A/N: Another Christine POV.
I clutch my bag in my hand as I knock lightly on Margaurite's office door. I had fought the curiosity of looking at the papers Erik had given me so they were still stowed away, safely inside the bag.
"Oh, Christine, dear. Come in, come in." She opens the door wide and I take the seat opposite her desk.
"I have some...uh...questions. About Erik." While she sits, I open my bag to search for the forms. My fingers brush lace and I laugh softly at the missing undergarments folded neatly inside the bag. I reach into the inside pocket where I stored them.
"I wondered how long it would take for you to come to me about him." She sighs.
"He says you know him well." I pull the papers out and hand them to her. She reads them, biting her lip.
"I do, yes. Did you look at these?" I shake my head. She hands them back over. They are a photocopy of an old French newspaper.
"Soprano's flight or Phantom's fright? Mlle Christine Daae, fiancé to the Vicomte de Chagny, was reported missing three weeks ago. The diva still has not reappeared and close friends of Mlle Daae fear the Phantom of the Opera has stolen her away. The Phantom, the man responsible for the death of Ubaldo Piangi, the Opera's lead tenor, and two unnamed individuals who perished in the fire set by him. Other acquaintances insist the girl jilted her noble husband-to-be for the mad masked man! Any information regarding Mlle Daae's whereabouts should be brought to the attention of the police at once. The Vicomte is offering a hefty reward for the return of his beloved." There is a crudely drawn photo at the end of the article.
The Phantom of the Opera? Yes, that did sound quite familiar. Vicomte de Changy? That name also sounds familiar. I rub at my forehead where a dull pain has begun.
"What is...this?" I shake my head in utter confusion. My name is on the article but it is dated 1881. This makes absolutely no sense.
Reincarnation. That is what Erik said.
"It is a newspaper article. Everyone thought he took you, but it is a lie."
"So this is supposed to be me? Over a hundred years ago?"
"I know. It seems impossible does it not? I, too, was shocked to be brought back again. You know I am not a delusional person, Christine. Will you listen with an open mind?" I press my fingers harder against my pounding head looking at her incredulously. "Well? I have much to tell and we haven't got very much time to tell it."
Now Margaurite was saying it. Reincarnation.
"I will listen...but I'm not sure that I can believe it." I scoff.
"I understand. I will say it now. I will tell you the complete, unabridged truth. You were under my care, my ward once. But no...let's start with Erik." I lean back, waiting. "There was a travelling fair. A gypsy circus, if you will. I was very young, about fourteen. The main attractions were, as they called them, freaks. Bearded woman, contortionists, you know the sort of show I mean. At the final tent the master screamed out, 'Come see the devil's child. The voice of an angel and the face of a demon.' Inside the tent was a large cage. A boy of maybe ten or eleven cowered in the corner. You could see he was battered, bruises and scars all over his back, even some on his chest and stomach. He was painfully thin and wearing a burlap bag over his head with two holes cut out for his eyes. The master beat him then, screaming for him to sing. The boy held his arms up defensively then resigned, sighed and stood. He did not remove the bag, but I heard a heavenly song in my ear. After the song finished the master grabbed the boy by the back of the neck and reached for the bag."
Margaurite cleared her throat and continued.
"He fought, the boy did. he fought the inevitable. The master overpowered him easily and ripped the bag from his head. Grabbing a fistful of the boy's hair he showed off the boy's deformity. Tears streamed down the boy's face as men laughed, women and girls shrieked, boys sneered and threw garbage at him. Soon after the coins started coming in. The master pushed the boy down so he could grab up all the money. The boy scurried across the ground to retrieve his bag. He crouched back in the corner, sobbing in humiliation. The crowd started to thin out. I was crying, the poor boy, I thought. I was the last to leave, I still don't know why I hesitated. I saw the boy then, quietly while the master jingled the coins in his hands, the boy slid a length of rope from the metal bars and leapt into action. The master was flailing and purple-faced in a matter of moments."
She looked over at me then, a bit shaken up. I'm sure I looked no different.
"I acted quickly. I pulled open the cage door and motioned for him to follow me. We easily slipped away during all of the commotion. We were spotted but we were near the Opera and I was able to hide him away. That was Erik's first murder. I cannot condemn him for it. Had you seen the condition he was in you wouldn't either. I hid him in an empty passageway that only a select few ballerina's knew of. He was ill for weeks. Some of the lacerations were deep and there was infection."
She paused then to open a drawer and press a tissue under her eyes.
"Once he grew stronger he explored and found the cellars. I brought him food every couple days but he rarely seemed hungry. I never saw him anywhere but that passageway. He waited there for food, drink, clothing."
I am wringing my hands. Trying not to get emotional over a child I didn't know.
"Everything moved along like that until I went away to be married. I was seventeen and he must have been around fourteen. He had fashioned a mask from some supplies I'd gotten him. I had come to care for the boy, but Armand, that was my husband, he never would have allowed it. I said a tearful goodbye and wished him well. I never imagined I would see him again."
I sit up, interested.
"Ten years had passed. I lost Armand in the same carriage accident that injured my leg. I was not a viable dancer but I knew how to teach so back to the Opera we came. I had a young daughter you see, I had to earn a wage."
"Meg." I mumble
"Yes, Meg. You remember Meg? You two were very close. Almost like sisters when I brought you several years later." The image of a rosy cheeked blue eyed blonde came to the front of my mind. I nod faintly, feeling a bit nauseous. "Anyway, Erik had moved on from the Opera by then. I had no way of finding him. So I took the job at the Opera as ballet mistress. The management let the building fall into shambles and there was a search for an archietect to do a full renovation by a new manager. About that time Erik made a reappearance. He had grown, as children do, towering above me now, but still as thin as a rail. He told me he was assisting with the reconstruction and he would be seeing me around. I never saw him in the daylight. It was always in a poorly lit hallway or dark passageway. He kept to the shadows. I'm going to ring for tea, would you like anything?" I shake my head. She picks up the phone to call.
"Anyway, he built himself a house in the cellars while the Opera was rebuilt. I became his liaison to the outside world. Now that he had finished his work on the building he was free to pursue his other interests. Painting, sculpting, music. He was in the ideal place for that. Not long after the new manager took over your father died." I grimaced at the thought. "I was called on to collect you and bring you to train in the ballet. Erik heard you and Meg playing around on the stage one day while he was in his box and heard you sing. I admit your voice was, and is a thing of beauty. It gave him great joy to hear you sing. I could not refuse him, he who had known no joy in his life." A knock sounded then and Margaurite paused her tale while she went to answer the door.
I stare down at the newspaper article. My mind is so muddled, my head pounding. My hands tremble and a chill goes through me. She had said the first time he had murdered. How many times? This said at least three more murders.
I could not believe it. I would not. He was gentle...kind...caring.
"So he became your Angel of Music." Margaurite began again as she poured the tea.
"Angel of Music. Yes...my Angel of Music." I think back to my dream. Or memory?
"He tutored you, coached your voice. He made the manager take notice of you. Both of you were all alone in the world and I believe in a way you helped one another." She sips her tea. Her story goes on. There was a change in managers she says, that did not sit well with Erik. She makes mention of this Vicomte de Changy. Everything sounds so peculiar, yet familiar. Like someone telling you a story you haven't heard in a while but eventually pieces come back to you. "He took you beneath the Opera to his home. I wasn't sure if you would ever return, but eventually you did."
"He was ill." I remark offhandedly. "I did have a flash of...memory...regarding that. All these little flashes seem to be memories. Even the dreams I've always had seem to be memories according to him."
"Yes well he would know better than I. You were always eager to return to him when we had breaks at the Opera. You would never speak of what had conspired while you were with him. Not even to Meg. So I cannot give you any information about that, only you always wore a smile when it was time to go back to him. The Vicomte was not pleased when you went below. He often tried to talk you out of it, but it was of no use. During this time, the managers took a stand and halted any advancement of your career. Erik was furious. He threatened if they didn't cast you as the lead for the newest production there would be a horrible disaster. They, of course, didn't listen and coddled their prima donna."
I close my eyes, feeling slightly nervous
"Joseph Buquet was a sad, sorry excuse for a man. He was a drunk and a pervert. I often found him peeking into the ballerina dressing room or even in the dormitories. Erik probably did us a favor hanging him. Perhaps not in the middle of a performance on the stage, though."
The breath I'd been holding exhales in a quick huff.
"You see, I don't believe he had had anyone to teach him right from wrong, or that if he did wrong there would be consequences. I should have tried, but I was hardly out of childhood myself. I regarded him in more of a sisterly way than a motherly way. I know that is not an excuse. I always felt that I was making excuses for him. He didn't find much trouble at the Opera, at least not while I was there."
"And who is this Ubaldo Piangi? How did Erik kill him?" I could feel tears burning in my eyes at that question.
"Yes, I keep going off on tangents, I'm sorry." She explains there was a masked ball where he made more demands of the managers and discovered that I had gotten engaged to the Vicomte. Then there was a swordfight between Erik and the Vicomte. "Erik had provided them with an opera he had written to be performed with you as the star. Raoul convinced the managers to proceed and he devised a plan to capture Erik. I tried to warn them against it. They would not listen." Her hand shook as she picked up her tea. "You were used as bait to capture the Phantom but it ended in absolute tragedy. Yes, he stole you away from the stage after you...well you unmasked him."
"He was on stage and I unmasked him?"
"Yes, and in order to be on stage he needed to eliminate the tenor. He was strangled backstage prior to Erik taking the stage." I felt my jaw drop. "He cut down the chandelier and dropped you both through a trap door. The Opera house was completely gutted inside due to the fire cause by the chandelier. I took Raoul de Changy to try to get you back."
"Raoul..." My mind flashes to the handsome fair-haired man that was also the manager at Erik's current theatre. "I think he works with Erik. They are friends. How can that be?"
"I don't believe he remembers anything either." I find a strange comfort in that, to not be alone in this strange situation. "I know nothing of anything that happened after that except for days later the Vicomte showed up at my rooms in the dormitories. Thankfully the fire was stopped and contained to just the main Opera house. He was adamant that I was hiding the two of you. You and Erik. Once he searched the rooms he left and I never saw him again either. The Vicomte told me nothing of what transpired below the Opera." I suddenly feel very tired. My head is still throbbing and my emotions are running rampant. "Think about it Christine. You say you have dreams, Erik says they are memories. Really, really think about it."
"Can I keep these?" I ask folding up the newspaper article. She nods. "I think I need to go lie down."
"If you are not feeling up to the show I could have someone go on in your place."
"Yes, thank you." I drag myself up the flight of steps to my apartment. My mind is running a mile a minute. Erik. A murderer? No. I just didn't believe it. The sight of his shirt on the top of my hamper made me smile sadly. Still, I grab it and switch it out with my dress.
I lay down on my bed sniffing the collar. My mind is overwhelmed. It's not that I don't believe in reincarnation but this seems very strange for them...to remember everything.
I shake my head to clear it.
I cannot focus on one single thought. I sit up and grab a pair of shorts from the dresser and pull them on and slide my feet into sandals. I grab my bag and take off down the stairs. I need to see him again while it's all fresh in my mind.
I hurry down the block toward his penthouse.
"Hello Miss." The doorman greets me.
"Yes , hello, can I ring for Mr. Destler?" He leads me over to the intercom systems. "Thank you so much."
"Yes?"
"Erik?"
"I'll be right down." I start to pace the floor in front of the elevator. A minute later there was a ding and the doors opened to reveal him running his hand through his hair, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. "I take it you spoke with her then."
"Yes, Erik. It can't be true, can it?" He grabs my wrist and pulls me in the elevator. As we ascend I feel his thumb stroke my wrist.
"Well I don't know what she told you but I assure you it's true. And she only knows of the time I was in Paris. I lived in Rome and Persia for nearly ten years and I was no Angel in either of those places." The door opens and we step into his hallway. "I can only say that was a different Erik. I lived a hard life."
"She said you killed a man when you were ten!"
"I did, yes. A man that threatened to rape me. And surely I wasn't the only one. Was I supposed to just allow that to happen?" My eyes widen and I feel his fingers drop my wrist. " I could handle the whip and the clubs, even the reaction from the crowd, though it was humiliating, but I could not do that. I saw an opportunity to free myself and I took it." He glared at me, daring me to contradict him.
"I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't know."
"I know. I have many, many regrets but killing him certainly isn't one of them." He begins his pacing. "I wanted you to know about me so it might return your memories of us, what we shared. I am not the same man. I have had a very different life this time." He turns to look at me. "I can try and explain my crimes to you and why I did the things I did. I know I did wrong. I knew it then too, but I didn't care. I'll apologize now if it'll help. Do you want me to, Christine?" He kneels down, staring up at me.
"No, Erik. I'm just trying to understand."
"You have questions." He stands back to his full height.
"I'm supposed to ask about what happened...below the Opera after I unmasked you?" I try remembering how Margaurite worded it.
"Ah, right for it then. Well as you said, you unmasked me. In front of an entire theatre of people. There were police everywhere, ready to take aim and shoot to kill or at least capture me. They used you, my dear, to lure me in. As expected I took the bait, quite literally. I drug you down to my house in the cellar. You fought me every inch of the way. I was rough with you, but I was furious. You had agreed to this attempt on my life. I was devastated. I assumed you cared a little bit about your old Angel of Music." Now he begins pacing, his voice growing hoarse. "I forced you into the bridal gown, I was going to make you marry me. To stay with me beneath the Opera forever. Your fiancé," he spat the word out, "was led to my house, first by Margaurite then further along by my friend, Nadir, once he reached the lake. This worked out well for me. I had more leverage. I caught the Vicomte and had him strung up, ready to tighten the noose if you didn't agree to spend your life with me."
"And these are things you want me to remember?" I plant a horrified look on my face.
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Yes. I want no deception between us in this life. You, of course, agreed so I would spare his life. I saw you mouth those three words to him. Three words I would never hear from anyone. Then you waded through the water in your wedding dress to kiss me. To convince me to let him go. But then you kissed me again and embraced me. I knew then I had to let you go. You were too good for me. Shaken, I backed away from you and told you to take him and go. Not to look back. Screamed at you to leave. So you did. I stumbled to your rooms because I wanted to hear the music box once more before the mob descended on me. When I looked up from the monkey, you were standing there. For a few seconds my hopes raised and I thought you had come back to me. The last words I spoke to you were those words I so desperately wanted to hear. I love you. You walked over to me and took my hand. Then you opened it and placed your engagement ring on my palm. And you left me again. I watched you sail away on the boat with him and felt my soul rip apart when you turned and looked back. I sat on my throne and waited for it to end. If the mob found their way down, surely they would kill me. And I would have welcomed it then. That's all I remember. Everything is blackness after that. Until I wake up a newborn a hundred years later."
I sink down on his couch, holding my pounding head in my hand. He sits on the edge of his piano bench, facing me.
"I wish I had no memory of it. Truly I do. I should have left well enough alone."
"I wish you had."
"It's just..." He lets out a long, soft sigh. "I went back for a semester in college. I found that you had come back. You just never made it to me."
"What does that even mean?"
"Your...well...remains, were still dressed in the gown. You had fallen in the secret passageway you often used to come to me. You had suffered some injuries." My fingers go to my forehead. "Yes, your skull was fractured. Broken ankle." I look up at him when his voice cracks. His eyes are closed and he is silently bawling. His head bows and he scrubs at his face with his hands. With a quiet sniff and a cleansing breath his eyes open, staring at me. "I just have a burning need to know why. I suppose I have to accept that I may never know." He stands then, looking quite lost. "I think I'll draw you a bath and retire for the evening. Second door past my bedroom is a second bedroom. I leave it up to you if you'd rather sleep there. I'll understand." The sight of the back of him has tears welling in my eyes.
After several moments I hear him clattering around in the kitchen. When he pokes his head out and sees me still sitting on the couch he comes toward me. In what is now becoming a signature move of his, he offers his hand. I put mine in his and he pulls me up off the couch. He has lit a few candles and there is a mild scent of lavender coming from the bath.
"Go on, I'll check on you in a half hour if you aren't out, in case you fall asleep." He sets a towel on the counter for me and next to that a bottle of aspirin. I sit on the edge of the tub as he leaves the room.
With the first jolt awake I climb out, haphazardly dry off, and down a few of the pills. I blow out the candles and pull his shirt back over me then hesitantly step into his bedroom. I walk over to the side he's laying on, arm wrapped around a pillow.
"Move. You're on my side." His lip curls into a quasi-smile and he pulls himself back. I settle into the spot he just vacated and turn toward him.
"Christine..."
"No. No more tonight, please." His lips close tight and he gives a little nod. He drags the blanket over me and searches for my hand with his. My eyes slide shut and I feel his weight shift. His lips brush against my forehead, pausing briefly until I feel his warm breath against my cheek then it's gone just as quickly.
I wake clinging to him and I'm not sure which of us is to blame. The throbbing in my head has lessened, but still there. I slip from the bed in search of another dose of anything that will help alleviate it. When I return his hand is outstretched, searching. With the lowlight from the bedside lamp I see his eyes meet mine, He smiles sleepily and continues to reach for me. I am as always unable to resist and I take his hand as I slide back beside him. I give him my back and pull his arm around me.
I sigh, "You understand why I am having a difficult time with this, right?" I feel his fingers smoothing my hair back.
"Yes. I'm honestly surprised you are still here with me, after everything."
"So am I." His fingers falter in my curls. "I can't explain it. I mean, yes I do recall strange things. Have all these odd dreams. I see your face in all of them, your eyes, hear your voice. While I'm not quite ready to fully accept that I have been reborn somehow, I don't think you are completely insane."
"Ok. Can we just forget the last twenty four hours or so?"
I laugh softly, much to my surprise. "No, I don't think that's possible."
"Pity. So you don't think I'm completely insane. Just partially? A little bit?"
"No, Erik. I don't think Margaurite is either and she trusts you. I don't see any reason not to as well." I turn to look at him. "You both told me some pretty awful things today and while you may have been reincarnated, you are not that man. And that Christine from the article and the one you knew? I am not her. Try to remember that," I say a bit harsher than intended.
"Yes, my dear. You are right."