Seal my fate tonight,
I hate to have to cut the fun short,
but the joke's wearing thin,
let the audience in, let my opera begin...
AN: My thoughts this chapter are best reflected in this quote. Here I hope you see more than what's written in words. And, I hope you'll all leave reviews to inspire the last moments of this story ...it would be terrible to hit writer's block now.
Thanks to all who review and support my endeavors. I don't think you understand quite how inspiring your kindness is.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Haven't I said this time and again?
Christine hadn't even been allowed to unpack her things in Meg's room before she'd been called upon by Professor Sorelli. That same evening, she'd sung from La Traviata and Carmen to the Professor's content. And each time her voice soared, she knew who it sang for. It sang for a heart left on the other side of the sea, and a man with beautiful crystal eyes. No one else.
Who will be there for you...?
"Brava!" Sorelli cheered as Christine finished her aria, and clapped her hands in delight. Truly, the older woman seemed to have turned into a much younger one merely by listening to Christine's voice. She felt...free. Christine gave a little bow to her and the vocals Professor she'd invited to dinner. The old man stroked his fingers through his moustache thoughtfully as he watched her.
"Miss Daae, I wonder where you were taught. It's a remarkable school that can produce such a voice."
"I...had a tutor. And my father was a musician." Christine spoke up reluctantly, and would give no more than that. Sorelli felt the wall that the girl built up around that particular bit of information. And she understood that not everything in a person's heart could be counted as public knowledge.
"Christine, I admit there was more than one reason for inviting you tonight." Sorelli paused to look over at old Professor Martin, who met her gaze and nodded for her to proceed. Christine had his approval.
"Professors?"
"You see, Professor Martin is a visiting scholar. His interests, outside of these guest lectures, lie in theater. And he's written a production--"
"Small one, very small." Martin interrupted, rather bashfully. Christine smiled a little at him. "For a theater in Dover."
"Dover?" She repeated. Christine was unsure of England's geography.
"Well, an important member of the cast had to drop out recently. I was just on my way to place an ad in a casting agency for him when I heard you." Sorelli smiled broadly. "You really saved me some trouble, apearing out of the blue like that."
Martin handed Sorelli music sheets, which she handed to Christine. It was a song, lyrics beautiful and sad. "Will you sing, Christine?"
The realization hit Christine like an ocean wave. "W-wait, do you mean...? But I only just arrived and-"
"Meg mentioned you were touring europe. What better than the English coast? And Dover's only a stone's throw from France..."
"France?" That word interested her, just as much as the possibility of performing onstage. "Paris?"
"Only a short boat and train ride away." Martin piped in, hoping to entice the young lady. A soprano with a mastery of bel canto was a find, but one with the face for a lead role was a steal. She was exactly what he needed. "And if the performance was a success, I'm sure it would open more roles in the future."
She needed no more encouragement than Paris and the lyrics in her hands.
So laugh, in your loneliness,
Child of the wilderness-
Learn to be lonely...
Learn how to love
Life that is lived alone...
There was no choice. Promises had to be kept.
"-City General Hospital, receptionist speaking." The nurse spoke as she began looking over directory information.
"Hello?" She gripped the receiver as she heard the sound of breathing on the other end. breathing and...crying? She couldn't be sure. "Hello, are you ok?" Was this person in trouble? "Do you need emergency-"
"John Doe. In the ER. Is there any change?"
"Ah, do you think you know him? We need you to come and identify him if..."
He didn't hear any more. He disconnected and stared at the cell phone, wondering how this all had happened. How had he found himself here, crouched in the snow in an alley, clutching another man's cell phone?
It was because of a single shot he hadn't even realized he'd fired. It must have happened during the scuffle for the gun. Erik must have been in pain and bleeding when he'd thrown away the gun instead of killed him...this monster who killed Joseph's monster of a father...he'd let Joseph live.
And, strangely, Joseph hadn't let him slowly bleed to death in the snow. He'd picked up that murdering bastard and dragged him into his car and left him feet away from the hospital. The innocent passerby had taken care of the rest. But in between, Erik had lost so much blood...
Everything's gone wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be a bastard, and Joseph was finally going to do something about it. And Christine was supposed to be...what? A beautiful, broken little doll for him to rescue. Perhaps even love.
And if he died trying to reach those goals, it would have been fine. Deep down inside him, he'd really considered it suicide. And why? Because there was nothing else for him. Other than this burning, angry fire inside, there was nothing. And he was just tired of it-- hating his past, his father, and this faceless criminal.
Then why was he so afraid now? Why had he outstretched his hands and touched Erik? He held the cell phone tighter, as if it could give him an answer. It had quickly become dark since he'd driven with Erik in the backseat, and now he realized how long he'd been sitting there in contemplation. Too long.
Brrr. Brrr. The cell phone in his hands suddenly sprang to life and surprised him so much that he almost dropped it. The display screen flashed the word Daroga, and he had to make a decision. He clicked the button.
"Erik!" It was the detective's voice. He sounded frantic. "Erik, has anything happened?"
Buquet, on his end, remained quiet. He could not find his voice at the moment.
"Erik, are you hurt? Please," frustration edged in, as well as fear, "we read your letter, and we understand, but if you're in trouble, don't expect us to simply stand by. We want to help you, you idiot!" The loud sound of a palm slapping a hard surface surprised him. "Well, say something, damn you!"
"I envy him." The sincerity in his newfound voice frightened him. How long had it been since...?
"Who is this?" Immediately the detective's voice became hard. "Buquet? Where is Erik? What have you-"
"He's in ... City General hospital." He managed to speak up in the face of possible wrath.
"If you've hurt him, I swear that-"
"I don't know. I don't know." Tears, when you're out in the cold for so long that you body turns to ice, are wonderful, reassuring warmth. They're life. "But there was so much blood..."
"Why did you do it?' Already he sounded calmer, and Joseph could imagine him grabbing his coat and keys as he spoke.
"It was an accident. I didn't mean to."
"I meant why did you help him?"
"That...that was an accident, too." He was too cold. The warmth was telling him that. "I won't see him again. I'll leave him alone now, no matter what happens."
There was a pause, while Nadir alerted his wife and she picked up the baby and Joseph took a few deep breaths of cold air.
"I'll let him know you're sorry." Nadir finally said.
"I'm ... I'm going to go now." And this was how Joseph Buquet's old self, angry and full of loathing and regret, began to part ways with his real self.
This is the way the world ends-
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
Joseph Buquet finally stood and walked away, though not soundlessly. A child's cries are never muffled.
The sound of beeping and the smell of anesthetic were the only comforts awaiting Nadir and Antoinette. They had arrived at the hospital after that bizarre phone call with only one thing in mind-- finding Erik.
Questions followed. John Doe's family. His medical history. His insurance carrier. The couple answered with as much politeness as they could muster in the situation, and gave what little they could. They were rewarded when a nurse escorted them into a room separate from the waiting area. It wasn't a good sign.
A doctor ad come in, and the way he looked, tired and sickly, told them enough. Erik was in serious trouble. Doctor Roberts' voice droned on, and they could catch words. Bullet wound. Mass hemorrhage. Emergency exploratory surgery. Critical. Nothing more to do.
Then he left them alone to wait, in that isolated room, with that too kind nurse who kept coming in to ask them if they were comfortable. Nadir had never felt so tormented, and Antoinette had never felt so numb. But here they were.
"If Erik..." She couldn't even force the word out. "Should I contact Christine? Her cell phone might still-"
"No." Nadir sat with his head in his hands. "No matter what happens at this point, we have to respect his wishes." He looked at her as she moved to sit beside him, and clasped her hand."We wait," he anticipated her next question. "It's all that's left for us."
They were no longer the guardians of a young boy and his first bumbling into the world. In an instant, they'd become watchers of a man and his struggle against all odds, all for the love of a woman. It was a different world, one which they could no longer intrude into.
In a separate room, all human sound was muted by ventilators and monitors and the quiet drip of an IV. A broken body laid on the white starched sheets of a hospital Gurney, unaware of the promise threatening to break.
Erik dreamed. Or perhaps it was a vision. In front of him was a door he'd known so well. He trembled. He wanted to run away but found he could only move forward. He was compelled, against his own will, to open that door. The cool knob turned easily under his touch, and the darkness swallowed him.
It was familiar, this choking black ink, but that didn't make it comfortable. He turned, looking for the door, but it had disappeared in this shadow. And so he was left all alone, the dim glow of a very familiar little lamp was the only thing he could see. But he could hear...crying. A boy's cries.
Erik's eyes needed to adjust to the darkness to be sure, but somehow he already knew. This little boy was too familiar.
"Mother." The boy's one word was recognizable, even through the sobs, and he felt his heart stop.
No, not this...I don't want to be here. I don't want to see this! But the sound of the boy's angry tears kept him from trying to find a way out. Erik took a step forward, and peered into the dark. It was too late to help Madeleine. She lay on the floor, her beautiful black hair spreading over her like a blanket. And the boy knelt by her side, terrified of even touching her once more. Instead he cried and beat his fists into the floor. Soon the knuckles would split and bleed. And after that...
"It wasn't...your fault." Erik felt like an intruder as the boy shook his head.
"I touched her." He muttered. "I knew. I shouldn't, wasn't allowed."
"But you wanted to." Erik bent down to see that the little boy had placed the mask over his face once more. "You wanted to hold your mother."
"But it was bad!" Again, his small fist slammed down. Erik watched helplessly as he kept going. "I hate her! I hate them!"
"Who?"
"The ones who keep me-- the one who stares, the one who hurts, the one who gossips." The knuckles were split by now, Erik was sure. "They should all go away. Leave me alone."
"Alone?" Erik's hand reached out slowly, and took the boy's injured hand in his. It elicited a cry of surprise, almost fear, from the boy, but he didn't pull away. "You know. You know how it hurts to be alone...there were times you wanted to die, weren't there, just because you couldn't stand being alone?" With a little tug the boy fell into Erik's arms, and he held him gently. Was he crying, too? "You want them gone so you can escape them and this dark room, Erik. But if...you hurt them...you'll be more alone than ever."
"How-" the boy's choked sob cut his words. "How did you know? My name.."
Erik let the boy pull away a little, and he lifted the mask up before the little boy could protest. "Because," he said, without pause, "I've known you for a very long time. I just couldn't...bring myself to really look at you until now."
"Because I'm ugly."
Erik chuckled sadly and shook his head. "No, because I'm a coward." He saw the sadness and the pain of hope in that child's eyes, and he ruffled his hair in a fatherly gesture. And, yes, the face was still deformed, still imperfect...but he had been clean then. This boy was still whole.
"I wish I'd understood." He spoke softly, and felt very, very tired. Had his body been aching all this time?
"I...have to go now." He let his hand fall away from the boy's hair. "Someone's waiting. Somewhere..."
"Who?" There was a desperation in the boy's voice, and he actually held fast to Erik's shirt. And Erik tried to think, when his head was swimming with blurry images.
"I don't know. Can't remember..." And for all of his desire to, he couldn't. All he remembered was how tired he was. And suddenly the boy's head was buried in his shirt, tears leaking into it.
"Don't leave, please!" The muffled sound reminded him of something, but Erik's mind was so sluggish. "Please, don't let me be alone in here."
Erik sighed and put his arms around the child, comforting him like a son, and he thought it wasn't so bad. It felt very warm, and very familiar...
Somewhere, the heart monitor of one John Doe began to act erratically. Alarms had been set off, and nurses rushed.
Somewhere else, a young lady with deep brown eyes boarded a train away from the London. She felt the strangest chills as the doors shut and the train began to move away.
Things had to change. They both moved towards inevitability.
AN: Dear gosh, I need happy...REVIEW! I need puppies and reviews...
