Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Fifty-Nine – Overture

Taking a deep breath, I step from the carriage and turn to assist my lovely wife. She is truly a stunning sight and I cannot help but feel a wave of relief wash over me as I revel in all of the wonderful things she makes me feel. Love, pride, lust, happiness, contentment, joy … I feel those and I am certain there are other emotions mixed in with those as well. She places her gloved hand in mine. Her teal cloak sparkles in the light of the gas torches. She takes her place at my side and slips her arm through mine.

"Ready, beloved?"

She gives me a small nod and a slight upward curl of her lips.

We enter through the carriage pavilion and walk along a hallway lined with numerous ticket offices. At the end of the hall, we can turn right or continue straight ahead. I lead Christine to the right.

"Where does that lead?"

"That leads to a circular vestibule which is directly below the auditorium. There are two small staircases, which lead up to the entrances for the auditorium floor seats. Also, the vestibule is where servants wait for their masters and mistresses during the opera."

The hall suddenly opens into the main lobby of the opera house. I hear Christine's involuntary gasp of awed surprise.

"Oh my! Erik, it is magnificent! I can hardly believe it! I've never seen anything like it."

I am pleased that she finds it so breathtaking.

"Are you aware that I had a hand in the design of this place?"

"You did?" I watch her as she takes in the sights about her. She turns to me, her eyes sparkle brightly. "I am not in the least bit surprised. The overall perfection speaks most eloquently of your hand, my husband." She gives my arm a gentle and affectionate squeeze.

We arrive at the bottom of the Grand Escalier and simply stand for a moment, allowing our eyes to absorb the immensity and detail of the huge stairway. It is at this moment that the realization, which has been lurking in the back of my mind, comes to the fore, the last time I walked this staircase was the night of the performance of "Don Juan Triumphant." The night Raoul's henchman had rigged the chandelier to fall and set the building on fire.

"The restoration work is incredible. It appears as if it had never burned. I must admit I had been skeptical of what I would find here, but I am very relieved to admit that the restoration crews were superb craftsmen. The building appears virtually identical to the one I hold in my memory.

"Shall we, ma chère cœur?"

"Indeed, my dearest husband. You are aware that I have no idea what opera is being performed tonight, don't you?"

"I was wondering if you'd ever ask."

She gives the smallest of giggles. "You know I would be happy to see any opera with you."

Suddenly, words enter my head.

""Parsifal" and "The Ring Cycle" by Richard Wagner?"

She stops and turns to me, her eyes narrow and a brow rises. "Yes?"

"Why do you dislike him so much? I would have thought the mythological aspects of his work would please you."

"If I was blissfully ignorant of the carnage his works inspired, yes, I probably would. However, his works inspired or … no, validated. Yes, his works validated the ideas of Adolf Hitler's Third Reich. Hitler used Wagner's own prejudices to validate Germanic racial superiority. They named the conflict, which encompassed these issues, "World War II." It took place before I was born, but its effects continue to haunt all good people." She sighs and shakes her head as she lowers her gaze to the stairs. A sad smile creeps to her mouth. "Dearest, what is the name of tonight's opera?"

"Tonight's performance is "Roméo et Juliette" by Charles Gounod. It is an excellent score. I much prefer it to Vincenzo Bellini's "I Capuleti e i Montecchi" (The Capulets and the Montagues.) I found that composition strayed too far from Shakespeare's work. Can you believe that man used Italian sources?"

I meet her eyes and find her biting her lip not out of nervousness, but to keep herself from laughing. As she sees the look of confusion on my face, she loses her struggle to contain her mirth.

"Ha!"

"Yes? And that means?"

"Erik … maiden name of Schiavonne? Father's name is Rocco. Brother's name is Luigi. Need I say more? Dalle fonti italiane? (From Italian sources?) Perhaps, I might agree with Bellini and believe the Italian sources to be more authentic than dry old Will Shakespeare."

"Christine!"

And then I understand why she is amused and realize that she is gently teasing me.

"Get a grip, Erik. I'm just trying to keep it light. I have a feeling tonight is going to be emotionally draining."

"Anything specific you wish to tell me?"

"I wish. As soon as I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

"Very well."

Arriving at our box's level we leave the staircase, an attendant immediately appears asking if he can assist us. I hand him our tickets. He glances at them for a moment.

"Monsieur. Mademoiselle. Follow me please."

Silently, we follow the usher to our box. The man opens the door and steps back to allow us to enter the box. He assists Christine in the removal of her cloak and hangs it on the coat rack in the corner of the box. The man turns. I watch as his eyes take in the sight of Christine's uncloaked form. His body goes completely still and stiff. His mouth drops open as he stares at her in dumbfounded wonder. I clear my throat and I must give the man credit, he quickly regains use of his senses and mutters something under his breath as he beats a hasty retreat from the box. The door clicks closed.

"Being here is so strange. You are aware this is the infamous Box 5?"

"I thought it might be, but I wasn't sure."

"Yes, this is my box and this is the first time that I ever paid to see an opera here. I am most curious about the current managers and find myself wondering if the Opera Ghost would approve of their production standards. I suppose we will discover the answers very soon. You are being very quiet tonight, beloved. Is everything all right?"

"Yes, I am fine. Well, just the slightest of headaches, but I took something for it and hope it will go away …." Her voice trails off mid-sentence. Her entire body whips around to face me and her hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"What?" I begin almost shouting.

"HE'S HERE!"