Disclaimer: I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note: Sorry for the delay, I had a real struggle with this chapter! I'm still not entirely happy with it but I know if I try to edit it again I'll probably delete the whole thing and start again, which would not be good! :( We are now finally at chapter twenty eight and finally Christine will come to understand who she is... sort of. It's really hard to write Christine at this point, as I struggle to decide how she would react. What I'm hoping is that this Christine is far stronger than my portrayal of her in my other fics. Even if this chapter does bring her to breaking point.
Huge thank you to all who reviewed the previous chapter; TMara, Filhound, Tophatsnoo, audreydianne21, MarilynKC, phantomphan4evr and Erikroolsall. I love your affectionate insults towards Erik and his stupid decision, it really made me laugh :)
Anyways, enough of me rambling, onto the chapter.
NOTE: The italics are just a flashback from the past, not Christine remembering.
Twenty Eight- La Vérité
There was blood everywhere and Christine was screaming, screaming and crying until her lungs gave in and she turned and gagged and choked up bile, spluttering as her shoulders convulsed. The mirror- the small, handheld thing, made of silver and carved with beautiful flowers, that had caused so much trouble- lay several metres away from her where she was sobbing on her knees, cast into the corner. The glass was everywhere- how had it spread so far?- and her skin was weeping with blood, from where the evil little shards had kissed her skin and left destruction in their wake. She couldn't feel it- she couldn't even register that it was her blood. All she could feel and hear and quake with terror for was that God awful howling, like an animal, coming from the man whose mask was now cast aside and lay upon the glittering carpet of razor shards.
She hadn't meant to even bring the stupid thing with her on her journey into the depths of the opera house, down to hell, and it would have been forgotten had they not argued. Argued about some silly thing- he being critical of her singing, she taking it badly, the harsh words becoming more and more heated-
She had forgotten that Erik was delicate. That he was the gunpowder and she the flame, always chancing destruction by coming closer.
She couldn't even remember how it had happened, but she shouting at him, telling him that he was in no position to talk to her like a child when he was so blind to his own imperfection. She remembered fumbling in her bag, finding the stupid little mirror, thrusting it in his face and demanding he look upon it- prove you are not so taken with your own perfection!
He hadn't meant to hurt her, but once gunpowder is set alight the explosion is inevitable. Arms seized by gripping fingers, being shook and screamed at, having the mirror wrenched from frightened fingers and launched across the room, exploding against the wall-
He hadn't meant to hurt her, just as she hadn't meant to hurt him. But it always seemed to happen. It wasn't sustainable- how could the flame ever hope to be close to the gunpowder without destroying everything?
It was impossible.
"Erik-" her voice shook as she stumbled up and saw him amongst the glass, hideous face lacerated all over, with cuts that would bleed forever.
"Get out, you unfeeling wretch! Are you satisfied?! Is your vanity returned?! GET OUT!"
Terrified and sobbing, she ran for her room and bolted the door, falling back against it and sobbing. He was horrifying- he shook her with a fear that no other creature could. But why this clutching heart beat, why this awful guilt? She should hate him for this, hate him for this constant fear.
But Christine knew, within her heart, that fear would not change this awful devotion, this pity for him. She could never hate him. Never.
Christine thought she should at least feel a little nervous, going down the gloomy staircase of Nadir's Parisian home, knowing that the Persian and Raoul where in the parlour waiting for her- waiting to tell her everything- but instead she felt numb. She did not know what to expect and, mercifully, the ignorance was comforting as opposed to terrifying. She wondered what it would feel like, when she finally sat down across from them in that dusty room and they began to tell the tale, her tale- would the words flow and crash within her mind, setting it alight, opening the pathways of her mind that had been barred to her for so long now? Or would it just seem as if they were telling her a story, a fairy tale, and mean nothing?
She had slept badly, unsettled by the events of yesterday and shaken by the look in Raoul and Nadir's eyes when they had finally caught up with her and found her sprawled on the steps of what she now knew was the Opera Populaire. In public, before all of Paris, she had disgraced them all- breaking into a furious temper, screaming at them, scratching Raoul's face and demanding through sobs that they told her why she had come to this place, what it all meant. But by then it had begun to rain, pathetic drizzle from the iron grey skies, and Nadir had refused to do anything but haul Christine onto a horse and bring her home. If she could forget her stinging pride and wounded heart, Christine could admit that Nadir had been right in everything he had done so far, but something in her could not quite accept that. Not when she was still bruised from loosing Erik, and then learning that both he and Raoul- and presumably Nadir too- had been playing games with her since the very beginning.
She didn't feel stupid, necessarily- just hurt. And used.
The large armchair closest to the window was free and Christine gladly claimed it, seeing the stern expressions of the two men who waited in the parlour and immediately feeling her legs turn wobbly. There were two others besides Raoul and Nadir- both women, startling similar, though one was older and looked very much in control, whilst the other was young and had clearly been crying. Her red eyes met Christine's and immediately filled with fresh tears, her lips quivering as if she were about to speak, but the older woman placed her hand on her arm and that simple act seemed to restrain her. Christine stared back, confused as to why she felt her heart squeeze tightly to look upon these strangers. She brought her arms close around herself, needing the security.
"Good morning Christine." Raoul said in a gentle voice, and Christine tried to remember that she was furious with him for his deceit. She looked away slightly when he offered a smile, her lip trembling and threatening humiliating tears. "Did you sleep well?"
Raoul knew she hadn't- he had heard her crying in the night, and she had even screamed out Erik's name once. Hearing it, lying in the dark, had filled him with the need to get up and run to her, to hold her until the tears stopped, but he knew that she was angry and after all, it wasn't him she wanted. He had almost been in tears himself, his heart burning and his fists clenched by his sides, waiting those torturous minutes for her crying to die down once more.
"Don't bother with formalities Raoul." She replied acidly, and the older woman choked a little on a surprised laugh. Christine looked up, startled, and her eyes met with hers. The older woman smiled suddenly, a soft smile, full of affection and love, and it made Christine want to run to her, bury her face against her skirt and bawl.
"Christine is quite right, Vicomte, there is no use in delaying this. I am surprised you have made her wait this long." She said, sternly, as if reprimanding Raoul. Raoul went a little pink and shook his head slightly.
"We were at a loss for what to do, Madame. Though I agree, Christine has suffered enough."
"There is no need to discuss her as if she is not in the room." The woman said sternly again, before turning to Christine and smiling softly again. Christine saw that Nadir was sat back in his chair, his eyes closed, his brow creased with worry and exhaustion. Perhaps it wasn't just her who was suffering from Erik's sudden and brutal departure. "Christine, it has been so very long since I last saw you and I know that I am not alone if I say I have been very concerned about you. I'm so glad that you are alive and, considering the circumstances, well."
"I'm sorry, Madame, but I don't know who you are." Christine said softly, and the woman rose briskly from her chair and came to kneel before her. She was surprisingly agile for her age and still had a figure that many girls would dream of- when she took Christine's hands in her own, there was still energy and strength in those elegant fingers.
"You do know, you simply cannot remember. But that does not need to worry you anymore, my dear, for nothing will be concealed from you again. I promise that to you." she said, shooting an evil eyed look at Raoul and Nadir again, clearly irritated with them both. "My name is Antoinette, though you only ever knew me as Madame Giry. When you came to Paris, at seven years old, it was I who took you in and cared for you, along with my own daughter, Meg."
Christine felt her chest tighten at the names.
"Meg?" she repeated, and the girl sitting across the room nodded. As Christine looked at her, taking in the unruly blonde curls and the exceptionally kind cornflower blue of her eyes, she wondered if she could perhaps remember her, or if it was just her mind playing tricks and being hopeful. "Meg and Antoinette Giry. Forgive me if I ask so many questions, but why did I come to Paris after my father died?"
"Your father had expressed a great deal of concern for your well being- within his will he stated that his daughter should go to Paris, to train in the Conservatorie de Paris, to become an operatic star. You were so unhappy though- so alone and scared. When I took you from there and placed you with Meg and other girls your age, to train as dancers for the chorus at the Populaire, you seemed much happier." Antoinette said, rising from where she had been kneeling and going again to sit beside Meg. Christine frowned a little- she knew that her father had held such dreams for her, for he had often talked about Paris and told her all kinds of stories, but never would she have dreamt that he had been so serious about the idea.
The words- the mention of her loneliness and her fear- seemed to probe at some tender spot in the back of Christine's mind, for her head began to ache a little and she could feel the emotions again, feel the fright and the grief and the longing to be with her father again. She could remember Meg, the blonde girl with the huge smile, who didn't ask questions- she merely took Christine's hand and accepted her, tugging her into her circle of friends and laughter and suddenly, she wasn't alone anymore.
"I can remember playing in the dormitories..." Christine said aloud, her voice strained as she puzzled over the unfamiliar images that resonated so deeply within her. "Meg snapped the ribbons of her ballet shoes, and we were all terrified as to what trouble we would end up in."
Meg nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with the memory.
"Yes! And do you remember when La Sorelli and the other ballerinas would let us dress up in their costumes and make up? How they would coo at us and declare us their mascots?" Meg asked, and Christine shook her head, but she was smiling at the thought of it. She could imagine a group of young children, dressing up in gaudy costumes, rouge and paint all over their faces, running wild in the wings- "Oh I'm so glad you're alright Christine, I was so worried about you."
Meg suddenly got up and came over to her, pulling her up from the chair and enveloping her in a fierce hug. The feeling of Meg's curls tickling her cheek, and her violet scent, filled Christine with déjà vu and she clung just as tightly onto her best friend, so happy in that moment to know that she had friends, who would take care of her, be honest with her. So many times in the gypsy clan she had cried because she felt worthless and nothing more than a lonely beggar- so many times she had felt abandoned and forgotten. To know that she was none of these things was so glorious she felt she could laugh or cry, or both together.
"We'll find our way through this awful tangle, I promise." Meg sniffled pitifully when she eventually let go of Christine, wiping her eyes with a curl of blonde hair. "Monsieur Khan and Monsieur le Vicomte think it would be a good idea for me to take you around the Opera Populaire, once we have talked things through. They said that your memories were triggered by experiences, so perhaps to go to the place you have lived and breathed since you were seven years old might help you to remember."
"Yes I would like to try that." Christine agreed, wiping her own eyes and returning to her seat in the window. The numb sensation was slowly being replaced with an overwhelming sense of love for these people and all they were doing for her, even wretched Raoul and Nadir, with their artful cover-ups. Even Erik- especially Erik- wherever he may be. "From what you have told me, then, my understanding is this- I came to Paris aged seven on the wishes of my dying father, to train to become a singer, but instead came to be a dancer?" Christine asked, and Antoinette closed her eyes momentarily. Christine felt a nauseous twinge creeping up into her stomach, along with the awful premonition that something horrible was going to happen. Or rather had already happened, and she was soon going to become acquainted with it.
"You are correct, in part, Christine. You trained, under my teaching, to become a dancer along with the other girls. And when I deemed you to be ready, you all went on to join to the ballet chorus of the opera. The Populaire ballet is world famous- you were all remarkably skilled." Antoinette said carefully, and Christine could not help but feel suspicious of that guarded tone. She hated to think badly of Madame Giry, who was clearly a wonderful woman, but it was too obvious to ignore- she was holding something back. "Nadir, perhaps you will be better than I when it comes to explaining this?"
Nadir nodded slightly, seeing that Christine's eyes were now firmly fixed onto him, wide and uncertain of what to feel. He knew she wasn't stupid- she would know that anything he told would have to somehow relate to Erik, seeing as both he and Raoul had yet to feature in this narrative. But now- with Antoinette and Meg both here- was not the time to begin explaining how Christine had managed to become entangled with a deformed madman, who stalked and kidnapped and murdered. She was still far too fragile for that tale.
"Christine, you were a dancer, but as I'm sure you know better than I, your natural affinity and talent lies with music and singing. When you were seventeen and had been in the chorus for many years, there was a change in management of the Populaire and amidst all the calamity and fuss, there was a problem with the leading soprano and the company was left without its star. The evening performance would have been ruined, for there was no understudy. But it seemed that you had learned this opera, overhearing it in rehearsals, singing it to yourself, and in an extraordinary moment you flew from chorus girl to operatic star. You were an instant sensation- Paris adored you." Nadir said in his calm, guarded tones, and Christine listened with an open mouth, astonished. Once he had finished, there was a moment of silence.
Then Christine burst into manic laughter.
"Nadir I think you've gone mad- that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in all my life!" she gasped, the laughter a little hysterical as she contemplated also being furious with the Persian for making up ridiculous stories when all she wanted was the truth. "Whoever heard of a chorus girl, a dancer, taking over the lead role in an opera? The talent required for such a thing- it is not something you could simply do having taught yourself the lines! Dear God, you expect me to believe such a- a-"
"I assure you that Nadir speaks the truth." Raoul said quietly, and Christine stopped laughing and stared at him, feeling a little ill now. "I was there the night it happened, attending the gala. You were simply extraordinary- your voice was heavenly. No one in Paris had heard anything like it, and overnight you became an icon of the city, the Queen of the Opera Populaire."
"But I don't... I can't... I'm not an opera singer!" Christine protested, waiting for Madame Giry or Meg to burst in and correct Nadir and Raoul, to say that she had in fact been a dancer and then broken a foot and become a dress maker or something like that, something mundane and simple and normal! "I've never been an opera singer! My father might have dreamt it once, when I was very young, but that was all it ever was- a dream! I refuse to believe that I could possibly have- have- I was a gypsy tramp for the last year for goodness sakes! How can a gypsy tramp be an operatic star?!"
"Why do you think that Emilian was so set upon keeping you in his filthy clutches?" Nadir asked, his face twisting wit h disgust as he mentioned the name of that beast. "He knew who you were, what talent you possessed. You were a guaranteed success Christine- you could have brought in profits that he and his other filthy vermin could only have dreamt of."
Christine shivered to hear that name spoken again- she brought her fingers to her temples, massaging the dull ache that was throbbing there, trying not to let Nadir's words scare her. Because it did make sense- the reason that the gypsy clan had made her sing for them, the explanation as to why she had always felt so comfortable singing, even on that stage on the night of their escape- why, it even explained how she had been able to sing that operatic aria selected from Erik's music that first night they sang together!
It just seemed such madness. No wonder Raoul and Nadir had been furious at her for running off into Paris yesterday- perhaps she would have been mobbed if people recognised who she was!
"It seems like a fairy tale. Not... not my life." Christine said in a numb voice, before suddenly looking up and fixing Raoul with a hard, narrow eyed stare. "Wait- did you say that you were there the night of this... stunning debut of mine, Raoul?"
"Yes, I did say that." He replied, swallowing nervously as Christine stared at him- she had worn a similar expression in her room at the inn, before she had slapped him across the face for revealing his deceit and saying all the wrong things. He couldn't help but feel anxious as to what she was going to say.
"Why were you there?" she asked, in a firm tone, as if also telling him that if he dared to play games with her again she would not tolerate it. From across the room, Meg looked worriedly from Christine to Raoul and back again, wondering what had happened between these two to cause such tension. The last time she had seen them, they had been desperately in love but it did not seem that way anymore. It wasn't even just because Christine was clearly fuming and wanted nothing more than to have a screaming row- it was everything about them, their body language, their posture, their eyes...
When Christine and Raoul had been in love, they would align themselves to one another's presence, as if they were stars in orbit, held together by strong forces that could not be broken. Those forces had been their love, and Raoul's fierce protection of Christine- now she clearly did not need protection, and that alignment had long been lost.
"I was there because my family became patrons of the Opera Populaire." Raoul said in a soft voice, remembering that day so clearly- he had been so excited to finally have a purpose, to become immersed in something, especially something as wonderful as the arts. Christine's father had instilled that love of music within him and such things are not easily lost. "I was showing my support, but also enjoying an evening of fine entertainment."
"And did you make contact with me once you had seen me?" Christine asked, almost scared to know the answer. "Or was it beneath the Vicomte in his family box to talk to the lowly chorus girl who might have once been a childhood friend?"
Raoul had promised himself, and Nadir, before they began this morning that he would remain in full control of himself and not let Christine goad him into anger or hysteria. She was angry with him and had the right to be, but he had now reached the point where he could no longer face her scathing comments, especially not in front of the Giry's. A little pink, flushed with anger, Raoul brought his fists crashing down on the armrests of the armchair.
"For God's sakes Christine, of course it wasn't beneath me. I was in love with you, damn it! And to set the facts straight and clear, whilst I still have the chance, you loved me too." Raoul snapped, and Nadir unleashed a stream of profanities, thumping the Vicomte hard on the arm. "There is no point in shouting at me Nadir, it needed to be said. Better now than later."
"You know full well, you complete ass, that getting angry and unleashing such facts with such uncaring velocity will help no one!" Nadir retorted sharply.
"Antoinette, is this all true?" Christine asked in a faint voice, and the older woman nodded sagely, before shooting another enraged glare towards Nadir and Raoul- clearly she was unhappy with their manner, and with Nadir's foul mouth. "Dear God Raoul. Is there anything else that I should know?!"
"We were engaged, when... the event happened." Raoul said sullenly, and Christine suddenly looked as if she were really about to faint. "But that was the past Christine. I don't hold you to that agreement- consider it forgotten."
There was an awkward pause, where Christine just stared in horror at a slightly pink cheeked Raoul, who was suddenly very interested in inspecting his shoes. Nadir muttered another foul word, startling Christine out of her shocked daze, and she suddenly slumped back into the chair, looking exhausted and confused. Meg felt awful to see her best friend looking like that- indeed, she must be exhausted, hearing all this information at once, and to have such important information announced so unceremoniously must only worsen the confusion. Meg was about to interject and suggest to Nadir that they leave this discussion for later, once Christine's mind had had the time to collect and recover from this veritable bombardment, but Christine suddenly spoke and the chance was lost.
"I feel as if you are neglecting to tell me something. It still doesn't quite make sense- that a dancer could become an opera singer." She said softly. She was bone white- clearly still reeling with shock having heard that she had a fiancé she knew nothing about, and that the fiancé was not the man she was in love with- and her voice shook. Nadir took this opportunity, as under handed as it was, and shook his head at her.
"I think it would be better, Christine, if we continue this conversation later." He said gently, and before Christine could protest, he turned quickly to Meg. "Would it be possible to take Christine to the Populaire, just quickly, to see if anything we have discussed can be...consolidated?"
Meg nodded and soon she was leading Christine up and out of the door, leaving an anxious Nadir, a stern faced Antoinette and a scarlet cheeked Raoul sat alone in the parlour, all feeling similarly drained and helpless.
"This isn't going to end well, is it?" Raoul muttered darkly, and Nadir turned and clouted him about the head.
"Not if you keep being too blunt, Raoul, no it won't!" he snapped. "Christine knows that we purposefully haven't mentioned Erik. She has probably already made the connections we are neglecting to mention and I don't want her to start to imagine things that aren't true, not when the truth is already so unbelievable-"
"I think perhaps Meg and I should leave before you explain the matter of Erik and the Opera Ghost to her, Nadir." Antoinette shook her head sadly, unable to comprehend that Christine- who looked the same as ever- could really not remember anything about her life at the Populaire. It was an unthinkable situation and Antoinette did not know who out of this miserable tangle was suffering the most- poor Christine, or dear foolish Erik, or even Raoul and Nadir, who had to pick up those broken pieces and bear the consequences.
Out on the Parisian streets, oblivious to the other pedestrians and the architecture and even the presence of Meg beside her, Christine walked along in a daze, her head feeling thick and full and confused with thoughts and feelings and a sensation of being helplessly lost. There wasn't a single thing out of what they had told her that she could grasp onto and feel connected- it was as if it was all slipping through her fingers, passing comments, refusing to stick. Parisian opera star...engaged to Raoul...friends with ballerinas and living in an opera house...it was as if Christine's mind were still barricaded, keeping these facts out, telling her that they were nothing but treacherous lies and false hopes. Perhaps if it were Erik telling her, she might have cause to believe them- after all, it was obvious to her where the story was headed. No one, even the most talented of all, could achieve such a thing on their own. Christine could have laughed it was so obvious; Erik must have been her tutor. The caring, loving tutor, who crafted the voice of his young and adoring pupil into something heavenly, angelic, beautiful...
Perhaps she had been beautiful to him in other ways, too. It wouldn't be the first she had ever heard of a teacher and their pupil falling in love; perhaps they had fallen helplessly, and Erik was afraid to tell her, because of the scandalous connotations of such a thing?
Oh Erik, Christine thought wildly, why must you be so very foolish? I love you now and I must have loved you then- why would you think I would be disgusted? In fact, the thought of some forbidden love affair made Christine's heart race. It didn't occur to her that she might have somehow misinterpreted the facts so catastrophically.
Beside her silent friend, Meg was trying to work up the courage to say something and break this endless silence. Even through the shouting and swearing and general rush of the streets she could hear and feel the silence- it had never been like that before, and Christine looked no different to her best friend of all these years, so why couldn't she just speak to her? Meg couldn't even start to comprehend what it must be like to lose yourself so utterly. She didn't know yet what had happened to Christine or how she had wound up back in Paris, with a dishevelled Nadir and Raoul in tow, but she didn't need facts to determine that the ordeal had been horrific. Christine's eyes bore the haunted look of one who has seen hell, and her bruises and cuts and skinny frame did not suggest otherwise. During their conversation this morning, Meg had watched her closely and seen that- at fleeting moments- Christine had seemed to dissolve into sheer misery, but within seconds the look would have vanished and she would be emotionless.
Christine had never been so unreachable before- even now, as Meg gripped onto her hand, to steer her through the warren of cobbled streets, she was still so far away. But Meg didn't let such things control her and she would be damned before she let them control Christine too!
"I know I said it already, but I'm so glad that you're safe, Christine." Meg gave a beaming smile as they finally cleared the market stalls, which were a battleground more than a place to shop. "The night of the fire and Don Juan and the chandelier crash was so frightening. No one could find you and of course, people thought the worst. But then the Vicomte went missing too and I suppose it became accepted that you had eloped. It's what everyone thinks."
Christine smiled back at Meg, not quite sure of the details, but knowing from the warm feeling in her heart that she had been close to this cheery girl, and that she would be a friend to her amongst all this tangled chaos. The words 'chandelier crash' flared up in her mind as Meg spoke, making her head ache again and reminding Christine of the ordeal she had come through to get here- the similarities between that event and the words of Meg were impossible to ignore.
"Don Juan? Chandelier crash?" she repeated, changing her tone to sound as innocently confused as possible- Meg would take pity on that. "I'm afraid I don't really know what you're talking about. I don't know how much you've been told, Meg-" the name even felt familiar on her tongue "- but I haven't any memories of Paris. I'm utterly ignorant."
"Oh! Yes, I was told- I'm sorry Christine, I don't mean to go too fast with these things, these details." Meg went pink, and Christine gave her hand a gentle squeeze, to reassure her. "There was a big commotion, a disaster actually, with a chandelier crash and a fire and even the death of our leading tenor, but I won't go into all that now. It's not...pleasant, if you understand."
Christine nodded, wondering why there was a definite tug on her heart when Meg said those words. It was clear that Meg didn't like to talk about it, that it was a horrible thing that had happened, but the fact remained that it bore unavoidable resemblance to her own experiences when escaping the gypsy clan. Christine resolved to ask Raoul or Nadir later- no matter how unpleasant, it could not simply be brushed over.
She was about to find the courage to ask Meg about a singing tutor, hoping that she would find a description of Erik and begin to unveil that particular mystery- Christine was starting to feel as if her life were nothing more than a series of strange occurrences veiled in shadow and intrigue- but then she and Meg rounded a corner and the Opera Populaire was right before their eyes, nestled at the end of the cobbles, shining in magnificent glory as it cast it's imperious gaze over the rest of Paris. Christine smiled to see it again, this building that seemed to sing to her, like a siren call. She only hoped that this was not as sinister as the siren, and that she would not meet a miserable end by answering its sweet song.
They made their way up the steps and Meg walked straight into the ostentatiously decorated foyer without even a pause- the grand and imposing decor had no effect on her any more, she had been exposed to it so many times. But Christine was not so immune; once in that glorious room she could not help but freeze and let a cry of delight escape from her lips, tears pouring down her cheeks as she realised that this room was not unfamiliar to her! Dear God, she remembered the sound of heeled shoes against that polished floor- she remembered that smell, of polish and roses and decadence, because somehow in here decadence could have a presence, it filled the room so utterly- she could feel all those twisted nerves and excitement from all those years ago, peeking out at the masses of finely dressed aristocrats, wondering how she would ever be able to dance for these fine creatures-
"Christine, what is it?" Meg gasped, catching her arm, looking terrified, but Christine could do nothing except smile, and laugh and cry, until Meg realised and joined in, hugging her right there in the foyer. "Oh you silly thing- I'm so glad! I knew that this would help you! Come on- I'll take you to every room if I need to!"
They ran, giggling like schoolgirls, through the masses of corridors and passageways, and even though the other people they passed saw just who it was and turned pale and cried out for them to stop, to wait, to explain, Meg and Christine could not care. They were immune to anything save for this sudden exhilaration- it was going to be alright. These rooms and their memories were the trigger- Christine would remember everything, and it would at long last be alright-
When they finally reached a door, down yet several more winding passages, Meg turned and grinned with a joy that simply could not be dulled.
"I think that you'll like this, Christine." She was quivering with excitement, opening the door and bustling her wide eyed friend through, just desperate to see the reaction.
Meg pulled Christine a few steps more, through the messy wings, and suddenly the tight space opened up and spread before them, a flower suddenly bursting open and unveiling its beauty. It was impossible to comprehend, impossible to take in, impossible to do anything other than slowly turn and stare and cry with wonder and amazement-
They stood upon the empty stage of the Opera Populaire, gazing out at the endless rows and boxes of empty seats, and Christine could not help it- she fell to her knees and sobbed with joy on that stage, because she knew it! She could feel all those times she had danced on this stage, feel the nauseous mixture of nerves and excitement, feel the rumble of the thunderous applause echoing through her whole body and making her quiver with pride! She could feel the tremble in her limbs, taking shaking steps out there onto that empty stage, alone and unguarded, dropping into a deep curtsey for the audience as the music began to rise from the orchestra pit, swallowing her whole in that sea of sound and ecstasy- she could feel the music falling from her lips, feel her voice soaring from deep within, feel the joy as she and she alone brought this audience to their feet, drowning in their praise, their love!
Christine felt those sensations wash over her, fill her entirely, and as she gazed up at the glittering chandelier, back where it belonged at the centre of the room, she could feel the barricades and locks and closed doors of her mind opening. Slowly, it would come back to her. She would remember. It was only a matter of time.
"When the accident happened, the fire destroyed the orchestra pit and the first rows of seats. The damage was minimal- we were rehearsing again, on this stage, within months. The chandelier took longer, but we've had it commanding us once more for a few months now." Meg smiled at Christine and patted her on the shoulder gently. "You're feeling fine, Christine? You're not overwhelmed?"
"No, I'm... I'm in awe. I had forgotten- I had forgotten how much love I hold within me for this place, Meg." Christine whispered, suddenly feeling elite, the furthest from the grubby gypsy girl she had ever been. Could it really be that she had commanded this stage, sang her heart out to this huge audience, the star of the Paris opera? She found that her eyes took her to the boxes, scanning along them and lingering on Box 5, her smile widening as again she felt love wash over her. She did not know why, but she could not look away from the silent box. "It just doesn't seem possible that I could have...could have..."
"You were extraordinary, Christine." Meg smiled and took her hand, leading her away from the stage, that smile widening when she saw that Christine was still craning her neck to look, not wanting to lose that sight and those feelings. She took one last longing glance and then finally allowed Meg to direct her again. "Everyone was in awe. It's hard to explain, but there was something about your voice that seemed beyond Earth- it felt like listening to the music of heaven, and angels."
Christine shivered at those words, Erik's face flashing through her mind. The music of heaven- that, or simply the music of love. Christine slumped against the wall when they reached the next door, and Meg dashed in ahead of her and begged her to remain outside, feeling incredibly drained all of a sudden. She would be quite happy to go back to Nadir's home now, to lay down on that creaking bed she had been given, to simply close her eyes and let all of this absorb into her mind. She was still worried that the feelings and memories and experiences had saturated her and they would simply drift off again.
But then Meg was bustling her into this next room, a busy and crowded place- the ballet dormitories. Christine immediately froze as she was pounced upon by a flurry of girls in tutus, all squealing and jostling and bright pink in the face as they clamoured to embrace her.
"Christine! It's so good to see you! We've all missed you so!"
"Do tell us all about it! We're so envious of you!"
"I can't believe you ran off with the Vicomte- how romantic!"
"I'm so happy you're back!"
Although it was astonishing, Christine found there was an immense comfort amid this mild chaos- they were all so eagerly endearing that she couldn't truly mind when they clamoured for details or squeezed her with just a little too much energy (she was still bruised and very tender)
"Stop it, give her some space! She's exhausted from her journey here!" Meg said gravely and all the girls suddenly looked crestfallen, shuffling backwards to give Christine space to breathe. She looked at them, these ballerinas, and she knew that she had once been an integral part of this gossiping group. She could just feel it, from somewhere within her. "I'm sorry Christine, I told them that you ran off with the Vicomte, I didn't want to spoil your news but you know how they are..."
Meg's obvious hint for Christine to go along with this plausible theory went unnoticed by the giggling ballerinas but Christine nodded slightly, still not quite able to think of Raoul and engagement without feeling a little nauseous. It just seemed so utterly ridiculous- he was like a brother to her, more than anything else! And he was a Vicomte- was the expectation that she fall into line and melt seamlessly into the aristocracy? She had clearly been willing once upon a time, or why had she accepted his proposal?
"That's alright Meg, I understand." She gave a small smile, perching on the end of one of the sadly sagging beds and looking around her again at this dormitory- it was, of course, far less beautiful and decadent than the rest of the opera house but the warmth and familiarity still resonated through her.
The girls swarmed her again, though with less ferocity this time, and Meg could finally relax, smile, and sit beside Christine, enjoying being with her best friend again.
"What actually happened, then? Can you tell us?" a girl with very light brown hair asked- that's Alice, Christine thought as the knowledge suddenly came into her head, I remember her because she had three older brothers who doted upon her and beat up the lecherous stable boy. I always wanted a family as large and loving as that. "Because we were so worried when you disappeared- we supposed that the chandelier fall must have killed you!"
"No, no, nothing as bad as that." Christine laughed weakly, shooting Meg a questioning look at the mention of a chandelier fall again. "I was simply with the Vicomte- Raoul. But if you could perhaps tell me a little about the chandelier fall, I-"
"I don't think that's a very good idea, Christine, it's very upsetting." Meg blurted suddenly, earning curious looks from the other girls as she flushed red. Meg wasn't quite sure why, but she knew that talking about the night of Don Juan was a bad idea. In fact, now she thought about it, Nadir had said something to her mother about it...something to do with a man called Erik? The name meant absolutely nothing to Meg, but Nadir's face had seemed so grave when he said it, Meg couldn't help but speculate that it must be something terrible.
"Surely it can't hurt to know at least some of the details?" Christine argued lightly, and Meg felt suddenly torn- she had promised Christine that she would help her, tell her anything she wanted to know, and looking at her now she knew that Christine had the right to her own life. But still it did not shake this awful feeling inside that something was going to go horribly wrong. "Please- tell me. What happened that night?"
Another girl, called Elise, edged closer to Christine and took her hands. She had very pale blue eyes, tinged with grey, and they were full of concern.
"What would you like to know?" she asked, and Christine could have laughed- the list was endless, but of course none of these smiling faces knew that.
"The details of that night- you can start from the beginning, even the parts I would have seen, if you like." Christine urged and the girl nodded.
"Well, it was the night of Don Juan. You were performing in the lead role, singing beautifully as always, and despite the scandal of the opera itself everything was going flawlessly." Elise said in a matter of face voice, and Christine nodded. She could see it- the stage decorated with fire and reds and blacks and heavy drapes, the shocked faces of the audience as they saw the provocative dancing and heard the seductive tones of the music, beautiful but haunting music... For an inexplicable reason, it was the duet she and Erik had sung that filled her head. "But then it all started to go a little strangely. After the climatic duet, between yourself and the male lead, you both stopped playing your parts and had a conversation on stage. Then you kissed, which I suppose was part of the production, but before it could continue the chandelier broke free from the ceiling and plummeted into the stage. You and the male lead fell through the trapdoor and seemed to escape the crash, but no one could find you afterwards."
Christine felt as if she were going to be sick. Those events- a falling chandelier in the middle of a duet, an escape through a trapdoor- mirrored exactly the events of the night she had escaped the gypsy clan. This could not be coincidence- Christine stood up, intending to leave now, to go back to Nadir and Raoul and to demand what precisely was going on-
"Of course, we all thought that you'd been taken by the Opera Ghost." Another girl chipped in, and there was a sudden roaring sound in Christine's ears. Her legs felt numb and shaking- she fell back onto the bed, trembling, her lips draining of their colour-
"What?" she asked, and Meg gasped to see the change in expression of her dearest friend. "What did you say?"
"Clarissa, don't-" Meg began frantically, gripping onto Christine's arm, trying to urge her to get up and walk away from this room and these stupidly giggling girls. "Christine, please, we have to go now-"
"The Opera Ghost. You know, Christine- the masked madman, the hideous ghoul, the Phantom of the Opera." The girl, Clarissa, said as if it were common knowledge. "Don Juan was his opera. He killed Piangi, the leading male, that night- we found him hung by the neck after the fire. I know I'm not alone in thinking that he had taken you and killed you!"
"Christine, it's only a silly myth, they're just telling stories, Christine-!"
Meg's voice sounded very far away all of a sudden, as Christine stood up slowly from the bed. Tears were dripping down her cheeks, icy cold, and she reached up to touch them, not understanding them or knowing why-
She closed her eyes, trying to lessen the screaming fiery burn that had started again at the scar on her head, the place that would forever bear the mark of the trauma-
In the dark space behind her eyelids was the voice from her nightmares, from the gypsy clan, the screaming, sobbing voice that promised her he would never let her go, never let her escape, never let her see the light of day again-
Only now that voice had a face. Erik's face. Erik's hideous, twisted, warped and ugly face, where his yellow eyes burned with an anguished rage that demanded so much of her. Too much.
"No, Erik, no-!" she cried out suddenly, sobbing uncontrollably as her eyelids sprang open, eyes pooled with horror and realisation, the tears pouring as her entire body shuddered with revulsion and terror and incredible sadness. The other girls all began to scream in their typical, hysterical way, and it was left to Meg to catch her as she fell once again to the floor, sobbing and sobbing that name- Erik- as if her heart were breaking.
"No, Erik, it can't be you! It can't be! Not you, anyone but you-!"
Meg had no idea what to do. Christine was hysterical- sobbing that name over and over, until she spluttered and choked and gagged. Meg was terrified for her, and she became suddenly furious at all the horrified faces staring down at her and gawking- she yelled at those stupid ballerinas, scattering them, demanding that they go and fetch someone to bring Nadir or the Vicomte, to bring them to help her, to help Christine-
Had Erik been there, he might have found the situation wretchedly ironic, seeing her dissolve into hysteria on the floor as she sobbed and sobbed his name. Because it was not the fact that she had realised his mad, evil, murderous ways that had reduced Christine Daae to this mad, sad, hysterical wreck. It was the fact that she had realised his evil, but still loved him. Loved him so desperately, she did not understand it- loved him so awfully that it scared her.
She refused to believe it could be true, but his face was there, screaming and sobbing whenever she closed her eyes. At last Christine had been given the truth- and she wanted nothing more than to forget it all.