Christine dans Deux
An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story
Nyasia A. Maire
© 2006
DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Six – A Walk in the Night
I lay in Erik's bed and surrendered myself to complete and utter self-pity. Then, I wiped my foolish tears, got up and went to Erik's desk. I found paper, quill and ink and began to put these thoughts onto paper. And now, I have brought you to where I currently exist. I've been writing now for the last four hours and I think it's time to either go up to Paris or try to find my way home. No. I won't go home. Not yet. I can't give up this easily. At the very least I have to try. I have until dawn to try to find Erik and then I must attempt to return to my home. I cannot abandon Trystin. As much as I want Erik, I need my daughter more. I tell myself that Erik is here somewhere and I'm going to try and find him. Perhaps, Madame Giry can help me. My clothing is not suitable for 19th century Paris, so I begin to look for a cloak to cover my clothes. Erik's clothes are too long, but I find a short tapestry covering a mirror that is about the right size. I pull it down and wrap it about my shoulders. I find a broach to use as a clasp. I gaze into the mirror and see a sad, frightened woman clutching a cane and a candle. I straighten my back, clear my throat and begin to make my way out of Erik's home. I find a passageway that seems to lead upwards behind one of the mirrors in Erik's bedroom and decide to try that way. The path twists ever up and soon my leg is aching, but I can't turn back. I need to know why Erik was brought to me and why I, in turn, had been brought here. I lean against the wall to rest for a few minutes and find myself thinking of the music from the movie. I feel so lonely. I start to sing "No One Would Listen." Quietly at first and then with growing certainty I sing. It is the music that will help me, will help us. As I finish the last line, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I quickly blow out my candle and wait in the darkness with my back pressed hard against the wall. The sounds become louder and I see a dim light ahead of me.
Too late I realize my foolhardiness. The catacombs of Paris in 1870 are probably a dangerous place for anyone much less a lame woman. At least I can use my cane as a defense against anything, but a gun. I change my grip on my cane and wait. The steadily approaching light provides its bearer clear sight of the path ahead and it offers me the sight of its bearer.