Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Sixty-Four – Time Waits

"He's dying." I repeat.

The words feel strange as they roll off my tongue and breeze through my lips. These words spoken about the man, who created Christine Daae's eleven year, hell-on-earth and thought himself the bane of my existence, soon will be no more.

"How?"

I feel her body tense and for the briefest instant, I begin to respond. My response is more a reflex, but she senses it all the same. Shame colors my cheeks as I realize she simply meant to turn her head to look back at me.

"Erik?" There is a surprised hurt in her eyes as she turns to me. I find it difficult to meet her gaze as my unreasonable jealousy dishonors our love.

"I am such an ass! You've done nothing, ma chère cœur. My own insecurities … hmm … I believe you call it, "emotional baggage." Monsieur le Vicomte brings out the absolute worst in me. Even looking as he does now, I still see a smug, pompous, arrogant, conceited little prick that cares not a whit for anything or anyone other than himself. He still needs to hold his hand at the level of his eyes, as I would like to toss a bit of cat gut around his neck and pull … real hard …."

Pausing, I lean into her and lower my head to breathe in the wondrous scent of her. My nose twitches as one of her soft curls tickles. She smells of night-blooming jasmine and honeysuckle. The tension leaves me.

"Better now?" She inquires of me.

"Much. So, what is wrong with him?"

"He has cancer."

"Cancer? How can you tell?" My thoughts drift towards some type of empathic impression, so her response surprises me.

"Why, it is visible for all the world to see, dearest. Although, I suppose not many would recognize it. I heard your thought about it, so I suppose what you thought is what most people would think."

"Christine …."

"You know those "liver spots" on the top of his head? Well, they are not "liver spots." They are a type of skin cancer called, "melanoma" which is a highly malignant type of skin cancer that arises in melanocytes, the cells that produce pigment. Melanoma is the most serious form of skin cancer. Judging from the ulcerated appearance and size of the tumors, his prognosis is not good. The treatment in my world is surgery to excise the tumors and set a course of immunotherapy. If the cancer cells have spread into his lymph nodes, well … surgery is recommended to excise the tumors and the affected lymph nodes, followed by immunotherapy. In the worst case scenario, the cancer cells have spread to the lymph nodes, other organs in the body or areas far from the original site of the tumor. This is called metastatic melanoma. The tumors and lymph nodes are surgically removed and followed by radiation therapy, chemotherapy or immunotherapy as decided by the patient's oncologist. Once melanoma has spread to other parts of the body beyond the skin, it is difficult to treat and considering the level of medical advancement right now, he doesn't really have a chance …." Her voice trails off and then resumes, "Of course, this is just my humble, lay-person opinion."

"Does he know?"

Her eyes flash and she trembles. "I do not wish to open my mind to him. I have no wish to protect myself from psychic backwash. He is not worth it." We lie silent before she jokingly asks me. "So, what have the gossip rags got to say?"

I ignore her comment and blurt out what I've wanted to say all day. "Christine, when are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

She rolls away from me and returns so our bodies lie face-to-face. I take her hands in mine and hold them to my chest.

"What? Is it that bad?"

She gazes deep into my eyes then her eyes become unfocused and blank and after a few unsettling moments, come back to me.

"I don't know what's wrong. I can feel something is wrong, really wrong, but I have absolutely no idea what it is." Her eyes drift away and back again. She shakes her head. "I take that back. That's not entirely true. The feeling didn't start until we got to Paris … no, that's not right either. The feeling began just after we left the registration desk. Speaking for myself, I noticed that I behaved in ways I thought were extremely uncharacteristic. I saw myself doing them, knew I was doing them but was helpless to stop myself. It makes me very worried, but it also makes me furious! I've spent my whole life having to feel other people's emotions and now someone or something is forcing me to react with someone else's emotions? I do not think so! This is my body! This is my mind! I won't give either up without a fight, but I don't know whom to fight. I'm frightened, Erik. My mind is the one thing that makes me unique from everyone else and I don't want to lose it, but I can't fight what I don't know."

She looks at me intently, waiting.

"Yes! Yes! It has happened to me twice. Instead of feeling like a stranger was turned loose in my head, I feel as if I had been turned loose. I didn't like it either time. The first time lasted longer than the second time, but both times the emotions were not loving ones, but one of anger and jealousy. I do not wish to experience it ever again. It almost felt as if someone dead were inside me. Not pleasant at all."

"Well, at least we're talking about it. I was going to wait until I could put my finger on it, but I am relieved that you made me face up to it! As long as we're together, we'll be all right."

I pull Christine close to me, lean down and gently kiss her lips. All too soon, the passion burns between us and we make passionate, yet delicate love to one another. Wrapping myself about my wife, I once again appreciate how she smells of jasmine and honeysuckle and contentedly slip into sleep.