Chapter 12

Now, alas, my burning, solitary dreams

will always be filled with his dear image!

Ceaselessly, with magical power,

everything will speak to me of him!

-Eugene Onegin, Act I

Music suggestions: 'The Dreame' sung by Anna O'Byrne (yup, that Anna O'Byrne!) or the extraordinary Jane Eaglen

Christine had hoped rehearsing would help take her mind off Erik. Until now, she had never had difficulty leaving her other life behind for that brief span of time and concentrating on the task before her. But tonight every note in The Pearl Fishers, every word of the story, seemed to remind her of Erik.

My gaze follows you through the night!

My voice implores you,

My heart adores you!

Ah! Sing, sing again...

She could not stop thinking of all she had learned about him. Far from repulsing her, finding out his secret had had the opposite effect. It had given her the reason she'd prayed for to trust him in spite of his crimes. It explained everything so precisely that she knew it must be true. Every word he had said to her these past few months was suddenly seen in a new light. But it seemed it had all happened too late. That was an irony too cruel to bear.

Oh, God, don't let me lose him now!

A few weeks ago, Erik had come to Madame Giry and asked her to tell Christine of his love for her if anything ever happened to him.

Stunned, fearful that he was contemplating suicide, she had agreed. He had been in such a state that she would have agreed to almost anything he had asked at that moment.

Now, however, she found herself agonizing over whether it would be right to tell Christine or not. She'd begun to suspect that Christine was developing feelings for Erik that were quite apart from awe for her mysterious, gifted teacher or fear of the Phantom. And if that were the case, the letter would be sure to greatly distress her. It would make her bitterly regret a love that could never have been in the first place.

As she watched Erik, she pondered the matter over and over, but without making any progress. Fortunately, she was saved from this excruciating dilemma, because about an hour after Christine had left the Phantom's lair, Erik awoke.

She knew for certain he was coming round when he began to cry out. Her heart seemed to twist up inside her when she realized he was screaming Christine's name, begging her not to leave him. She tried to wake him by shaking his shoulder, but it was no use. In the end, she simply had to wait. It was agonizing. At last, slowly, the light of awareness came back into his eyes.

No sooner had it appeared, however, than it was followed by a look of bewilderment and terror. Madame Giry winced - she could imagine his surprise upon awakening in a different place than he had fallen unconscious.

"Enfer putain bordel!" he cried, springing up and scrambling so his back was against the wall.

The sight made her heart twist up in her chest. "Erik-"

When he saw it was only her, he scarcely calmed down. "Madame! How did I come to be here?"

"Don't be afraid," she said, handing him his mask, which he snatched back with a violent, almost animal motion. "It's only me. And stop shouting. You sound like a child whose older brother just taught him how to swear."

Erik scarcely seemed to hear her. When the mask was safely back on his face, he went on, "What has happened? The last thing I remember is being in the tunnel... How did I come to be back here?"

"You don't remember?" Madame Giry said, feigning surprise.

"No... what happened?"

She had, of course, already prepared a story. "I helped you walk here." It was almost the truth.

"When?" he cried in disbelief.

"About an hour ago."

"Putain," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I cannot recall it at all. I hardly remember anything since yesterday."

"I'm not surprised to hear that. I've never seen anyone so drunk - and I make a living chaperoning a troupe of chorus-girls." Her voice rose. "You were also beginning to show signs of methanol poisoning!"

"Is that so?" Erik said. "Remarkable."

Madame Giry lost her temper. "You fool! A whole bottle of cheap absinthe! What possessed you?"

"I cannot bring myself to care anymore, I find."

"You don't care?" she cried. "What about the people who have been in agony wondering if you would survive?"

"I suppose you want an apology."

Even coming from him, this truculence surprised her. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she said acidly.

"Well, you will not be getting one." He looked around and saw the bottle from the medicine cabinet sitting nearby. "Ah. Bicarbonate of soda. I suppose you saved my life?"

She did not dissimulate. "Yes. You were fortunate I was there."

To her surprise, he merely scowled. "How very moving."

"A show of gratitude would perhaps not go amiss, Erik," she said.

"Gratitude?" he cried, so loudly she jumped. "Christine never wants to see me again!" He tried to say it coldly, but could not hide a note of despair; his voice broke near the end of the sentence. "She guessed that I am the Phantom. She despises me now. Of course she does." His eyes softened for a moment. "How could an innocent woman like her understand?" His face suddenly hardened again, and his eyes snapped back to her. "This is your doing! My life is over, and it is all because of you!"

"Me?" she said incredulously. Erik had a long-establishing habit of blaming his misfortunes on others - understandable, considering nearly all of them were the fault of others - but this was absurd.

"If you had not told me to stop posing as the Angel, this never would have happened! She would never have realized that I was the Phantom. At least I would still be able to talk with her! Now I cannot even do that! You've lost her to me forever! I will never see her again!"

Madame Giry's mind whirled. Until then, she had intended not to mention Christine's role in this whole affair. She'd begun to suspect that Christine's feelings were clouding her judgment where he was concerned, and she would have given a great deal to keep them separate until the girl had had time to come to her senses. But she realized now that there was no way to convince Christine to stay away from him completely. And moreover, it was simply too cruel to leave Erik in despair. One could argue that he deserved it, but whether or not that was true, she found she could not bring herself to do so. "Well..." she said, and then paused.

"What?" Erik snapped, impatient at her silence.

"As a matter of fact," she said at last, "Things may not be as hopeless as you imagine."

"What?" He scoffed. "Talk sense."

"Allow me to explain," she said. "First of all, I left a note on your behalf-"

"-On my behalf?"

"I said it was from you."

"-You forged my writing?" he roared.

"Yes. It was very easy to do; you write like a child. Don't look at me like that - I couldn't exactly tell her that I know you-"

"-There was no reason to be do it. She'll never take lessons from me again. She has Pauline Viardot-Garcia for an instructor now, thanks to that damned Vicomte." He rolled his eyes.

"Shouldn't you be glad, that she has such an excellent instructor?"

"I was an excellent instructor," he said pompously.

"Well, then, perhaps you should have told her the truth," she said.

"I did tell her the truth, and now she never wants to see me again!-"

"-That is what I am trying to tell you!" she cried. "She said she was very eager to see you again."

Erik stared at her in astonishment. "You must have misunderstood."

"There were no two ways about it," she assured him.

Erik looked as though she had just announced that he'd won the lottery. "Then... she doesn't despise me?"

"No," she said. "I can assure you she does not. I do not think she ever did."

For a long moment, he was silent. "Madame," he said at last. "I... I am sorry for the way I spoke to you. I know it wasn't your fault she and I had a... falling-out. I should not have blamed you. And I... thank you for looking after me. I owe you a great debt."

Madame Giry smiled at his sudden change in mood. "There is nothing to repay. Any decent person would have done the same." She paused. "Christine does not despise you. But she fears you, Erik. How could she not, after the things you have done?"

"I will change that," he vowed, his features set with determination. "I will prove to her she does not need to fear me."

"I must go," Madame Giry said quickly. "I have a telegram to send."

He was too happy to protest.

She made her way out of the grotto, leaving him, despite a splitting headache, in a better mood than he had been in weeks.

As Madame Giry emerged onto Rue Scribe, it occurred to her that there was no need to send a telegram. Erik had awoken much more quickly than she had expected; Christine was undoubtedly still at rehearsal. It would be more efficient to simply go and tell her in person. When she came into the auditorium, the stage was milling with artists. The crowd was dense, and it took her several few minutes to find the leading lady - Christine, when she was not decked out in jewels and lavish costumes and singing stratospheric notes at the top of her voice, had a curious tendency to become invisible. At last Madame Giry spotted her, poring over the score with Monsieur Reyer. When Christine saw her, she abandoned what she was doing as quickly as possible and ran over to her. The question in her eyes was obvious.

"Mère," she said in a tremulous voice. "I was worried. How-?"

Before she could finish, however, Madame Giry was confronted by Monsieur Dubois, the stage-manager.

"Madame," he said, "I would speak with you in my office."

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Madame Giry hurried after him. Christine trailed behind them like a worried shadow, wringing her hands.

"Madame," said Dubois when he had settled into the chair behind his desk - he didn't invite her to sit - "Would you care to explain why you are over an hour late?"

Christine hovered at the door like an uneasy spirit.

"I humbly apologize," Madame Giry said. "A, er, relation of mine was suddenly taken very ill. I am all the family he has."

"Has he recovered?" Christine couldn't restrain herself from interjecting. She had her arms folded around her waist as though to shield herself from any bad news.

Dubois looked at her in surprise. Why should you care so much? his expression seemed to say.

Madame Giry smiled at her gently. "Yes, he seems to be recovering well. He awoke a few minutes before I returned here, and, er, we are optimistic about his condition. Er- thank you for asking, dear."

Christine tried in vain to conceal her delight, but her smile took over her face nonetheless. "I am... glad to hear that," she said.

Dubois blinked.

"He... is an acquaintance of mine as well," Christine managed.

Suddenly she had to hurry out of the room.

In the hall, she doubled over, scarcely able to find her breath. She realized her heart was pounding, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into sobs. All the feelings she'd been ignoring, the bliss she'd been denying herself, rushed forth in a flood.

Erik was safe. And her heart, if he chose to claim it, would be safe with Erik - she knew that now. She loved him, and he was a good man, and he was alive. She would not have to face a world that did not have him in it. She had been given another chance. It was almost too much happiness to bear.

"Well... I'm sure we're all very relieved," she heard Dubois say, not without a hint of sarcasm, from inside the office. His voice seemed to come from worlds away. "But Madame, why didn't you think to send a telegram?"

"Forgive me. My mind was preoccupied."

"Hm. Hm. Well, see that this kind of thing does not happen again," Dubois said severely, and then, "Well, you've been with us for about a millennium, so I suppose we can overlook this matter. That will do; you may go. And, er, see what's the matter with Daae, won't you?"

A moment later, Madame Giry emerged from the office.

Christine pulled her a few feet down the hall and around a corner, out of earshot of Dubois. "Is he well?"

"Not yet, but I am confident he will be." Madame Giry found herself blinking back tears. "He is his usual self - irritable and ill-mannered, and yet all the same I am glad."

"Yes," Christine said, torn between laughter and tears. "Still, I am more glad than I can express." She paused to collect herself. "I must speak with him. Should I go after rehearsal? Is he recovered enough for a conversation? I would not wish to unsettle him when he is recovering, but I cannot bear to wait," Christine said. "Not now."

Something in her tone disturbed Madame Giry.

"My dear," she said, whirling around so that she blocked Christine's path.

"What is it?" Christine said, surprised by the look on her face. "You look distressed."

"I am, I confess." Madame Giry swallowed.

Christine peered at her as though trying to decipher her expression. "If there is something you wish to say..."

"...There is," Madame Giry said. "But I'm sure you are needed onstage - the leading lady." She put a congratulatory hand on her shoulder.

Christine smiled faintly.

"We shall speak after rehearsal has concluded," Madame Giry finished.

Christine's face assumed a guarded look. "Very well."

"You must never breathe a word of what I am about to say to anyone," Madame said that night, as they seated themselves on their omnibus - though Christine had moved away, their appartements were not far apart. "Especially Erik."

Christine regarded her uneasily. "You have my word."

"I must warn you of something," Madame Giry went on. "It does not do to associate too much with him. You must... be careful where he is concerned."

"I don't understand," Christine said. "What are you saying?"

"He is not a bad man. But just because he has a good reason for the crimes he has committed, that does not mean he is entirely to be trusted. I harbor a certain feeling of concern for him." Madame Giry paused, reexamining what she had just said, and seemed to find it wanting. "No, I confess, I do love him in a way; I do not think that is overstating the matter. But that does not make me blind to his faults. Christine... I will be frank. He can be dangerous."

"Do you really imagine he would hurt me?" Christine said.

"No, not deliberately," Madame Giry said. "That is not what I mean. But I fear he might easily make some terrible error... There are many things he does not understand. Be careful what you trust him with. Christine, he would not make anyone a good husband."

"Husband?" Christine looked at her in surprise. "You sound as though we will be married by next week! I know it can never be."

"Why do you say that, my dear?"

Christine almost laughed. "Why? I am penniless, and he needs money, as we know. In addition to that, I have no family connections, I am a foreigner, an orphan, and I'm a heathen, besides. Why are you so uneasy about something that is only the remotest possibility?"

"Christine, I-"

"Be honest with me," Christine said. "You know Erik better than anyone else. Do you suppose... is there any chance he might ever... return my feelings?"

Madame Giry buried her face in her hand, caught in a bind. Erik would never forgive her if she told Christine of his love for her. But he would also be furious if he'd had a chance with Christine and she'd destroyed it by saying he did not love her.

"I don't know," she said at last. It was a lie, but what choice did she have? "I don't understand what goes on in his mind. The only thing I can say with certainty is that you would never get a declaration of love from him. He is too afraid of having his suit rejected."

"Oh I see," Christine said slowly. "Why?"

"He has a very low opinion of himself."

"Well, I am sorry for that," Christine said sadly. Then, after a pause, "Thank you for speaking with me about this. I am grateful for your guidance."

As she descended from the omnibus, Madame Giry gently squeezed her hand. "Be brave, my dear."

"I must," Christine said. "I don't know what lies ahead of me."

Her thoughts were in a whirl as she finished the journey home. The discussion had made up her mind.

She would give it a few days, of course, she decided as she made her way to her appartement. Time for Erik to recover, now that he was out of danger. And then, she would tell him. It hadn't been easy for her to come to the decision. Virtuous girls - and she considered herself to belong to that number - weren't supposed to declare their love. That was the gentleman's role. If a man admired a woman, he would tell her. Everyone knew that. But these were exceptional circumstances.

Of course, he might still reject her after all. And if he did, the pain would be terrible. But it would nothing compared to thinking she had thrown away any chance of happiness with him. She must try.

Here I stand; I can do no other, so help me God, amen.

Certain now of her course, that night she fell into a peaceful sleep.

At the next day's rehearsal, Christine went over Me Voilà Seule dans la Nuit, one of Leïla's main numbers in The Pearl Fishers. That evening, however, she was singing it only for one person.

Here I am, alone in the night, she began.

I shiver, and I am afraid... But...

Suddenly, her eyes were drawn to the left side of the darkened auditorium. She was sure she saw a shadow moving in Box Five. She threw back her head and sang more freely, more triumphantly, than ever before.

He is there!

My heart senses his presence!

As before in the dark night,

He watches close to me in the shadows.

I can sleep, dream in peace.

He watches close to me,

Like it was before...

It is he! My soul is assured.

Oh happiness! He has come! He is there near to me!

End of Chapter 12.

What do you think? Was Madame Giry's concern understandable, or was she being unfair? Should Christine have been more open with her? What will she do if she finds out? And what is Raoul going to think of all this? Feel free to sound off in the comments or a pm! Thank you for reading! :)