Christine stared at him for a moment, not able to grasp the reality of the moment. Without thinking she exited the box and hurriedly made her way up the stairs to the boxes of the grand tier and towards the one she had seen him in. She did so not thinking, she simply allowed herself to be drawn in by the riddle of him, the being she could not understand. She quietly slid open the door, to find him finely dressed, and standing now, as if to get a better perception of Helena's performance. She found herself desperately wanting to speak to him, to let loose of flood of words, to thank him for the kindness of so many weeks ago, but her voice seemed to have vanished. She stood silently watching him, paralyzed by emotion. Then his body went rigged, as though he realized that he was no longer alone in the box. In a graceful motion he turned to face her, a look of surprise covered his handsome features, his green eyes growing large.
"Christine", he barely whispered her name, as though she would vanish back into the opera house walls if his voice grew too loud. For a moment they stared, Christine desperately trying to reach the words she had in her mind just a short time ago. She gave up on pretty words and speeches and just spoke to him, trying to remain calm. "I wish to thank you for coming to my aide in the cemetery, for your kindness." Silence yet again consumed them. "Your welcome." He turned away, pained by the sight of her, unable to speak to her and be calm. On the stage below, Helena had become frustrated with the part of Pamina, and had the conductor to switch over to something she knew and could perform well. Christine wouldn't give up; she would have him speak to her. "I am auditioning for the part of the Queen of the Night in the upcoming opera. This shall be my return to the stage." Her heart pounded, waiting to see if he would answer or ignore her. "I didn't think Countesses were allowed on stage." They were on the edge of an abyss, both near falling, breaking. The truth of it began to dawn on Christine, the truth she had so long buried within herself. "I shan't be a countess much longer." She was thankful she spoke to his back, he could not see the flush in her face and how her chest heaved. "Erik?" The name fell pitifully from her lips. I am alone now, don't you see. From the movement of his back she could tell that his breathing had become quite rapid. Her hand reached out, longing to touch him, almost it caressed his shoulder, before it could, he spoke. "Christine, please just leave, I don't have the time or strength to speak to you as though we are old friends." His voice wavered as he spoke, the emotion in it evident to her. Tears filled Christine's eyes. He hates me now. The thought overpowered her will, the tears fell. Everyone hates me, Raoul, the diva, the other singers, the socialites of Paris. But only you have reason Erik. The sorrow she was running from consumed her; she forgot where she was, who she was with. He heard her crying, unable to stop himself, thinking only that she needed him, he turned back to her. "Christine, don't cry." They were so close, they were practically touching. He began to reach out to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her. My love, I can't bear your sadness. Christine steeled herself, his touch would break her, break all the careful walls she had made against the truth of her past. It would be easy to give into the moment, to fall into his arms.
From below, a new song reached their ears, Helena's voice summoned up the dark past with a melody long thought forgotten. "You have brought me to the moment when words run dry…" Rage filled Erik's eyes as he whirled around to face the stage and the offending singer. His voice bellowed out commandingly. "Everyone out of the theatre." The musicians and conductor hurried to obey, leaving behind instruments and sheet music. Judging by their reactions, he was as feared now as Helena's mysterious teacher as he had been as the Phantom. Erik flew past Christine and out of the box, leaving her standing, gaping at the stage. In seconds he was there beside Helena, having taken some back route to the stage. "I told you to leave that piece where you found it." He snarled at the blonde who glared back, arms crossed, eyes shifting a sidelong glance in Christine's direction. She saw? "It's not yours to use and it never will be." Helena made a graceless snorting sound. "Why not? I adore it and think it is genius. Would it have something to do with the circumstances of its writing? With her, perhaps?" Her voice had cooled to an icy tone, and she gently cocked her head in the direction of the box and Christine. She beamed an acid smile of triumph at his silence. "You still believe in her, perhaps? Still long for her?" Her words were like razors, cutting through Erik's defenses, revealing old wounds, leaving him emotionally naked before the heartless diva. "I am though with all this. I shall return to England. Find yourself another pupil and companion, if you can." It was a dark and terrible insinuation. She would leave me to be alone, again. She turned her back to him, smiling all the while, knowing that she was the one in control. Erik lowered his head like a scolded puppy. He forced himself to come to her, wrap his arms around her, and lay a kiss on her neck. "My dearest, do not leave me. True I have wronged you, but I apologize. You are the only woman I need in my life." Helena giggled and laid a kiss on his lips.
Christine stood frozen in the box, unable to tear herself from the horrible scene unfolding below her. It filled her with a deep seizing pain to watch how cowed he was by her. As he wrapped his arms around her, Christine dashed out of the box and toward the stairs, intent on escaping the theatre. She reached the lobby, her breath ragged, her eyes filling with tears all over again. Overly made-up tart! How could she do that to him? He was once so strong. She felt as though the whole world had completely and utterly lost its mind. Her heart ached, she wanted nothing more than to retreat and go home, forgetting the auditions entirely. Her mind disagreed with her heart, telling he that she must face this challenge, that even if the Angel of Music had lost his strength, she must retain hers.
When the order was read for the auditions, she was dead last. Wonderful, they'll all be asleep. She had no doubt someone had arranged for that bit a misfortune, but resolved even harder to not only go through with it, but to win. She waited anxiously backstage for hours as would be stars paraded their way onto stage and attempted to woo the men in charge. When her turn came she slowly and deliberately made her way on stage, trying to calm her jumpy nerves. She imagined the first time she had sang for the managers of the old opera house, after Carlotta had stormed out. How confident and beautiful she felt, she tried to summon up these feelings again. The music began and Christine's voice took up the song, quietly at first, barely audible, but in moments she began to relive the triumph of Hannibal and all her childhood dreams restored themselves before her eyes. Her voice grew stronger; she became enraptured by the moment, the opera house filling with the glory of her voice. The aria came forth beautifully, such that even the legendary high note was sung with such loveliness that the angels themselves would have wept. Christine felt a great release, all the past was gone in that one shinning moment, and she was where she had always been meant to be, on the stage. The notes ended, Christine stared at the crowd that had gathered in the theatre, and they stared back. Then slowly, applause began, and it built to a thunderous cacophony that brought her out of the daze that had followed the song. Her face flushed a bright red as she noticed that the crowd before the stage had come to its feet. For the first time that she could remember, Christine felt absolutely jubilant. Walking on air, she left the stage to be greeted in the wings by admiration and envy. Some of the women and opera house employees who had gathered there were in open support of her, others huddled together to shoot vicious looks in her direction and whisper fiercely about her. She gathered her things and left the building, trying to avoid any sort of fuss. The managers dismissed the stragglers and ordered employees back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.
Christine was aware that for most of the ride home, a smile was locked on her face. Her mood was one of victory in the face of all adversaries. Until she remembered Erik, then her radiance faded. How different he was, how dependent, kowtowing to the blonde princess. How unhappy my presence made him…No that's enough. I'm acting out of my own loneliness. I can't act melancholy all the time, I must move on. She banished all thoughts of him, trying to look towards the joy she had felt moments ago.
Arriving home she was greeted with smiles of anticipation, they were waiting for the tale of triumph. Christine related her performance and the reaction it received; being not one inch modest she stated that she believed she had succeeded in winning over the managers. "Well then, we must celebrate." Madame Giry proposed. With that a spur of the moment dinner was set into action for the evening, many from the opera house being hastily invited. They came, wanting to meet Christine, for all had heard of her audition, and its effects on those who heard it. The house filled with a joyous, laughing, crowd. There was a warmth and sense of family about them as the celebrated the soprano who was to join their ranks. For the first time Christine got to spend a time around Meg's beau, Henri. Henri was an average man, not to tall, thin, short, curly black hair, brown eyes, and an absolutely heavenly voice; he would play the second male voice in the upcoming opera. He was charming and good humored, and lived in adoration of Meg. Christine gave many a sigh that night watching them. Round and round she went, being dragged to and fro by those who would be her allies in the opera community. She smiled politely, answered questions, and received compliments. It wore her out, especially since she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry some more, for the one face she longed to see was not present. Finally, the long dinner ended and she was allowed to wander her off to her room, where she fell into an exhausted slumber, and dreamed of that which now seemed unattainable.
Two days after the audition and the great supper, an envelope arrived for Christine. The return address was a Monsieur Erik Le Seul, in a neighborhood near the cemetery where her father was buried. That's how he found me there. She was mesmerized by it, and hurried off to her room to open it where no one could see her reaction. Slowly, carefully the envelope was opened, and the single piece of folded paper was withdrawn. A man's fragrance wafted off of it, bringing a smile to her face. Not wanting to see what it said, but dying to, she finally unfolded it and read the one sentence the note consisted of. "I have had opportunity to listen in on the managers the past few days. Congratulations, you will no doubt steal the hearts of Paris all over again" Christine clutched the note to her chest, she felt as though her heart would break. Damn the choice, damn it. The pain she now felt put the final cracks in her walls against the truth of that one fateful night so long ago. Her heart ached for the note to say more, and this told her volumes about her own feelings. "Oh Erik, if I only I hadn't been such a child." She whimpered to herself, collapsing on the bed.
A day later, yet another note arrived at the Giry household for Christine, this one from the opera mangers, asking her to come to the opera house for the announcement of the new soprano. While the others in the house celebrated the news of the triumph, as coded as it was, Christine readied herself in a subdued, quiet manner. Dressed plainly, trying hard to look excited, she left the house for the theatre, not even sure why she was doing what she was doing anymore. Once there she was escorted backstage in a clandestine manner, to make sure no employees or journalist spotted her. While waiting for the announcement she was given formal introductions to those she would be working closely with, the managers were Monsieur's Ardon and Gambi, the general director of productions Monsieur De Lata, and Monsieur Le Sobriano was the maestro. Gathered in the theatre before the stage were all the employees of the opera that had cared to turn out for the announcement, including Helena Ashford, dressed in a ridiculous concoction of an overly showy light green dress, and sitting front row. The managers walked on stage and calmed the noisy crowd. "We'd like to announce our selection of a new soprano, the opera's second female voice, and the woman who will play The Queen of the Night in the upcoming production of the Magic Flute… Christine Daaé." Most of those assembled cheered, including the Girys and those who had been present at the celebratory supper. Christine gracefully walked on stage to stand beside the managers, blushing. The world started to spin, the cheers growing louder, Christine felt faint. Then out of nowhere, Helena appeared on the stage, mere feet from Christine, her face contorted with rage. "I will not share my stage with her." She spat vehemently, pointing an accusing finger in Christine's direction. "If she stays, I will leave." The entire crowd erupted into shocked murmurs, everyone looking to their neighbors to see their reactions, the scene as entertaining as any opera, and the audience enthralled. Clearly they could not lose Helena's star power, but it seemed a same to dismiss Madame Daaé. The managers were in a state of panic and were on the verge of caving into the diva when a strong voice rang out from above, a voice that had the Girys giving one another wide eyed stares. "You will do no such thing Helena Ashford. This is unprofessional and deplorable behavior. You will share the stage with Madame Daaé; she has every right to sing here as well. Walk off now and I assure you, your career is over and you will no longer receive instruction from me." The gathered crowd was instantly silenced, the voice filled them with a great terror, and many had to fight not to flee it. Stopping in her tracks, Helena wondered if Erik was bluffing, if he had the mental strength to go through with what he had just threatened. Finally, uttering a noise that was in essence a growl, she flounced off stage, gesturing consent, and returned to her seat. Though as she left, Christine could swear she heard the words, "You'll regret this" from Helena's direction. "Well, if all this is settled," Monsieur Gambi addressed the assembled masses, "Rehearsal begins in two days, bright and early."
Christine returned home, her mind a stupor of confusion, her heart heavy. She wished only to know what thoughts lay in the mind of the man who acted as though he detested her, but relentlessly came to her aide whenever he was needed. She had secretly left behind the Girys and all those who wished to celebrate her new position, and returned home alone and trudged upstairs. She pulled her hair down and began to run a brush through it in a concerted effort to calm herself, it was then that she spotted the envelope and note she had kept on her bedside table. Although arose, unbidden, but not entirely unwelcome. Not bothering to return her hair to its former state, she threw back on her cloak and rushed back outside, catching the carriage just after the Girys had returned. They were already inside, and Christine had slipped past them, now she implored their driver her to take her to the address on the envelope.
Arriving at the house, she told the man to wait for she didn't know how long she would be. Christine slowly ascended the stairs of a modest, but beautiful, stately brick house. It was not the house of a man as wealthy as Raoul, but someone who was definitely well off. The house for all its beauty seemed a terribly lonely place. Hesistantly, she rung the doorbell, after what seemed an eternity to the nervous young woman, she heard the lock being undone, and the door swung open to reveal the inside of the house and the man who stood in the doorway. A face in a mask peered curiously at Christine, there he was, Erik Le Seul, the phantom of the opera, her longtime ago angel. There was a moment of mutual staring between the two. "What are you doing here Christine?" Not bothering to keep secrets any longer she answered truthfully. "I wanted to see you again." Not waiting to be asked in, she brushed past him and into the house. Erik was too stunned by her earlier statement to attempt to stop her, so he moved out of her way and let her do as she would. As she stopped to remove her cloak, he stopped her, "You can't stay long, please." A sadness seemed to come over him as he spoke, as though he didn't want to banish her from his house. Christine entered the living room, the entirety of which was dominated by a grand piano that was covered in sheet music, the only other furnishing was a couch near the fireplace. She seated herself on the couch, not sure where to go from there, Erik remained standing in front of her. "Truthfully, I wanted to know why you once again helped me today, I mean you must despise me." Erik answered her with a look that made her heart shake, a look of terrible grief. "I could never despise you Christine. That's all that I can give you is the assurance that I will never be able to hate you." As he uttered those words to her, she felt very alone. As alone as he must have been all those years, as alone as she must have left him Erik saw the effects his words had on her. "Don't look so sad ma chérie, you will find another man." Not the one I desire. "And what of you, Monsieur Le Seul, who fill your lonely nights, Mademoiselle Ashford?" She bit the words out with a terrible scorn. Erik's first response was a noise that sounded like a cross between a snort and sigh. "I suppose you could say that." "Why her of all people?" His eyes were once again full of that all consuming sadness that seemed to be the stuff his entire life was made of. "It is better than being alone. She came looking for me, stories of the genius opera ghost dancing through her mind. Se begged me to teach her, to make her a star. I refused of course, but she showed up on my doorstep everyday, finally I gave in. She had become my constant accompaniment for the past few weeks, and I hadn't the strength to deny myself the human contact. She was someone to talk to, even if her voice and personality grated on me more than Carlotta ever did." Strangely enough, the two shared an amused look at the mention of the preposterous diva. Erik's eyes quickly turned from Christine a looked out the window to the street in front of his house. "At first I hoped we could learn to love one another, and as things developed, but I always knew she was trying to keep me under her thumb, to control me. Sometimes I make myself believe that she means it when she loves me. She is all false though, from her iron curled hair, to her cleverly disguised common Irish dance hall beginnings, she's a snake in women's finery. I know that I am to her, only a means to fame." Only once had he ever felt this broken in his whole life. For once he had allowed himself to speak the truth of his vain mistress out loud. It was more a confession to himself than Christine. Her being there was a whole other set of problems for him. He silently upbraided himself for slipping in her presence, wondering why he had to confess all to her. In his thoughts he had strode over to the piano and idly began to play, guarding from her the tears that had come to his eyes. "I've said too much, you should go." She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to come to his side, to stop his hurting. She knew that the side he hid from her was shedding tears. "May I come to see you again sometime? I am a bit alone myself." She tried desperately to ganer some vague hope from the situation. "Go, Christine."
In moments she had fled the house, tearing into the street to avoid a desperate outpouring of emotion that was obviously not welcome. No sooner had the door closed behind her than Erik collapsed on the piano bench, his body wracking with sobs. God why must you torture me so! Why now does she stare at me like that! Why now? Loving her was torture enough, but why her possibly being able to care for him now was too much. He couldn't risk himself with her again.
Christine stood breathless beside her carriage, her heart longing to run back in and throw her arms around Erik, her mind telling her that she was a fool as he abhorred the very sight of her. She wanted so badly for him to see she was not a little girl anymore, she was older and wiser in the ways of life. Convinced that he no longer wanted her anywhere near him, she climb into the carriage, telling the driver to take her to her father's grave. When they reached the cemetery she padded silently towards her father's tomb, her mind quiet. She kneeled before the marble structure, and crossing herself said a prayer for her father's soul. Then as she opened her eyes, she poured forth her entire story to the senseless stones around her. Tearfully she confessed all the details of the last few months, up until the last few hours. "Oh, father what am I to do? I threw away Erik's love once. Now he doesn't want me, now that I...that I...that I know that I love him." The words broke Christine's barrier against the painful truth of it. She had left the man she had loved out of fear of an all consuming love. She had walked the safe road, the road well traveled, and she was filled with a terrible regret for it. She sat on the steps of the tomb, in much the same position as the day Erik found her, sobbing into her arms. 'What am I to do?" No answer came forth for her, angels no longer spoke to Christine. In the end, the only thing she could do was return home and began preparations for her first rehearsal.
Rehearsals came, and Christine proved why she had once been an overnight sensation in the opera world, enrapturing the entirety of the opera house with her voice. The only person who still spoke out against her was Helena herself, whose down cries fell on deaf ears. Christine flung herself into her work, loving every moment of it. She no longer worked to forget her emotions, but began to enjoy life again. The rehearsals went smoothly and opening night approached an expected success. Christine looked forward to that night with anticipation unequalled by anyone in the entire company within the theatre. She wanted to show all of Paris, Helena included, what real talent, her talent was.
The afternoon before opening night, as Christine prepared to leave for the opera house a note was carried into her by the maid. The paper and scent were, by now, both familiar to her. Not knowing what to expect from him, she opened and read a sentence that sounded to her like the sweetest words ever written. "I shall be in box 5, grand tier. Look and you may see me, for I will see you, ma chér." It was simply sighned, "Erik". Christine had to sit quickly, lest she faint.
