Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse - A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Sixty-Seven – Drifting Away

Lying in bed next to my wife, I stare at her lovely face and find myself (once again) intently committing every detail of her lovely face into my memory. She's been so distressed lately and hasn't wanted to worry me, so she's been attempting to shield me from the fact that with each passing day, she is losing more and more of herself. The only times she returns to me is when I bring her to orgasm and when she speaks of her daughters, which has helped me conclude that passion allows my beloved to find her way back to her body. While I loved Christine Daae, I never loved her as a husband loves a wife, so the charade we agreed to play here in Paris seems to be slowly becoming our reality. Each time I hear her voice grow timid and uncertain, it causes the fracture within my heart to grow. I thank the Creator that she did not encounter M. Gilles (that rogue bastard!) while she was in the state she is now. I shudder to think what would have occurred. Fortunately, nothing happened, so it is best to discard those thoughts. What I need to concentrate on now is how I can help remedy this situation. I do not wish, nor do I intend to be married to the body of my beloved and the unformed mind and emotions of the young Christine Daae.

I have never been one to sit back and calmly accept whatever life throws at me. In most instances, I make elaborate plans and then put them into play, throwing caution and good sense to the winds and if anyone dared interfere, there was hell to pay. I find myself in an entirely unfamiliar situation, as I have absolutely no idea what I can do to rectify this situation, much less help her. Adding to my feelings of despair over this matter is Christine herself. She doesn't know what to do. As I watch her sleep, I can feel her sense of powerlessness, how uncertain she feels and most of all, I feel her overwhelming fear of losing herself. I know she is fighting this as best she can, but her fear tells me that she believes it to be a losing battle. This situation is completely unacceptable.

After giving this matter many hours of thought, I believe there are only two people that may be able to help her. One of them, I cannot find it in me to trust. That leaves only one person to whom I can turn, Nadir Khan. The Persian. The Daroga.

Yet, I hesitate to contact him. My beloved Christine and I for the moment live in this timeline, but we are not of this time. I find myself plagued with worry and doubt for I do not know this man. If he is the same man I met while I was a prisoner of the gypsies, I am certain he can be trusted. If not, well, he can be as deadly and dangerous an enemy as I can.

I cannot endure the thought of losing her, not when we were so close to finding our happily ever after. At last, I acquiesce to the inevitable. I know what I must do, so I do it.

With a sigh, I push myself up, walk to the desk, sit and begin to compose a letter to my Persian friend.

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Daroga,

I realize it has been quite some time since I last contacted you. Much has happened in my life since we last met and I believe you will be most pleased to hear that I am truly a reformed man. You may even contact your informants, should you doubt the veracity of my statement. I shall not take offense, nor shall I lose my temper with you over your doubt. I am that desperate!

As you have most likely surmised, simply by being in receipt of this missive, I am in most urgent need of your immediate assistance. You know better than anyone else how difficult it is for me to ask for help and therefore, please know this … that except for it being in a roundabout way, I do not ask for myself, but ask on the behalf of my wife. Circumstances lead me to believe that you are quite likely the only person that can help (or know of someone who can help us.)

Regretfully, I must request that you pay us a visit at Le Hôtel Grand where we currently maintain the Red and Gold Suite as well as the Blue and Gold Suite. Your presence here is necessary, as it is easier to show you the nature of my dilemma than attempt to explain it to you with written words. I registered the suites under my true name and as my father conveyed upon me the right to use the title of Comte, you may wish to use it when you announce yourself at the front desk.

Please come at once, Daroga, you know that I would not trouble you if the need be anything less than dire. Please come!

E.

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Each morning for the last two weeks, I hurry off to the Conservatoire to witness the birthing of the score for Lakmé. I must confess that I have found it rather enjoyable observing Léo as he composes his score. Observing him has provided me with a great deal of insight as to how hard it is being the non-creative person in a relationship. I watch Léo compose and wonder if I am this obsessed when I write. After some serious introspection, I must admit, in all truthfulness, that most likely I am even more difficult than Léo when I compose. I know how single-minded I am as evidenced by the facts that I do not eat or sleep for days at a time when I work. It is no wonder that Christine Daae often seemed afraid of me when I was writing "Don Juan Triumphant." I find myself wishing that could have known then all of the things I know now. There are so many "what ifs" that I have been thinking about lately. I have had a lot of time to think lately, since my beloved, well … I miss her. Having her here while at the same time not, makes it even worse and now, Christmas is only three weeks away.

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I am most pleased to report the score is complete. Léo is displeased over just a few passages, but has declared that he cannot make adjustments until he hears the voices, which will breathe life into his composition. Therefore, we can only wait until after the auditions for the final revision of the score. We have agreed to hold the auditions just after the first of the year. I told Christine of the audition dates and she simply smiled at me. I asked her if I could help her in preparing her voice for the auditions and she said it wasn't necessary. As I no longer go to the Conservatoire every day and am staying inside our suites, I discovered that Christine's daily routine includes her taking long walks. When I asked her where she goes, her eyes glazed and she did not answer me. I feel like weeping, screaming and breaking something all at the same time. Christmas is in two weeks.

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I have followed Christine every day for the last week as she takes her walk. Every day her walk begins as if she has no specific destination in mind and she seems to follow a rambling path for the first half hour or so. All too soon, it seems her pied piper begins to play his silent song. The song leads away from the hotel and off to the southeast along the Avenue de l'Opéra. She walks along the street as if in a trance, seeming to be completely oblivious to anything near her. Her journey takes her along the edge of the Jardin des Tuileries all the way to the place where the Pont du Carrousel crosses La Seine. She then walks along La Seine past Pont des Arts and Pont Neuf. All the while, her eyes remain fixed straight ahead and her face is expressionless. She continues past Pont Neuf, but before reaching Pont au Change, her path leaves La Seine and she finds her way to the Place du Châtelet. After walking around the outer circle of the plaza three or more times, she suddenly changes course and walks across to the center of the plaza to La Fontaine de la Lumière (the Fountain of Light.) She sits on a bench directly across from one of the water-spewing sphinxes. Most of the time, she simply sits staring into the eyes of a sphinx. Sometimes her gaze locks on the statue of winged victory, which rests atop the center column of the fountain. I do not know why she comes here or what merits her unblinking contemplation. I simply report where it is that my beloved goes everyday.

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We leave Paris this afternoon. The Daroga has not responded to my letter. With all of the details of our official wedding ready, I find myself in a panic as I do not know if my bride wishes to marry me. She speaks in monosyllabic words and no longer smiles. It has been weeks since we made love. Each night I lie next to a beautiful, silent stranger and feel my heart break a little bit more. Christmas is one week away.

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Dare I hope?

Sometimes, I truly believe that there is no god. I know that there cannot possibly be a benevolent hand guiding this world. I simply believe in universal chaos and the ever-encroaching hand of entropy. I know there is no god each time I look into a mirror, each time I look into the eyes of a starving child, each time I look into the eyes of a victim of rape and each time I look into the vacant eyes of my beloved.

At other times, like today, I know that there must be a god.

As Christine, Henrí, Miriam and I walked across the hotel's lobby this afternoon, the Daroga entered the lobby. I grabbed him by the arm, told him we had to leave Paris at that instant and gave him no choice in that he had to travel with us to Montmuran. I hurriedly explained everything to the Daroga. He nodded his head a few times and asked me a few questions otherwise, he did not interrupt me. When I at long last finished, we were on the train and half way to Le Mans. The Daroga asked if he could examine and speak with Christine privately and I granted his request by removing Henrí and Miriam with me to the Dining Car. I sit, looking out the window, waiting for words of hope from my friend.

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"Erik?"

I hear her voice call to me from within my mind so quietly that I almost thought I had imagined it.

"Christine? Is it really you, my love?"

"Yes, dearest, it is I. I have missed you so very much. Come back to the compartment! The Daroga brought me back, but I cannot stay for very long. I must return and help her finish. She needs my strength. She needs my courage. Hurry, my dearest!"

"I'm on my way, ma chère cœur!"

Telling Henrí and Miriam to take their time and finish their meal, I run through the train and back to our compartment as quickly as possible. I fling open the door and rush inside to see her look at me. She is looking at me. Christine is looking at me!

"Christine!"

"Erik!"

I throw open my arms and sweep her into a tight embrace. She pulls back and lifts her lips to me and I crush them with mine. Time seems to stand still as we devour one another's lips and then deepen the kiss as our tongues caress. My hands run wild over her body eliciting passionate moans, which she breathes back into my mouth. Gravity begins to pull us to the floor.

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but I need to remind the two of you that you are not alone."

The Daroga's words effectively cut through our ardor in much the same manner as a bucket of ice water. Both of our bodies freeze. I sigh and Christine giggles, which causes me to sigh again. We extricate ourselves from one another and turn towards the sound of his voice.

"I do apologize, but I could not leave as the two of you blocked the only door out. Besides, Christine cannot stay. She must return. I knew that you had to see her for yourself before I sent her back, Erik, or I would have already returned her. You need to say your good byes."

With those words, he turned away from us and looked out the window.

"Are you all right, ma chère cœur? Where have you been? When will you return to me?"

"Erik, your friend will answer all of your questions. Just know this…I am all right and I will return to you. I love you now and always."

"Very well. I love you too!"

Our farewells consist of our lips pressing together passionately for several minutes. Christine is the first to pull away from me. She graces me with a sad smile then turns to the Daroga.

"Sir, I am ready. Well, as ready as I'll ever be."

The Persian turns to face us and holds out his hand to Christine. She takes his hand and he leads her to her seat by the window. She sits down and composes herself. Our eyes meet and she blows a kiss to me. The Daroga lifts his hand to her face and covers her eyes. He mutters something and then removes his hand from her eyes. The silent, stranger now sits looking unseeingly out the window.

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"Nadir, what the hell is going on?"

My words sound harsh and angry. I know that I should be grateful to this man for returning Christine to me, but seeing the transformation of my wife back to the stranger frightens me and thus, enrages me. The Persian understands the cause of my anger and ignores it. His reply is calm and soothing.

"She is lending her fighting spirit to the person who needs it the most right now. Right now, Christine Daae engages her husband in a battle for her freedom. Raoul crushed her spirit long ago and she does not have the strength to fight for her freedom. Your lady wife does. When your lady helped Christine rid herself of eleven years of pain, it bonded the two of them together. Your wife is providing Christine with a backbone. This time, Raoul will not walk away with her! Christine shall have both her freedom and her children before this day is through. More importantly, you shall regain your wife! Erik, you have a wife! Congratulations, my boy! Congratulations! She is very lovely. Please take a seat, Erik. You must tell me everything now. I simply must know everything!"

And, with those words, I spend the remainder of the trip answering the Persian's questions about Christine and me.