The Perfect Solution

An Alternate Universe – Phantom of the Opera Story

Nyasia A. Maire

© 2007

DISCLAIMER: I do not hold the rights nor did I create any characters found in The Phantom of the Opera or Phantom, nor have I received monetary compensation for writing this story.

Good-By

Good-By in fear, good-by in sorrow,
good-by, and all in vain,
never to meet again, my dear –
never to part again.
Good-by to-day, good-by to-morrow,
good-by till earth shall wane,
never to meet again, my dear –
never to part again.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Chapter Sixteen – Never to Part Again

He simply sat there dumbfounded. Raoul had told him that she had the voice of an angel, but he never truly understood or believed, not until this moment.

"My God! Her voice! Why was she waiting for the Angel of Music? She is the Angel of Music!"

Christine acted almost as if she were in a trance. Upon completing her lament for her father, she quietly returned to the circle of Erik's embrace. He trembled slightly as she pushed her body tightly against his and Erik had to lean forward a bit so she would not press into the part of him that would show her just how much he desired her. He longed to take her, there and then. His body, while virginal, knew something and as the heart wants what the heart wants¹ so too, did his body it seemed. He sighed and felt both their bodies tremble at the same time.

"Are we that much in tune to one another? How astonishing!" He mused.

He waited silently not wishing to push her into speaking before she was ready. The silence was deep, but not awkward and he relished how comfortable they were with one another. He especially appreciated the feeling of her in his arms. He would thank God every day for the remainder of his life for allowing him these moments. He leaned forward enough to rest his right cheek onto her shoulder and placed a light kiss on the side of her throat.

"Raoul said you used to sing when he knew you as a child. He brags how your voice competes with those of the angels and I would roll my eyes, thinking how he must exaggerate your talent. I am humbled, my love. Truly humbled. My only wish is that I may someday hear you raise your voice in joy, not sorrow."

She tilted her face towards his and stared at him with confused eyes.

"Sing? Oh, I could not possibly sing, Erik. I have not sung a single note since my Papa died. Just the thought of singing fills me with pain."

"She has no idea that she just sang. I will not force the truth upon her. Her psyche is more fragile than I ever would have guessed. She seems so resilient, so strong."

"Christine, was there no one else living in the house with you and your father?"

"No, it was just the two of us. We could not afford servants. Those last months, we could barely afford the rent, food or medicine, much less the expense of servants. We needed very little and taking care of Papa helped me forget just how dire our situation truly was. Once Papa realized he was dying, he sent a letter to Madame Giry asking her to come as quickly as possible. She arrived two days later …."

"Wait! Are you saying that you were alone with your father for two days before someone found the two of you?"

She nodded silently, not able to meet his eyes.

"Oh my God! How old were you?" His voice choked with emotion, a harsh murmur.

"I was eight years old." Her voice, a ghostly whisper.

She cleared her throat.

"I do not remember anything after lying down next to my Papa on the bed and singing to him, except for wishing that I could die. I wanted so to be with him. I felt so lost, so alone and so very cold. When next my mind became clear, I was standing at Madame's side holding her hand. She nodded her head to me and I remember throwing the crocus I picked for him into the darkness. The bruised and withered flower became my final offering to my father's grave. My next memory is someone jostling me at a train station. He was very large and most likely never saw me. I could barely see his face; his belly blocked his features from my view as I sat on the train platform looking up at him. And then, I remember Madame showing me my room for the first time. I may have been ill when I first arrived at the opera house, as Madame made me stay in bed for a long time. When she finally allowed me to leave my bed, she tried to coax me into trying out for the chorus or the ballet. I steadfastly refused. I sang only for my Papa and with him gone, I had no reason to sing again. Since I did not belong to either the chorus or the ballet corps, I did not fit in or receive the protection of either group of girls. Only Meg and Madame provided me with their somewhat limited protection. There is only one other person in the entire opera house that has been kind to me. He is the Master of the Flies, Joseph Buquet. He taught me how to navigate the catwalks and how to find my way through the maze of passageways backstage. Joseph often invites me to his home to share supper with his wife and him. His wife gives me her hand-me-down clothes, although they are too large for me. I am a passable seamstress and alter the clothes to fit me. In a way, it is due to the things Joseph taught me that I earned my reputation as the opera ghost. I am quite adept at moving through the opera house. Oh! Do not look at me so. I do not wear clothing such as this. I wear breeches. Yes, now you may look shocked. I wear breeches. You can hardly expect me to wear a corset and petticoats up in the flies. That would be indecent, not to mention impractical and dangerous! Anyway, I truly enjoyed sitting up in the rafters and watching the ballet rats practice. Sometimes, I liked to play practical jokes on them. I wrote notes, which criticized their performances and dropped them on the stage. At first, Madame became quite cross with me. However, as time went on she realized that my appraisals of the girls' dancing were accurate. Sometimes she would ask me to include her criticisms in my notes. But, that was before they discovered my secret. The ballet rats were terrified when they truly believed in a spectral phantom or opera ghost. Of course, nothing lasts forever and Meg gave me away. She did not mean to do it. Meg simply cannot keep a secret. After they learned the identity of the opera ghost, my life became almost unbearable. My loneliness drove me further from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and deeper into my world of solitude. I would often visit the chapel and pray that my father would send the Angel of Music to me as he had promised all those years ago."

"One day, I found, quite by accident, a secret door in the chapel. The stained glass window is, in truth, a door. It is one of many hidden entrances to a world behind the backstage of the opera house. It allows me to come and go as I please. I use the passages to avoid people and help me complete my errands for Madame and Monsieur Reyer unseen and unmolested. I have learned the stage level as well as the first and second levels of the cellars, but have never seen a reason to delve deeper beneath the opera house. Although, Joseph has told me of a lake, which he says lies beneath the fifth level of cellars. I do not know if it truly exists, but Joseph says it does and I have no reason to disbelieve him. He would never lie to me."

Erik caught a glimpse of her profile as she smiled down at her hands sadly.

"Now, you know the truth of the opera ghost. There is no great mystery. There is no magic, no haunting, no curse … just me. This is the face, which wears the mask of the opera ghost, invisible though it may be."

The man knew he should say something, but had no idea what. He did not want her to think that he pitied her because he did not. He did however, feel a strange empathy towards her.

"I think I know how she feels better than most. After all, I have been reviled by strangers and been cast in the role of outsider all of my life. It is so very strange that this lovely woman found treatment by the people around her in much the same way as me. Even if, it was for entirely different reasons. It seems as if the two of us were made for one another."

He allowed his hand to stroke her cheek.

"Christine, when I was born, my mother could not bear the sight of my face. She locked me away in the attic and made me wear a mask to hide the twisted flesh of my face. My father died before I was born. She never told me how he died. It was too painful for her to speak of it. However, for the first nine years of my life, I covered my face to please her. She never touched me. She could barely bring herself to look at me or speak to me. She thought that I was God's punishment for some wrongdoing she committed. She hid me away from the world. My only companion, a dog. I loved that dog and when she died, I decided that I could no longer live in my mother's house. The town doctor had been courting my mother and I thought they would send me away so they could marry. I felt unwanted and unloved. I decided I would run away. However, the strangest thing happened. The night I determined to leave, my mother came into my room and woke me. She actually touched me. She brought me downstairs and told me things would be different. Then, she bade me fetch all of my masks. She tossed my masks into the fire and then allowed me to do the same. I have not worn a mask since. I do not know what caused her change of heart, but I took it as a sign that God exists. And, whenever I encounter people that torment me because of my face, I hold to the thought of my mother's transformation. It allows me to retain hope that people can change for the better. Not all people are evil or cruel, Christine. Will you allow me to show you a different side of life than the one in which you have lived? I would be so honored if you would."

She twisted her torso to allow herself to look into his eyes. He saw a faint glimpse of hope deep within her eyes.

"Erik, you still want to marry me?"

His smile, full of love and adoration, answered her, but still he spoke.

"Oh, Christine. Indeed, I do. I wish to marry you and spend the rest of my days holding you close to me and loving you. I want to show you the world. I want to banish the pain in your heart. I want to bring music back into your life and hope into your heart. It would be the greatest joy in my life, if you would be the mother of my children. We would be the proudest parents. And, I would be the happiest man God ever created spending my life with you, growing old with you and loving you with every breath in my body. This is what I want, but I need to be certain that it is what you want as well."

He continued to gaze upon her upturned face, a look of growing apprehension in his eyes, but he remained silent waiting for her reply. Her eyes searched his face and she looked long and deep into his eyes, seeking the truth or lie in his words. As the truth of his words sounded in her soul, she sighed.

"Monsieur, the honor would be mine. Let us spend one love, one lifetime healing the hurts of our lifetimes together. If I falter in my faith, I must have your promise that you will catch me and set me back on the path. Can you give me your word, Erik?"

"Mademoiselle, I pledge my troth to you and vow I shall be at your side should your resolve ever waver. For is it not my duty as a husband to do so? May I seal this pledge with a kiss?"

"You may." She smirked.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Erik lifted his hand to her face and brushed away an errant lock of curls. She surprised him by not drawing away, but leaning into his touch. Drawing her close to his breast, he lowered his lips to hers and bestowed upon her a kiss full of promise for all of their tomorrows.

¹ "The heart wants what the heart wants." Woody Allen, 1992.