Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Eighteen – A Dream and A Nightmare

I am in a place of darkness and the faint light I see is a dark blood red. I peer uselessly about me. I do not believe I have ever been here before. I see nothing familiar, yet I know this place and I am deathly afraid. I desperately try to find a way out, to make my way into the sunlight. But I am lost in the blood red light. I cast my arms about as I walk trying to feel something familiar, perhaps a wall, a window, a door? And then I notice the sound. I don't know if it was always here or if I simply didn't notice it before. It is a heavy, wet sound. A gurgling. I freeze. No, not gurgling. Breathing. The sound echoes all around me seeming to come from everywhere and no where. I panic and begin to run. No matter which way I run, the breathing becomes louder and louder. I am running in the dark with my hands covering my ears. The breathing stops. A scream pierces the darkness. I fall. The walls squeeze the breath from my lungs and I drown in the thick blood red light.

I sit up and realize I had been dreaming. I sit waiting for my breathing to slow and my heart to stop pounding in my chest. Where did that come from? I hadn't a nightmare since I was a child, except for the ones I had after Adrianna died. This dream is different. I know that place or … will know that place or ... knew that place? I shudder and hug myself. I feel sticky and sweaty and decide a swim will wash away the nightmare.

I think, "I wonder that Erik didn't sense my nightmare. Maybe he's distracted by T or maybe, this was no dream."

I choose a skirt of dark purple. It has a small bustle and therefore satisfies the requirements of dress for the time and doesn't hamper my ability to move to greatly. I choose a dove gray blouse with a minimum of ruffles and a pair of gray shoes.

I lay my clothes out on the bed and then go to the wardrobe for a towel. I take one off the shelf, close the door and head down the stairs. The lake is deepest near Erik's living room. Since I hadn't touched the bottom the only other time I went swimming, my best guess would be the it's probably about 10' deep (give or take.) (Oh! There aren't really any candelabras in the lake. The movie took liberties with that as well.) I see that Erik and Trystin are sitting next to each other on the bench in front of the organ. He is showing her how to play a scale. I move quietly so as not to disturb the lesson in progress and make my way to the edge of the lake. I sit on the edge and pull my nightgown up over my head and then fold it neatly. I place it behind me and then slide down into the water.

"Oh! It's colder than the other day!" I think to myself. But I soon become accustomed to the temperature. I silently glide through the water reveling in its silky embrace. I wash away the sweat and stickiness of the night before. I dive and surface, dive and surface, but all this I do silently. I realize I am trying to wash away my nightmare's hold on me. I want to drown the dream. And most of all, I do not want the dream to find Erik or Trystin.

"What? What did I just think? How can a dream find someone?" I muse. "Why is this bothering me so much? It was a dream and nothing more. Okay, so I know it wasn't just a dream. What can I do about it? I really don't want them to know. They need not to know. I'm sure of that. The only one I can speak to about it is Madame. Yes. That feels safe. I do not know why, but I feel certain there is a good reason I should not speak of it to Erik and I absolutely must not allow Trystin to hear that I had a nightmare much less hear the details of the dream. Well, to Madame's room I must go. But I must go alone."

I roll over onto my back and lie floating in the still water. I watch the reflections of the candle light bouncing up from the water and up onto the ceiling. It has almost has the appearance of a starry nighttime sky.

"I'm procrastinating." I let myself sink into the water, roll over and swim submerged to the rocky edge of the lake. I slip from the water and taking up the towel, I dry off my face. I wrap the towel about me then wring the water from my hair. I retrieve my gown and begin to climb the bedroom stairs. I see Erik and Trystin have moved from the organ to Erik's model of the opera's stage. They seem to be using the Erik's figurines to act out something, perhaps, an opera. I smile as I stop and watch for a moment.

"They both have someone to play with now." I observe silently.

I return to the bedroom. Instead of bothering with the skirt, I slip on a pair of black trousers and the burgundy blouson. I slip on my socks and then pull on my boots, checking my knives. Still there, good. I gather my hair up and wring out the water one more time. Then finger comb the mass. Surprisingly (at least to me it's surprising,) when I look into the mirror I think, "Not bad. Not too bad at all!"

I walk up to the mirror and push against the left side. It swings inwards. I reach up and retrieve a lit candle. Using my memory of my previous trip as guide (more than the pitiful candle light) I soon find myself outside Madame's door.

"That trip is considerably easier and faster now that I no longer need my cane."

I wrap softly on the door. After a moment the door opens a few inches and Madame peers out.

"May I come in? I believe the two of us need to speak in private."

"Yes, of course, my dear. Please come in." She opens the door and I once again enter her cozy room.

"Have a seat, my dear. Does Erik know you are here?" She glances at my clothes, but says nothing.

"No. He doesn't, but I have reason to keep this hidden from both of them. If they knew I believe it would endanger them."

"You are prescient? What have you seen?"

"If you mean do I see the future? No. My gifts are many and questionable. Sometimes I know the present and often I can see the past. I can hear the thoughts of others and worse, share their feelings. I can speak the quiet talk and have a pneumonic memory. I cannot see the future. And sometimes, I misinterpret the things my voice tells me. I'm not perfect and I'm no angel. Madame! I had a dream … no, a nightmare."

"When?" She breathes sharply.

"About an hour or so ago."

"Then it has begun and we must make our plans. You and your daughter's very existence depend on the actions we must now plan. And, my dear Erik's happiness as well. Please, my dear, tell me of your dream."

I quickly relay all of the details of the dream to her. I leave nothing out and I tell her of my certainty that even hearing I had the dream is dangerous for my daughter and I don't know why, so I caution her.

"Please make no mention of it to anyone. Not even to Erik. The dream is not dangerous to him, but I know it can hurt him. I don't know how. I just know that it can. It almost feels as if the dream is something alive."

"It is. It is, my dear. I had said that we needed to speak with one another, yes? Well, the matriarch spoke to me and not just about helping the two of you. She warned me that there were forces of nature gathering which would attempt to create a rift in time. The herald of the rift is the death of a mother and her unborn child. She said protect the mother and child and the rift would be thwarted." Her troubled eyes bored into mine. "Do you have any idea why this affects you and your child?"

"No, how can a child not yet born affect us?"

"A child not yet born, now." She places heavy emphasis on the last word.

"And although we are here. We, in actuality, have not been born yet. Somehow this child is a relation of mine. We must be directly descended from this child, yes?"

"Yes. Do you know your lineage?"

"I once read the family genealogy. Once. I must have been 16, maybe 17 years old. After the accident that claimed my mother's life, my youngest sister ended up with the documents. I tried to have her make me a copy, but she never did. The only ancestor I remember that was French was a Comte and Countess de Wolfe. I don't even remember their first names. My grandmother was quite fond of telling people about our being descendants of French royalty. That the lower case d indicated royalty."

"That is true. Then it is likely that the child upon whose birth your life depends is the Countess de Wolfe. You cannot remember her maiden name? I thought memory was one of your gifts?"

"It is, but only when I hear it. I do not have a photographic memory."

"That is unfortunate. However, based on how the fates have arranged these circumstances, I believe I know who the mother of this child is."

"Please, Madame! Who?"

"Christine."

I pause momentarily believing she is speaking my name and then I realize she is speaking the Mother's name.

"Christine Daae? Am I one of her descendants?" That is ironic. Eric could not help but be drawn to Christine Daae. Her blood runs in my veins. No wonder we were able to find each other. Without her, I would not exist." I hesitate. "Then that means I am descended of Raoul de Chagny as well."

"Perhaps, my dear. I am sorry if that is the case. However, you said that you had a plan to free her from her loveless marriage."

"What if my plan causes the rift?"

"No, it is the death of Christine and her unborn daughter that create the rift. You do realize what will happen to you and your daughter if these deaths are not prevented?"

"Yes, we will cease to exist and Erik will become as he was. A halved soul."

She nods her head in agreement.

"I will not allow my dear boy to suffer that loss. Not now that I have seen him truly happy. And I cannot allow either you or your child to cease. You are both very special. You both have become dear to me which seems strange since I have known you both but a short time." She shrugs. "That does not matter. Time does not matter. The ones we love are all that matter. And, I love Erik, you and Trystin! Besides my Meg, you are all the family I know. I am not about to lose my family."

"Madame, Christine miscarried the baby she conceived the night of the performance of Il Muto. Is this true? Or did she visit the gypsies and abort it?"

She lowers her gaze to the floor and remains silent.

"Madame! It is imperative that I know! I have the right to know! For if she did abort the child there is hope. If she did not, well, things become much more complicated."

"Yes, child, you do have the right to know, but I promised her …"

"And, by not answering, you have answered. Then, there is hope. The child she carried then would have survived if she had not ended the pregnancy. So, when she conceives again that child has equal chance of surviving. So, that means the threat to Christine and her baby come from something outside of her body. Not from within."

I sit in silence. The next question is one that I do not wish to ask for the answer I suspect to be the truth makes me burn with hatred. I breathe deeply to calm myself. Erik must not feel my rage.

"Madame, Cecile, do you believe Raoul would beat her?"

She seems startled by my use of her Christian name, but seems to take strength from it. She clears her throat.

"He beat her the day he first took her. She told me it excited him when she fought him, but then she scratched his face and he went wild. He took both sides of her, the places he bit her breasts bled and he broke her wrist. He used his fists on her face and we had to keep her out of sight for weeks. Not even stage makeup could hide the bruises on her face."

"And Erik knows all this?"

"No. She hid her face from him when he found her on the roof and while he knew Raoul had raped her. He does not know the depths to which Raoul's depravity plunged."

"Erik will want to kill him if he ever finds out."

"Yes. He will. He must never know. That is Christine's wish. She loves Erik as a brother and would be destroyed if he killed someone on her behalf."

"As would I, Madame. As would I be destroyed by his taking a life."

We sit in troubled silence, each nursing private fears.

"Before we left my time I remembered something about French history and I believe this event can be used to help free Christine from Raoul. First, what is the date today?"

"April 24th."

"Madame, the year?"

"Oh, pardonnez-moi today is April 24, 1871."

"Ah, my Adrianna's birthday." I pause and silently wish my dear dead daughter a happy birthday. I sigh and then resume. "So, it has begun already. Would you like to hear my idea?"

"Please …"

"You are aware of the current political turmoil involving the Communard Government?"

"No, my dear, I pay no attention to the world outside the opera house."

"Oh, well, on May 23rd, communist extremists under the direction of a man named, Dardelle set the Tuileries Palace on fire. They use accelerants to start the fire, you know, like petroleum, liquid tar and kerosene. It burns for two days before the Paris Fire brigade and the Africa Chasseurs are able to get the fire under control and put it out. Several other buildings and monuments are set fire on that day … I believe the Paris City Hall is one of them. The museum through lucky chance does not burn. I thought that perhaps during the melee we could spirit Christine away. I thought, and I realize how distasteful this sounds, that we could use the corpse of a victim of the current troubles who is of Christine's general size and appearance and have that corpse presented as Christine to Raoul. Christine would then be free to move on and Raoul would not look for her. After all, he has a grave to visit."

"I realize that my plan is very rough and needs a lot of work. We don't have much time to …"

I stop mid-sentence. While I know I am sitting on the settee facing Madame who is sitting in her rocking chair and listening to me speak; I am at the same time sitting in the sunlight surrounded by workmen feverishly hauling blocks, masons laying the blocks and a foreman barking orders. I suddenly stand. Blindness strikes, my hands flail to grasp something, anything solid but the disturbing double visions confuse me. I cry out and throw my hands up to shield myself as a workman walks through me.

I see Madame rush to me and faintly hear her asking me, "What is the matter, my dear?"

My words come from the same faraway place as hers, "Can't you see the workmen? They're all around us. And the sun … it's so bright!"

The vertigo begins and the workmen turn cartwheels about me. Madame, who stands before me, grasps my arm. I cannot feel her touch. It appears to me as if she is holding nothing in her hand. I look at my arm. It is there and yet, at the same time, not. I turn my eyes to Madame and (as usual when I have an attack) I cannot look at her directly as my eyes refuse to focus. The sunlight shines through Madame and I seem to see her eyes widen in fear as she gazes at the spot where I stand. Her hand flies to her mouth and I see the white of her teeth (so bright!) bite into the flesh of her hand. A workman brings another block next to me and drops it (so loud!) The pain in my head! I cannot stand, yet I cannot move. The dual sight at last overwhelms me and for a time, I know no more.

In the darkness, I hear whispering. Frightened voices whispering. What happened to me? Where am I? Who is whispering there in the dark? Almost at the same time, I think, "Trystin! Erik! Where's my baby? Was he real? Has the Meniere's at last exploded some part of my brain and I've gone insane? Or died? No, not dead. The residual pain and sickness of an attack remains. I try to sense Erik, but the fog still clings to my mind. I realize the cause of the darkness around me is that my eyes are closed. My lids feel so heavy. I wish for the strength to lift them. Again, I try to force the recalcitrant blinders from my eyes. The voices begin to take form.

"Look. I think she moved." Says one.

"Ma chére cœur? Please awaken." Says another.

"Mommy?" A voice says tentatively.

"Trystin?" I croak hoarsely.

"Mommy. Are you okay?"

"What happened?" I whisper.

"I dunno. I think you had an attack, only it was even worse than when you went on Space Mountain, 'cept you didn't throw up. Sorry."

"Drink of water?" I beg.

"She wants a drink of water."

"T, pills in purse. One orange. One red. Please?"

A female voice says, "Do not worry, little one. I will find them."

"Mommy, can I hug you?"

"Yes, my angel. Be gentle. All right?"

"Okay." Her voice is subdued. Through the blanket, I can feel her head gently come to rest on my thigh and her small arms carefully grasp my knee and my waist. She gives a soft pat instead of a hug.

"Don't worry, I'll get better."

I find my voice is growing stronger perhaps I can lift my eyelids now. I blink them open and find myself staring up at a bare white ceiling. I see the dream catcher hanging above me.

"Home. I'm home. It was a dream. Only a dream." I mutter and feel a wave of desolation sweep across my mind. "It couldn't be. It's so hard to think." I blink back tears.

As shadow falls across my face. I turn, very slowly, to face the maker of the shadow. Trystin stands and moves to the source of the shadow. Stopping directly in front of the shadow, I see a hand reach out of the darkness and gently place itself on Trystin's shoulder. A man steps forward out of the shadow. He is tall with dark hair and a pale face. His shape takes form before my eyes. As the last of the shadows fall away from him, I see … Erik.

I cannot speak. My heart has leapt from my chest into my throat. I am once more overwhelmed, but this time with pure joy.

"I thought I had dreamed you." I whisper.

"No, ma chére cœur. No dream." He smiles, but I see a sadness in that smile.

Madame stands in the doorway, holding a glass of water and my purse.

"I found your mother's things. Trystin, come. Please help me find the pills she needs."

"Yes, Madame."

Madame leaves the room and Trystin follows her.

"It is so hard to see through this fog. Erik, please take my hand." I weakly lift my hand from the bed. It feels as though it weighs a ton, but I manage to raise it.

He kneels next to the bed and takes my hand in both of his. He raises it to his lips and kisses it. At the touch of his lips, I see a beautiful golden light in my mind.

"How unusual … that light doesn't hurt."

The light inside my mind spreads as he once again touches his lips to my hand. I feel a wonderfully cool breeze blow away the clouds of fog from my sight. And there he is. I see him. The places he healed when we joined remain healed. Something had been able to prevent me from seeing him, but it had not been able to separate us.

"I was blind, but now I see."

He smiles.

"I love you."

We speak the words at the same time.

Madame and Trystin enter the room. Trystin holds the water glass and pills. She cautiously carries them to me. She places the glass on the nightstand.

"Open." She speaks simply and quietly.

I sigh. And carefully raising up on an elbow, I open my mouth. Trystin pops the two pills inside my mouth and taking the glass from the nightstand, hands it to me.

"Careful, it's full."

I drink the water, swallow the pills, hand the glass back and exhausted after this monumental effort, slump back down onto the pillow.

"I'm so tired. Would you mind if I took a little nap?"

"We demand it."

I barely register those words when I float away into a deep, dreamless sleep. I am floating, carried along on a wondrous fall wind wrapped within the golden light of Erik's love.

And then, Erik is ripped from me.

All is night as the nightmare descends ….