Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Thanks for the reviews as always guys! I love hearing from you, and you encourage me to write. (Even when I should be studying for midterms) Thanks to those who also reviewed my little morbid Halloween ficlet. I hope I didn't scare any readers away. :)
As soon as she stepped back into the theater, Christine flew down the corridors, feeling a sudden onrush of warm air upon her frigid cheeks. She ignored the curious glances of the startled employees, keeping her eyes focused upon her destination. All else ceased to exist, save for the little lounge on the right side of the corridor. Nothing else seemed to matter.
After flinging open the door to the familiar room, she had to stop for several seconds and catch her breath. She had practically run there from the bus stop, nearly getting hit by a delivery truck at one point. The soles of her feet ached from sprinting in the dress shoes that she wore to work, and her blonde hair was tangled and windblown.
"Hello?" she finally asked, swallowing as she looked around. "Please answer. I'm so sorry I'm late. Please. You have to help me. I'm going to be in the musical now. Charlotte is sick!" She was nearly ready to fall to her knees and beg.
"Calm down. I'm here, Christine," the voice replied, breaking the terrible silence. "I would not abandon you."
Relief swept through her body, soothing her mind and her hammering heart. "Thank you. I was afraid you weren't going to speak to me anymore. I'm so sorry I'm late. I just..."
"The reason is not important," it interrupted. "You are here now, and you intend to stay. You intend to fully devote yourself. That is what matters."
"Yes," she whispered with a nod. "I'm staying no matter what. I don't know if I'm ready to play Magnolia yet, though. I can't believe that Charlotte got sick so quickly."
"You will be ready. You're already better than Ms. Gregory by far. It's almost a blessing that she fell ill. Wouldn't you say so?"
Christine shifted. "I...I'm not happy that she's sick. But the opportunity is amazing! I really can't believe it. I'm going to be on stage!"
"Believe. You will sing in front of this minuscule town, and then you will perform for the world. Have faith in yourself."
She smiled, feeling her cold cheeks become warm with a blush of pride. "Thank you. No one has ever helped me so much. Ever." Christine stared at the empty ceiling for a moment before looking back down with a sigh. "Who are you? Sometimes I think that you're some kind of an angel." She laughed at herself. "I'm sorry. That sounded silly."
A long silence passed, and she was afraid she had somehow offended him again.
"I have told you. I am a friend... an admirer." It paused. "And if you wish it, Ms. Daae, then I am an angel. Your angel."
It was all she needed to hear. Her mind seemed to float away from her.
"Are you ready for your lesson? We will have to stay a bit longer because of your lateness."
"Yes," she replied. "Of course."
Nadir watched curiously as the familiar blonde girl rushed out of the theater and ran off into the night. Though it was dark, he could make out a dreamy and distant expression upon her face in the parking lot lights. She didn't even notice him as she passed by, and the Iranian couldn't help feel that there was something very odd about the situation. What was she doing out this late?
Wiping a hand over his lightly chin, he brushed thoughts of her aside and puzzled over the matter at hand. Two things had brought him there that night. First, there was the strange case of Charlotte Gregory, the young woman who had come down with some sort of rare virus. She was expected to make a full recovery, but health officials were still baffled as to how the disease had gotten into the country.
From the newspapers, Nadir was aware that Ms. Gregory had been spending a lot of time at this theater in preparation for a performance. He was now looking for clues regarding her illness.
Surely Erik had nothing to do with that, though. He usually had a reason for his unwholesome activities, even if only a perverse excuse. What reason would he have for hurting an amateur actress?
The second reason was something he had overhead in a restaurant during a conversation among several well-dressed men. They had been talking about a charity that was involved in a local production at this theater. Apparently, someone had begun extorting money in exchange for not revealing some of the charity's questionable financial practices and tax returns. Or something like that. The men were clearly not happy, and they seemed to fear their mysterious blackmailer.
Nadir had a funny feeling about the whole thing.
It had been his original plan to sneak inside that night and investigate. Perhaps he could find something to explain Erik's reason for sticking around so long.
The Iranian didn't have too much longer to wonder. His masked friend's voice suddenly came out of the darkness from an indiscernible direction.
"Isn't she marvelous, Nadir?"
"What?" The Iranian whirled around but saw nothing. He shuddered. "Erik? What is going on? Who is marvelous?"
"Nothing is going on, friend." The voice floated around him, though it didn't sound terribly malicious. Rather, he sensed a certain peacefulness in the tone.
Nadir hesitated. "Erik. That girl-the one who is sick. She has some disease that hasn't been seen in this country for over thirty years. Please tell me you didn't..." He tapered off for fear of his own well-being.
"Maybe she's been to a foreign country recently." Erik chuckled. "I had nothing to do with it. But Ms. Daae will play the part perfectly."
Nadir's gaze reflexively went toward the direction that the young woman of earlier had gone. He suddenly recalled her name tag at the hotel-and recalled the strange expression on her face that night. "Ms. Daae? Is that the blonde girl? Erik! What the hell is going on? What are you doing to that girl?!"
"Nothing!" he rasped hostilely. "Helping her. Merely being a friend, Nadir. Now leave me. Leave this town. My patience is growing very thin with you. "
Nadir was silent for a moment. There was something different about his friend's voice. Something...almost desperate...defensive. Frankly, he had never heard Erik sound so complimentary to another human being. "Erik?" he said softly. "What are you doing with that girl?"
"I have told you! I am helping her! Now leave!" A danger permeated through the air, and Nadir knew that it was time to get out of there.
"I don't know what you're doing," he stated, "but I will not leave until I find out."
Another cold laugh. "You have grown braver over the years, friend. I don't know if that's to your benefit, though."
The Iranian turned and made his way down the concrete steps, bracing himself for an attack from behind, even for death. After getting several dozen yards away from the building, Nadir checked over his shoulder and saw that nothing was there. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he was one of very few who would have survived that encounter.
Making his way back down toward the bus stop, he relaxed somewhat and began to ponder the conversation. Was that girl really coming to Erik? If so, why? It was really beyond belief.
With the mask, Erik was an imposing and mysterious spectacle, and Nadir couldn't imagine a shy, young woman feeling safe in his presence. Ms. Daae had left the building with an expression of bliss, not of fear.
And without the mask...
Nadir sighed sadly as the next bus pulled up. A blast of warm air hit him as the doors creaked open.
Without the mask, no woman would get near him.
It was simply one of those tragic but undeniable facts.
"Knock, knock," said Christine softly as she peaked around the door of the hospital room. In her right hand, she carried a ceramic pot of pink and white carnations. The sweet scent of the blossoms blocked out the sterile smell of chemicals. Placing a smile on her face, Christine looked inside. The smile disappeared as soon as she saw the state of her guardian.
Large, dark circles hung under Mrs. Valerius' eyes, and her wrinkled skin was nearly the color of the starched sheets. Her guardian's cheekbones seemed to protrude more than usual, and there was a dull look in her normally sparkling eyes. "Oh..." Christine couldn't help but quietly gasp.
Mrs. Valerius turned her head and attempted a smile. "Hello, dear! Glad you could come up and visit me today. It gets a little boring around here." Her voice sounded weak and strained.
Christine nodded and set the flowers down upon the counter before turning back to her guardian. "I'm sorry I haven't come up more often. The musical is keeping me busy. I have a strict vocal instructor. I'll try to visit more, though."
"Don't worry about that! I'm thrilled for you, Christine. I'm so happy you've started singing again. You must have a wonderful instructor to help you so much."
Christine bit her lip and looked down at the linoleum tiles. She felt the sudden need to share the secret with someone, and telling her ailing guardian seemed harmless enough. "He is wonderful," she replied. "Except I've never seen him before."
"Never seen him? Then how is he teaching you?"
"I hear him," she replied, looking back up. Relief went through her as she saw that her guardian was not looking at her strangely. Encouraged, Christine continued. "He's just a voice. A really beautiful voice! I don't understand it." She shook her head. "Sometimes I think I'm insane."
Mrs. Valerius took Christine's clammy hand and squeezed it. "You're not insane, dear. Maybe someone cares about you. Maybe you've found a miracle." She smiled strangely, and Christine wondered if she was on a heavy dosage of painkillers. "Whoever he is, he's given you a great gift."
"Yeah," said Christine, holding back several tears as she looked upon the frail woman. "He has. It's been amazing." She paused. "I really wanted you to come to my opening night next week. I've been practicing with the cast. The scenery looks wonderful. But...I know that you can't..."
"No," agreed Mrs. Valerius. "I'm afraid I'm stuck in bed. But I'll be cheering for you from here. And someday I'll hear you. And I'm sure your father will be listening."
Christine nodded, a lonely feeling sweeping over her. "I think I'll visit him sometime soon. It's been a while. It's hard to go down there. Maybe after the performance I'll try to make the trip and stay overnight."
"That's a wonderful idea, Christine. Place some fresh flowers on the grave. Though I do worry about you making that drive by yourself. Could you ask someone to go with you?"
"Yeah. Maybe I can get Meg to come along." A silence passed, and she saw that Mrs. Valerius' eyelids were growing heavy with exhaustion. The feeling in the air was the same one she had felt with her father in those terrible weeks. Christine stepped backward. "I guess I'll let you rest now, but I'll try to be back up this week."
"Have a good night, Christine. God bless."
The din of nervous voices filled the air as everyone rehearsed their lines one final time, huddling together in tight circles with their scripts at their sides. Mr. Remy attempted to get their attention before finally giving up and leaning back against the wall with a defeated sigh. Someone in the back complained that the spotlights weren't coming up properly. One girl's dress tore at the hem, leading several members of the costume department to rush to her aid.
Christine took a deep breath and looked over her lines. She had spent hours upon hours practicing and rehearsing, striving for perfection and ignoring everything else. Vaguely, she was aware that several of her college grades had dropped to C's. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter at that moment. Her hands shook with nervous anticipation. What if she messed her lines up?
"Don't worry!" called out a professional actress named Tricia, maybe seeing Christine's furrowed brow. The attractive woman had been on Broadway on several occasions, and much of the audience that night had come to see her play the second-leading female. "You're wonderful, Christine. You sing better than some of the people I've worked with."
Christine smiled at the praise. "Thanks. I hope I do okay."
"Have confidence, honey! You're great!"
"Yeah!" said Trevor, giving her a friendly wave. "You're a heck of a lot better to work with than Charlotte. I think I would have pushed her off the boat." A round of laughter sounded through the room but slowly faded as people remembered Charlotte's present condition.
Christine took deep breaths and attempted to calm her nerves. She had never dreamed that she would get this far. For so long, she had abandoned singing, avoided the pain and memories that came with music. Now, here she was about to perform in a lead role. The world around her seemed foggy and distant, and several times she feared that she would faint from the enormity of it all. Plus her lessons often left her exhausted and dazed.
"You guys! Oh my God!" A redheaded dancer rushed into the room with wide eyes, breaking Christine out of her trance. Her face was pale.
"What is wrong?" asked Mr. Remy, looking up. "Calm down. What's wrong?" Everyone else stopped what they were doing and glanced over curiously.
The girl took a deep breath. "There's a bunch of policemen and paramedics out front. Some guy committed suicide in the theater. He hung himself! They have his body covered in a sheet!"
She was greeted with several gasps. Mr. Remy rushed to the door and looked out. "I'll be right back," he muttered before rushing into the hall.
"That's creepy," said Meg, strolling up beside Christine. "I hope we still have the show."
"Yeah," she replied, tilting her head. "I wonder why anyone would do that in a theater. I wonder who he is."
"You mean who he was," replied Meg.
Mr. Remy reentered several minutes later, shaking his head tiredly. "Show is still on people! They found the body several hours ago, and there's no sign of foul play. Some guy hung himself on one of the support rafters. God knows how he got up there. Supposedly he's been there for a while, though." He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Who was he?" asked Trevor.
"Not sure," replied Mr. Remy. "Best to forget it and concentrate on the show. I'm sure you'll see it on the evening news."
Christine felt a shiver go up her spine as she blankly stared down at her lines and forced the tragedy from her mind. Only a couple of hours remained before the show. She considered asking Trevor if he wanted to rehearse with her one last time but decided against it. Though everyone seemed nice, she still wasn't completely comfortable talking to them.
There was one voice she wanted to hear before she went on, though. She needed it to soothe her nerves. As Christine left the stage area and made her way down the hall, a feeling of peace overtook her. Her lacy 19th century yellow dress swished gently against her legs. She shifted in the somewhat heavy costume, hoping she hadn't ripped any of the seams with her quick pace.
"You look perfect, Christine," were the first words she heard as she entered the room.
She smiled. "Thanks. The dress is kind of uncomfortable, but it is nice." She took in a breath. "I'm so nervous. I wanted to talk to you one last time."
"There is no reason to be nervous. You are ready. They will all love you."
"Thank you," she replied gratefully. "That means a lot. I really wish Mrs. Valerius could have been here, though. I wanted to sing for her, but she was too sick to make it. I don't know if she's ever coming out of the hospital." She sighed.
"I know you are disappointed, Christine. But I will be watching you the entire time."
"Yeah." Christine smiled. "I'll sing for you. You're the only reason I'm here, anyway."
Christine left the room several minutes later, aglow and with a surreal sort of confidence. She seemed to float through the hallway, distant from all her surroundings.
The first performance was about to begin, and the audience was beginning to filter in.
Among the crowd were two well-dressed brothers...the elder sibling chatting with old acquaintances and the younger suddenly noticing a familiar name on the cast listing; an Iranian, always glancing over his shoulder and keeping an eye on his surroundings; and a mysterious figure in the left balcony, who had somehow managed to keep every seat around him completely empty.