Madame Giry

It made no sense. Christine was terribly upset, the most upset I had seen her in a long time. She had been in her dressing room, undoubtedly with Erik, receiving a lesson as she had certainly every night since she was given the room. Seeing her tears had filled me with dread and anger. Clearly he had relinquished his temper on her to put her in such a state and send her weeping from the room.

Or perhaps, not so clearly, as she seemed sincere in assuring me that the Angel was not angry and did not scare her. Then what could have caused her to cry in such a way? What else could have happened…unless his influence had turned her into as persuasive a deceiver as he?

The bastard.

As soon as Christine had left my sight, I entered the dressing room and closed the door. The room was silent and still. I didn't feel him. "Erik?" I whispered, suddenly struck that I was so bold as to look for him this soon after our…encounter.

Nothing.

"Erik, I understand that you are still angry with me," I chanced at the silence, "but I will not tolerate such blatant disregard of my presence."

But he wasn't there. Either he had left just after Christine, or he had not been there at all. My brow furrowed. That would explain it; in fact, that explained it surprisingly well. He had not shown up for their lesson, and that was what put Christine in such a dishevelled state. The only questions left were why he hadn't appeared to her in the first place…and where he was now.

I removed myself from the dressing room briskly, my heart racing suddenly, realising that I could very well have put myself into more danger. I didn't want to find him. My concern for Christine had momentarily replaced my fear, and just now I understood what I had almost done. I shut the door and rushed down the hallway, light on my feet, mentally controlling my respiration.

Upon entering my flat, my fingers went to my heart and I closed my eyes, leaning against the door. I was safe. My heartbeats reverberated against the weight of my hand, and I willed them to still; I was back in my room, where everything was mine, and I was not invading upon his territory or evoking his presence again.

Opening my eyes, though, did nothing to calm my heart. Upon my vanity was a white envelope. Upon the ivory of the envelope was a crimson seal. A skull.

I was not without him, not even in my own room.

Cautiously I approached the vanity, drawn by the letter, enticed by my curiosity, which outweighed my reserve. I straightened. He will not hurt me again, I assured myself. I remembered how terribly stricken he had been years ago, after laying eyes on the damage he'd done to my leg, and I could only imagine that the same sorrow had overcome him this time. It was a letter of apology, and rightfully so. Though I was to blame for the most recent episode, he could not be excused.

I broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

Oh, Madeleine.

I do not know what to say to you. You, to whom I owe my very life. I haven't ever written a letter of this nature and undoubtedly I never will again. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you—for the first time in my unwanted existence, returning my gaze was not a glare, a leer, an outward expression of inward disgust or horror or contempt. You have shown me the compassion that no force beneath Heaven is entitled to give, and that no force within Heaven has ever given regardless. But again and again I have driven you away from me through my infernal rage and endless greed. You have always believed there is redemption for me somewhere; it is time, however, for you to stop entertaining such fantasies. I was born a monster, and I will be so forever. My love for you has remained the only humanity my being was ever graced with. Therefore, part of me will continue to worship you from afar, to cling to the one awareness that keeps me from spiralling into insanity. You are not indebted to me, and you owe me nothing. The least I can do for you then, Madame, is give you back your freedom.

I put down the letter, clutching my heart. I did not want to read anymore of it. Every emotion I'd ever known was at work, and before I ventured any further into his soul I needed to understand what he was trying to tell me. The words were slightly reminiscent of the fond letters he had written me years before, but never with such honest humility; gone were the arrogantly-seasoned undercurrents, the subtle ironies and blunt demands. Here, as I had never seen him do so before, he had written his heart. I'd always known how much my patience and care meant to him, but before now, not ever because he told me.

I hadn't realised to what extent his sorrow plagued him. If he were in his usual state of mind, he would despise himself over such a confession.

My eyes pooling, I lifted the letter again, softly caressing the etchings…knowing that his hand had made them.

You should be greatly assured to know that I will no longer masquerade as the Angel of Music. Though at first I felt I could save her from the same darkness that has engulfed my life, I cannot hide the Demon in the guise of an Angel, especially not for Christine—she is perfect, you see, and I refuse to taint her. Aside from that, I have no reason to any longer. It is time that you know I did it for you. From the moment I learned you would bring an orphan to my theatre, I swore to make her mine, to mould her and shape her until I created something so miraculous, you would be blind not to see it. Christine would be my means of winning you back. But I have made a decision, Madame, a vow, and this vow I will not break.

Understanding flooded me at his revelation, and I was struck again at how much I truly dictated his thoughts and intentions. Erik, you fool, I thought, but his last sentence stirred me to continue reading.

These are, in fact, the last words that will ever be penned by the part of me that is Erik. It has taken me years to finally understand that it is not the Phantom at all who harnesses my malevolence. Love and hate go hand-in-hand; hatred and evil are kin. Love will make a man mad, lead him to hate, and ghosts can't love; therefore, only man is capable of true evil. Though I will never be rid of Erik entirely, for your sake I am willing to relinquish that most dangerous half of my soul and resume the role I was born to play. He will always love you. But he is no longer in control of my thoughts or deeds, and therefore, you are safe, as is Christine. Know, then, my beloved, that I am always watching you, and I will always protect you…and in a banished region of my soul, I will always know the reason.

Madeleine, I love you. And that is why.

O.G.

I dropped the letter, and it fluttered gracefully.

Then it had happened. It had finally happened.

I was free.

And for my freedom, Erik had surrendered his own.

My head began to throb. I sank onto my mattress, my surroundings blurring into one mass of shadow and dull colour. The Phantom had done it then. After all these years, after I had put my world into rescuing him from himself, he had given up. It had been the biggest sacrifice of my life, and years ago, when I realised I could not get what I wanted, I tried to take my life back. I left the Opera with Armande. But I returned to the Ghost who killed my husband, because the life I thought I'd taken back was still devoted to him, and I could not bear to see him give up.

And now, to spare me once and for all, he'd condemned himself to an eternity of captivity, so my life could be my own at last.

"What are you doing?" That question, and variations of it, I had asked aloud countless times, whether he could hear me or not. My hands gripped the sheets below me. "What have you done?" If that truly was his decision, then everything I'd lived for up until now had been in vain. He would purge Erik from his soul, purge all love, feeling, hope. He was the only man in the world who could do it, and he would. And it will all have been a waste.

"Think, Madeleine," I heard myself say, and I obeyed. I realised now that there had always been two roads, both leading to entirely different conclusions. The first was what was happening at this moment—I could refuse his love, and therefore, he would abandon his humanity, reject his redemption, and remain fully the Phantom. The second road was this: I could accept his love and love him in return, and he would abandon the Phantom and become wholly Erik.

I had not known it in the beginning, but there was indeed no way for me to refuse his love and save him at the same time.

The second road I could not take—there was no question about it. I could never love him the way he loved me. Even if I pretended to, which I could not, it would mean sacrificing my life again, and to no avail; he would see right through me, and the Phantom would never really be gone. My head felt as if it would split. That meant there was no other way than the way he had chosen. His destiny was written. There was no turning back; I had lost him forever, and had given up my life in doing so.

…You are safe, as is Christine.

Unless….

I felt my eyes dilate as a sudden thought swept over my mind. Was it as ridiculous as it seemed?

"No," I said aloud. It would put Christine in danger.

A cluster of thoughts and memories surfaced—the violin, the dressing room, Christine's sudden happiness, and the obvious love he retained for the little girl. The Angel of Music was everything to Christine, and the Angel of Music was Erik. Never in the sixteen years I'd known him had he loved anyone other than me. There was not a soul in the world he even spoke well of, much less cared for. But he was afraid of hurting Christine. She meant a great deal more to him than he wanted to reveal…and she revered him as if he were her father, that much I knew.

Oh, Christine, I thought. You are the third road.

I had to know for sure. If she loved him as much as I thought she did, and if he loved her as well, his destiny was not sealed after all. She could provide him another way out of the fate he'd chosen for himself. Oh, God, I prayed, let this be Your will…show me. Give me a sign, that this is Your will, and I will do everything I possibly can to ensure that it happens.

As my feet took me out of my flat and toward the chapel, the entire thing fell into place. For him to rid himself of the Phantom, he needed love—requited and true, unconditional, love, the love of another human being. I could not give it to him the way he needed it from me, but Christine could the way he needed it from her, and Christine could bring Erik back; Christine could save him.

The dark corridor was illuminated by the passage into the chapel.

If he would continue to be Christine's Angel, she would continue to love him, and she would have a father, and he would have a daughter. It was as simple as that. Erik would find his redeeming love in Christine's unbiased need for him. But he could not abandon her, or everything would fail. As much as I had been against the idea in the start, his guise as the Angel of Music was what would, in the end, save him.

I was sure of it.

I stopped at the entrance to the chapel steps, listening.

Christine's voice drifted to me. "I've tried everything, Father. Have I done something to disappoint you? Is that why you took the Angel from me?"

Say you love him, I urged soundlessly. Say you love him and that will be my sign.

"When you left me, I thought the world might as well end! You were everything to me!" Several sobs, and then a heavy breath, and a sniffle. "But you came back, because you gave me the Angel. I miss you." Her voice broke. "I love you."

Say you love Erik.

"I know I still love you, because I love my Angel." My heart rose, and so did her voice. "I can't lose him too. He's my entire world, now that you're no longer here. Please, give him back to me! I can't lose him like I lost you!"

I wanted to laugh, but even in my happiness my face contorted with sobs that I desperately pushed back into my chest. I had cried too much. I covered my heart with my left hand and gripped the wall with my right, steadying myself, when without warning I heard his voice from somewhere beside me.

"That is what I have done."

I whipped around, and seeing him wrapped in shadows in the dark corner was such a fright that I opened my mouth. But he raised a finger to his lips, and then delicately pointed into the chapel.

"I don't want her to know we are here."

I was too stunned to move, but I forced a nod. He watched me, and slowly I began to regain control of my limbs. I moved toward him.

Abruptly he held up a hand, and I halted. "Don't come any closer," he whispered. "Please." He was broken.

I obeyed, but as much as I wanted to, I could not take my eyes from his gaze. "Erik—"

Again he shook his head, and I closed my mouth, unsure what I could do. "And please…don't call me by that name."

Inside, I reeled, heartbroken at both his words and the sound of his voice—resigned to defeat, and slowly accepting indifference. "Monsieur," I forced out, willing to obey, at least for now, until things began to fall into place. I held up my hands and let my posture slouch, which was so unlike me that I could tell he was taken aback, though he pretended not to care. I allowed my arms to hang loosely at my sides in a helpless gesture. "Listen to her."

His glowing green eyes probed me. "I have been listening. I've waited here for hours, knowing she would come to mourn me." He looked past me into the chapel, where Christine's voice could still be heard. "I did that to her, and nothing I can do will undo it." He let a low, strained sigh escape his lips. "And I will allow myself one last time to mourn her as well."

"Oh, Erik, you don't have to do this," I began, and he stiffened instantly, but said nothing—we both knew it would be the last time I used his name. "I was wrong before. You would hurt her far worse by disappearing from her life now than by remaining."

"I have no business in her life," he said quietly.

I matched his tone. "You should have thought of that before entering her life in the first place. Now, you must finish what you started."

He didn't move, but he took my reprimand, however emotionlessly.

"Don't you see?" I whispered, daring to take a small step toward him. "You gave her back her father. You gave her back her life." He closed his eyes; I only hoped his ears remained open. "If you leave her now, you will take her will to live with you. Don't do to her what I did to you."

His eyes snapped open, and he watched me intently.

"I could never ask your forgiveness, Monsieur," I continued. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, and neither do you deserve my apology. I know I have hurt you, and you know you have hurt me; I am willing to let this settlement remain as it is forever. There could never be anything but pain for us, regardless of what we say to each other. I care for you, and I care for Christine, far too much for the same thing to happen to the two of you." I beseeched him with my gaze. "You did not entre her life for my sake alone. You didn't want Christine to fall into the same darkness as you. By stealing away her one hope, you are condemning her to it."

His mouth opened in a deep breath, and he moved his head. "I cannot let myself love her enough to do something that will hurt her…and will destroy me."

"Then don't let it hurt her," I encouraged. "You put far too little faith in your ability to do good. You would destroy yourself by hurting her. You would destroy yourself by leaving her now."

The Phantom straightened, and his cloak swished around his forme. He pursed his lips and pleaded me with his eyes, but I remained firm, and I could see as the truth registered into him finally. It was a strange sensation. Those eyes that surveyed my every move, that lusted for the power to control life and death and fully drank in the divine and unreachable beauty only music could offer, were slowly, visibly, understanding my claim, and accepting it.

In that moment, I felt more powerful than anything else in the world.

He turned from me and began walking down the corridor, but at the last moment turned back, and I saw that he had hardened. "Madame Giry—I will continue to be the Angel of Music, but it will not be for Christine's sake, nor for yours; have patience, and you will see just what the Opera Ghost has in store for her." He smirked arrogantly. "She will be the most brilliant and shining star this theatre has ever seen."

I nodded, playing his game, not allowing the relief that flooded my system to show through me—then he would catch onto my own subtle manipulation. "We shall see."

He turned, and in the shadows all I saw was the faint light reflecting from his well-oiled hair. Without regard to the appeals I had made, the recommencement of the Angel of Music had suddenly become his idea and his intention; not my own. The game had begun.

"One moment, though, Monsieur le Fantôme," I intoned, and he paused, without turning to me. The game had begun, indeed, and I would resume my rightful place. "If you plan to carry on with your charade and transform the little soprano into a miracle of your own making, I have one request."

He waited silently.

"You will show me your domain and your hidden passageways. You will impart to me the secrets this Opera has to share, and you will do so without complaint." I took a few steps toward him, painfully aware that it still hurt him to even look at me, hear my voice. "When you are ready," I ventured, "you will reveal these things to me, and in return I will do all that I can to help you."

For a moment he was quiet. And then, without turning around, he murmured, "Your help will not go unappreciated, Madame." The shadows overwhelmed him, and his presence faded from the hallway.

I bored holes in the darkness with my eyes, breathing deep with the realisation of everything that had occurred in the past few moments. God had given me His blessing, I believed, and Christine had been given back her Angel…and the Phantom had been given another chance at salvation.

The scandals and mysteries of the Opera Populaire were once again in order, and everything was right. I had to believe it.