Christine dans Deux

An Alternate Multiverse – A Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2006

DISCLAIMER: See Chapter One
Chapter Sixty-Nine – Running Rings Around the Moon

"He is here!"

I hear myself giggle and then realize with a start that I am not the one giggling. She is.

"You sound just like Meg – He is here! The Phantom of the Opera is here!"

"Well, at least you are giggling. It makes you sound like you're 16 years old again. Are you ready to do this?"

We step in front of the mirror and give our reflection one last serious inspection.

"I think you look beautiful, Christine. I might even go as far as to say that you look drop-dead gorgeous, but I think I'll save the "dead" comments until after you see him. If we're lucky, he will do just that. If not, well, I can always remedy that condition with my knives …."

"Chris! You promised me! No violence, just words!"

"So I did. Well, a promise is a promise, but it never hurts to be prepared. Come, Christine. Let us go free you of the true beast."

We take a quick peek at Erik-Gustave and smile. At six weeks, the chubby baby boy shows no sign of being prematurely born. His cheeks are rosy, he has lots of his mother's curly chestnut hair and his intense eyes sparkle in a surprising shade of blue-green. The babe did not inherit those eyes from either his mother or father.

"Christine, I know that your eyes are the same color as your father's eyes. What color were your mother's eyes?"

"Hmmm? Oh, my mother's eyes were cornflower blue. Why?"

"No reason, I was just wondering."

The babe fixes his eyes upon us and inspects his mother just as intently as we had done to him a moment before. We pass his inspection for he contentedly closes his eyes, inserts his chubby thumb into his little rosebud of a mouth and begins to suck it as he quickly falls asleep.

We smile and nod at the little servant girl, Theresa, who helps us care for Erik-Gustave. Jean-Paul insisted that we accept her help and we have found telling him 'no' is nigh near impossible. We have found that it is better to accept with grace than to ignobly argue with him. We take leave of our room's warmth and make our way through the halls, down the stairs, across the foyer and into the study.

☼☼☼☼☼

Jean-Paul is the first person we see. The change in his appearance from the first time we saw him is almost as dramatic as the physical changes apparent in the man who sits across from him. While the Comte has changed for the better, the Vicomte's downward spiral has accelerated. I cannot help but notice that his condition is a great deal worse than it was when I last saw him at the opera house. His deterioration is so great that it appears he can no longer walk. His body now confined to the wheelchair in which he sits.

I feel Christine's dismay as her eyes take in the sight of the man to whom she is married.

Halting in the middle of saying something to Raoul, Jean-Paul literally leaps up from his chair and rushes around the desk to greet us. He looks more like Erik than ever before, at least ten years younger than the day I met him as well as being much more physically robust. The bruised bags no longer hang below his eyes, which are clear and twinkle merrily as he sweeps us into a quick, affectionate embrace.

Raoul does not rise as we enter the room. He simply turns his chair to face us. After a moment, Christine's mind registers with shock the fact that Raoul is in a wheelchair.

I suddenly feel strange and realize that Christine is on the verge of fainting.

"Don't you dare faint you coward! Remember the night of "Il Muto" and the rooftop! Do you remember how he left you there? Yes, he is a pitiful creature now, but he is reaping what he has sown."

My words hiss inside her mind. Hugging her arms across her chest, I give her a vicious pinch in an attempt to stave off her faint. My efforts are useless and I feel her lose consciousness, so I take over.

Jean-Paul grins at me and then finds he cannot restrain his happiness. Once more, I find myself in another of his warm, fatherly embraces. I compose myself drawing strength from him and return his hug with equal affection.

"I do believe you grow younger every time I see you, Jean-Paul!"

He laughs and as he does, I hear Erik's laugh in his voice.

"The secret to growing younger is to have a child in the house. Trystin is my not-so-secret fountain of youth!"

He laughs again briefly at his own joke and I chuckle with him. The man's love for my child shines in his eyes and in the enthusiasm in his voice. My heart flutters as I hear my daughter's name. Christine keeps so busy taking care of her son and then resting that I rarely am able to see her. I push my longing for my daughter and my husband to the side once again.

"If all goes well, tonight will find me back where I belong." I think hopefully.

"And you seem to have taken a deep draught, Monsieur le Comte …."

Taking a deep breath and, then releasing it slowly, I turn my head to look down on Raoul.

"Raoul."

I nod my head as I speak his name. The word flows from my lips without hate and without love, no emotion coloring it to give the man the slightest hint of what he can expect from this meeting.

I brace myself for what I fear will be a traumatic experience; I search his face and open myself to his feelings, both emotional and physical. I begin to blink rapidly to disguise my desire to shed tears before this man as the sudden onslaught of his pain bowls into my entire being. It takes all of my control to hide my discomfort. I quickly close the channel on which his pain rides and wait briefly before I resume my examination of the man. I feel the flood of his emotions wash over me. He feels so many things as he looks upon the face of his wife, but mostly I sense the strongest of his emotions to be regret.

"Christine." He softly, almost hesitantly, speaks her name as I feel his shame pull his eyes down to the floor.

"Are you well, Christine?" His eyes still fastened upon the floor.

"Yes, thank you. May I inquire after your health?"

I had not wanted to ask, but felt there was little else I could do.

"My health … well …." He sweeps his arms out, gesturing to himself in the wheelchair. "This says more than words I suppose." He raises his eyes to meet mine. "Soon, I shall not be any more trouble to you, Little Lotte. I read your letter. How is it that you find it within your heart to speak to me of forgiveness?"

I notice that Jean-Paul in an effort to afford us some privacy and at the same time not abandon me, walks to the window of his study and directs his attention outside. His attention appears caught by something very far away, but I know it is just that – an appearance.

In that moment, the room shrinks until there is only Raoul and me. While I did not know him as a boy and have only hazy memories of Christine's, I believe that I can see the boy that chased a scarf into the sea and brought it back to a weeping little girl. A little boy who wanted nothing more than to see the little girl smile at him.

For the sake of the little boy, I bestow upon the man a smile both sweet and sad.

"Raoul, If, I do not forgive you that leaves me with only hate. I cannot bring myself to hate you for if I do, the hate will do nothing but consume me in the end. Forgiveness allows me to move forward with my life and I truly wish to do that. I wish to be free of hate. I want nothing more than to be able to find love."

An angry cloud passes swiftly across his features and his eyes darken, his fists clench, but it passes after a moment. His guard crumbles and the boy breaks free of the man's control. Tears begin to trickle from the corners of his eyes.

"Christine, is it possible for you to forgive me? I think not, but you are not me. You are an earth-bound angel and as such, you have the strength to grant me forgiveness. However, even if you do find it in your heart to forgive me, there are others I have wronged and what I did to them, there is no possibility of forgiveness. I am dying and I am damned. Yet, I feel compelled to make things right with you. Christine, what is it that you wish of me?"

"I wish to be free of our marriage. I want to be a part of my children's lives. I want to have the love of my children. Most of all, I do not want to be afraid anymore."

"Well, then you are in luck. I believe I can grant your wish very soon, Christine. The doctors say it could be any time. If I live to see summer, the doctors will be quite surprised. I have no desire to hurt you anymore. I do not expect, nor will I ask, you to return with me to Paris. If you can wait just a little while longer, you will be free.

I brought documents that require your signature. I intend to deed to you the stone chateau on the Allée des Cormorans in Saint-Pair sur-Mer and provide you with an income to cover the expenses of running the household.

This next will be difficult for you to handle, so I feel it is necessary for me to speak of it now. My will instructs that you are to have sole custody of our children with an allowance for their care and schooling. The source of the funds to care for the children and to run the house comes from my portion of ownership of the family vineyards. I decided to bequeath a quarter of my ownership in the vineyards to you for the purpose of running your household and the other three-quarters shall provide for the care and schooling of our children. Phillipe will have a fit about this, but the avocat who drew up the papers is very thorough and I am confident the terms shall stand firm if Phillipe attempts to contest them. All I ask of you is that you wait until I am gone and not divorce me. You need not ever see me again and I will not interfere in your life. Just grant me this last dignity."

"What if I remarry? What happens to the bequest?"

"It remains in effect for the rest of your life and reverts to the children upon your death. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, of course it is. What of our daughters?"

His shoulders sag, but he continues determinedly.

"You may have them immediately, if you wish. I only request that they be allowed to visit me, should they so desire and, of course, I would like to see them one last time before the end."

"I can make no promises, but if you send word, I will inform the girls and allow them to choose."

"Fair enough. I cannot dare to ask for anything more."

Silence descends upon the room and the man begins to fidget in his chair. I can feel his desire, but say nothing. I am all too aware of what it is he wants, but I wait for him to ask. Several minutes stretch on interminably before he works up his nerve.

"Can I see my son?"

He raises his eyes to mine and I pause, looking into the watery blue eyes. As I consider the man before me, I notice that something in our eyes startles him. I almost smirk as I realize he believes the new emotional maturity he sees in our eyes belongs to Christine.

"How can he think otherwise? To think that perhaps there is someone other than Christine inside Christine's body would mean taking a walk on the path that leads to madness. Yet, in truth, I am here within her. I am speaking for her and moving her body as she lies in a faint."

"Yes, Raoul, you may see Erik-Gustave Daae de Chagny. I will fetch him. I shall not be gone too long."

His eyes show not the slightest hint of recognition that his son's name originates from the name of his old enemy.

"I forgot. He never knew my dearest's given name."

Looking at the withered man seated across the room, I grimace almost imperceptibly.

"Monsieur le Comte? Do you think that you could ask Marguerite to be so kind as to bring Monsieur le Vicomte a cup of chamomile tea no cream with a small dollop of honey and perhaps something to eat? He's had a rough trip and appears to be in dire need of sustenance."

Jean-Paul casts a glance, first at me and then at Raoul.

"Oh my! I do apologize for my lack of manners. Monsieur, our chef is an excellent cook and we have an extensive kitchen. Is there anything special you would like me to request?"

Silence fills the room as Raoul ponders his answer to the Comte's query. I take the silence as my cue to take my leave of the room and go to retrieve Christine and Raoul's son. The little boy named after my husband. The little boy that Christine has asked me to stand as his godmother and intends to ask Erik to stand as his godfather. The little boy, nay babe, who all too soon shall become a Vicomte.

☼☼☼☼☼

I swiftly make my way back to Christine's room. Upon entering, I smile reassuringly at Theresa and tell the sweet child that she may have the rest of the day to herself and will not again require her assistance until this evening around 7 p.m. The unexpected reprieve pleases the girl greatly and she dips me a curtsey before hurrying from the room. I smile.

"It takes so little to make people happy. She believes I have done her a great kindness, but to me, it is nothing. A trivial matter. It is all a matter of perspective, Chris! Remember there is a balance in all things, Yin and Yang, good and evil, right and wrong, black and white. Ah, yes, black and white. It is the balance between the opposing forces that allows for all of the wondrous shades of gray in-between."

I shake my head to clear it of all distracting thoughts.

"Christine! Wake up, my dear! It is time to pay the piper! Christine! You need to do this or you will never be able to move forward with your life. You will be forever stuck in the past. Wake up, girl!"

There is no answer to my calls, no response to my pleas, only silence. It is the silence of the damsel in distress holding her breath for fear of the villain discovering her. I am not alone in this silence.

"Damn you, Christine! You are a sniveling coward! If you do not want my help, why did you ask for it? Your cowardice made my transition so difficult. It did not have to be that way. I taught you how to call me and you could do it, but you have no faith in yourself…why, Christine? Why?"

I stand before the fireplace and look up at the large, gilt-framed mirror, which hangs above its mantelpiece. I lock my eyes with those reflecting back at me.

"You had best speak to me, girl! I am not going to bring the baby to Raoul. That task is for you, not me. He will wait only so long before he sends someone. You must stop running! I will not save you. Erik cannot save you. Jean-Paul will protect you, but I will not allow him to interfere. You are the one who must save you. YOU alone can bring an end to both your suffering and Raoul's. It is time to grow up and face your life. Accept it, change it and move on. Speak to me! If you truly wish to be free of the past, speak!"

Silence … then ….

"But, I don't know what to do. I am afraid."

I smile gently at the reflection.

"We all are afraid, but you have something most do not. You are not alone. I am here for you. I will not leave you until you are ready. Come, child. Pick up your son and introduce him to his father."

"I cannot."

Stunned, words escape me for a moment before I reply.

"Why?"

"Raoul is not Erik-Gustave's father."

My mind whirls at her declaration and the memory of the babe's blue-green eyes flashes before me.

"Well, who is?" I whisper, not wanting to hear the inevitable answer, but knowing I must all the same.

"Erik, the opera ghost is the child's father.

Almost eleven months ago, I ran away from Raoul, I hid in the cellars of the opera house. I thought Erik had abandoned them long ago, but much to my surprise, I found him there. He was truly a ghost of the man I once knew. He was dying. I believe he had consumption for he coughed often and sometimes I would see blood on his handkerchief.

Anyway, we comforted one another for a time through our companionship. He seemed almost happy. I just wanted him to be happy. I wanted to make him happy. I knew no one but me had ever kissed him, so I was certain that no one had ever made love to him. I wanted him to feel completely loved at least one time in his life. He had given me so much, I thought it was the least I could do for him. So one night I went to him and lay with him. I discovered, much too both our surprise, that I loved him. We spent several blissful weeks together.

My time with Erik was the longest time I spent avoiding my return to Raoul. I carefully planned my escape to coincide with a long-planned business trip. I ran away the same day Raoul boarded a ship in Marseille bound for Alexandria, Egypt. It took quite some time before he received the news of my departure and even more time for him to return to Paris. One of the saddest days of my life was the day I left Erik. Raoul's men always contacted Madame Giry whenever I ran away. As I was aware of this habit, I usually stayed as far away as possible from her. However, this time, I enlisted her help. I asked Madame to let me know when Raoul's men came looking for me that way I received warning of Raoul's presence in Paris. When I received word of Raoul's return, I knew it was no longer safe for us to be together. I feared what Raoul would do to Erik should he discover my infidelity. Erik was so weak. He was no match for Raoul. We both agreed that I could not stay, but that did not make leaving any easier. We made love one last, glorious time. I told Erik that I would always love him – which I do – and then, I returned to Raoul.

About a week or so after I returned, I realized I was pregnant. I could not return to Erik, as my fear for his safety knew no bounds when I realized my condition. Raoul's vengeance would be an evil thing and I had no wish to speculate on how he would extract it from my Erik. Erik did learn of my pregnancy. I had to let him know that a part of him would survive in the form of our child. I sent word to him through Madame Giry. His only response was that if the child was a boy, I name him Erik-Gustave and if a girl, I name her Madeleine Rose.

To avoid suspicion, I allowed Raoul into my bed and suffered his attentions upon my person, which is the reason he believe this child to be his. He has no reason to believe otherwise.

Erik-Gustave's birth was not early, but full-term. I spoke with Etienne and he was gracious enough not to contradict my story of a premature birth.

Now, you know my shameful secret. Now, you know why I was so jealous of you. I thought you had stolen my Erik away from me. When I met him on the train, I was so confused. I couldn't understand how he showed no sign of consumption. He made some vague comment about doctors. In the past, he often hid his hurt feelings under a cold exterior, but I saw nothing except brotherly affection in his eyes and his eyes were completely guileless. When he spoke of you, I thought I would lose my mind. I thought he does this to torture me. He hates me! He must know this is his child, but … he never was the man with whom I made love. I saw that the day you healed me. I only have one unanswered question, but I fear my heart already knows the answer … does my Erik still live?"

Watching her reflection, I answer her question as I cause her head to shake sadly from side-to-side. Then I speak the words she needs to hear.

"The opera ghost is no more. He has found peace at last. Take what comfort you can from that."

The reflection gently nods its acceptance.

"Come, Christine. Let us give comfort to another dying man. Erik would not begrudge it, so you shouldn't either. Pick up your son and introduce him to your childhood friend."

She sighs and after a moment, we walk to the cradle.

"Come, Erik-Gustave! It is time for you to meet your father." She speaks these words aloud then continues in the silence of our minds.

"I have one last lie to tell before Raoul dies."

Wrapping the babe carefully in a warm blanket to guard against a chill, we return to the study to make the introductions.

Author's Note: I borrowed the title of this chapter from a line in the song, "The Windmills of Your Mind," words and music by Alan & Marilyn Bergman and Michel Legrand.