass then kneeling to blot at the stain with a napkin. When she looked up at him, he knew she couldn't miss the tension in his face and the fact that he was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were turning white. "Angel," she asked, "is something wrong?"
His soul was in knots. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't even meet her eyes.
"Angel?"
Shoving his chair back, the Phantom leapt to his feet, knocking Christine down in his haste. The shocked expression on her face was like a knife in his heart. He staggered back from her, afraid to touch her, terrified he might hurt her without meaning to. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…." His voice broke and tears stung his eyes. "Christine…Christine…just go, please, just go."
Getting to her feet, Christine started toward him, her hand outstretched. "Angel, whatever it is, whatever's wrong, we can fix it."
"I'm what's wrong, Christine!" he cried. "Can't you see that? Why don't you see that? Why do you stay with me?" He hid his face in his hands not wanting her to see him falling apart.
"I stay because I love you, Angel," she answered gently.
His head came up and he stared at her. "I kill without a thought, I murder all that's good," he spat. "How can you still love me, when no one ever could?"
The Phantom turned away from her only to be confronted with his mask-less image in an uncovered mirror. With a roar of pain and rage, he snatched up a candlestick and swung it at his reflection, once, twice, three times. The glass cracked and splintered but didn't shatter. With a low moan, he let the candlestick fall to the ground, his eyes locked on his twisted and distorted visage.
"Oh…Angel…" he heard Christine whisper behind him.
The Phantom's gaze shifted to her reflection in the one corner of the glass that was unmarred. Was that pity he saw in her eyes? "You should have let me die at the cemetery." He wasn't aware he had said the words aloud until he saw her expression change. He barely had time to identify the new emotion as fury before Christine grabbed his arm and spun him around so hard he stumbled back against the mirror. He heard several pieces of glass drop to the ground and shatter.
"Don't you ever say that to me again! Don't you even think it!" she yelled, shaking him by the shoulders.
A jolt of pain shot through his side and the Phantom automatically put his hand to his injury, clenching his teeth to keep from crying out.
"Oh, God, Angel, I'm sorry," Christine cried, horrified by her actions. Sliding her arm around his waist, she led him over to the stairs and helped him sit. Kneeling in front of him, she began to unbutton his waistcoat.
"Christine—"
She looked up at him, tears running down her face. "I can't believe I did that. I've hurt you…I would never hurt you."
It tore him up inside to see her crying, to see her blaming herself for something that was entirely his fault. His attack on the mirror had probably done more to cause his pain than she had. He grasped her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears. "I'm fine, Christine."
"No, you're not." She was pulling the tail of his shirt out of his trousers and anxiously examining his wound. "If you've ripped any of your stitches out—"
"I haven't. Christine, please." He caught her probing hands with his own. "Please, stop it."
She quit fighting him. Moving to sit beside him, she reached out to grasp his hand, holding on tightly. He could feel her trembling. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to calm down. When Christine finally spoke, her voice was a sad whisper. "Why would you think I should have let you die, Angel?"
Closing his eyes, the Phantom turned his head away from her disappointed gaze. He had no good answer for her.
"If you want to know why I saved you at the cemetery, I'll tell you. I saved you because I could."
He looked at back at her, puzzled by her cryptic words. "I don't understand."
Bringing their clasped hands up, she kissed his knuckles softly. "All my life, people have made decisions for me. First it was my father, then Madame Giry, and I'm sorry to say it, but yes, you, too. Finally, there was Raoul." She let out a sigh. "Until the cemetery.
"When I saw you lying there, dying, I had a choice to make, one that was mine alone. I could do nothing, and let you die, or I could choose to help you. I don't think I consciously thought I was making a life-altering decision that moment. I just knew that I couldn't lose you." Christine touched his face, making sure she had his full attention. "Some people would say I made the wrong decision–even you." The Phantom closed his eyes briefly in shame as she went on, "I made the only decision I could make, Angel, the only one I could live with. For me, there was no other choice than this, than us. Because if you lived, I could never walk away from you, not knowing that you love me."
"Christine–" Guilt made his voice tremble, and he was ashamed of his earlier outburst. "Christine, do you truly understand the consequences of what you've done? I am a murderer, an extortionist, a kidnapper and a thief. If the police ever find me, I will go to the guillotine."
Her grip tightened on his hand. "I know. I also know that by my aiding you, I have condemned myself to stand on that platform beside you. I would have it no other way, Angel." She straightened up, took a deep breath then began to sing.
"If you think you stand alone, you've got a lot to learn. Because as long as there's one breath left in me, you'll always have someone to turn to. You're walking through that storm; there's a whirlwind in your mind. When you need a little shelter, you can run into these arms of mine."
Holding his hand to her heart, she laid her left hand against his cheek. "My love is stronger than your pain, stronger than your fear, sweet enough to wash the salt from your tears. Deeper than the waves that break against your heart, when you can't go on any longer, my love is stronger."
Letting out a sob, the Phantom pulled Christine to him, holding her tightly, whispering broken apologies to her. He still felt that he didn't deserve her, but he was not going to be so foolish as to let her go, not after all she had said and done. "Christine, I love you," he finally managed through his tears, "and if you truly mean to spend the rest of your life with me whatever may come, then will you spend it as my wife?"
Her arms tightened around him for a long moment then she let go to look him in the eyes. "Oh, Angel, Angel, I want nothing more than to be yours forever, but I can not give you an answer now, not while I'm still betrothed to Raoul." Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, she pressed her lips to his in a long, sweet kiss. When they parted, Christine said, "I am to meet him tonight at seven, on the roof. I will tell him it is over and give him back his ring. You do have it for me to give back to him?"
The Phantom reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the ring. Placing it in the palm of her hand, he closed her fingers over it then gently kissed her clenched fist. "It must be nearly seven now. Go, Christine. I will await your return, and your answer."
Kissing him one last time, Christine got into the boat and headed out across the lake. As soon as the portcullis closed behind her, the Phantom put on his mask, picked up his cloak and went through the mirror to the secret passage. There was no way in hell he was going to let her confront that boy alone.
The song "Stronger" is by Kristine W and is available on her album of the same name. The lyrics are so beautiful and so perfect for the Phantom and Christine that I had to use them, choosing to completely ignore the fact that it's a dance club song. :)