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.
The Paradigm
We here and that man, this man,
and that other in-between,
and that woman, this woman,
and that other, whoever,
those people, and these,
and these others in-between,
this thing, that thing,
and this other in-between, whichever,
all things dying, these things,
those things, those others in-between,
good things, bad things,
things that were, that will be,
being all of them,
he stands there.
Nammalwar
Chapter Twenty-Three – The Paradigm
Christine held the black stone to Erik and he picked it up.
"Careful! It is very sharp! It is obsidian. I found it tonight along the shore of the underground lake."
She stuck her bloodied finger in her mouth and paused, her head tilted to one side.
"Erik! Do you know what this means?"
Not being certain as to the meaning of her comment, Erik shrugged.
"That stone is my proof that I was not dreaming. I was there and if I was there, then so was he!"
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
"We need to talk. Somewhere private." She paused, thinking. "I know just the place. Come with me."
She held out her hand to the man as if to lead him, but instead, he returned the stone to her. Christine considered the stone in her hand for a moment and then raised her eyes to Erik. The man took a step back in surprise. The woman gazing at him suddenly seemed taller and older, more aloof and withdrawn. Erik caught just the briefest glimpse of sadness in her eyes before coldness veiled her gaze.
"Would you like to see one of the reasons the ballet rats believe me a ghost?"
A slight, devilish sneer caused Erik to feel even more apprehensive about his fiancée's seemingly innocent inquiry. Attempting to keep his tone light, he teased.
"You do not plan on making yourself disappear, do you, my dear?"
She allowed herself to give her head just the slightest of shakes while she looked up at him through her thick, dark eyelashes. She threw her cloak back off her shoulders and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt as she spoke.
"No, I do not plan on disappearing, although I could if you wish, but I thought I might start with something just a bit smaller. Perhaps, this?"
She hefted the stone in the palm of her hand into the air and carefully caught it. Without waiting for his reply, she held the stone before her in her right hand. She waved her left hand over it, fluttering her fingers in an elegant pantomime of sprinkling something upon the stone. She quirked an eyebrow at him.
"It needed just a wee touch of magic, but I think it is ready. Now, watch carefully or you may miss it."
Erik concentrated on keeping his eyes on the stone, as he was familiar with the concepts of misdirection and sleight of hand. Slowly, Christine began to rock her hand back and forth, causing the stone to begin an awkward roll across the palm of her hand. The woman, deciding the stone had sufficient momentum, allowed it to roll over the heel of her palm, along the inside of her wrist and down the inside of her forearm. As soon as the stone met the bent, inside crook of her elbow, she quickly straightened her arm, which seemed to catapult the stone into the air. Erik looked up and then back at Christine, but the stone was nowhere in sight.
"How …." The man stammered in his astonishment.
The woman before him flashed him a look of smug satisfaction.
"A true magician never tells their secrets. It ruins the magic. Now, let me see if I can find where that obsidian went. She patted her pockets and muttered.
"No, not there."
She looked about on the floor.
"No, not there either."
She looked up and lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
"Guess not. Not even I can defy the law of gravity for this length of time."
Finally, she brought her eyes to Erik. Her eyes raked over him from head to toe. She smirked naughtily.
"Monsieur Destler, I do believe your trousers appear over-burdened. I am not causing you any undue distress, am I?"
Her voice turned low and velvety smooth, almost a purr, which caused the hairs to stand on the back of Erik's neck. Running her tongue along her bottom lip, Christine's hand darted out. Before Erik could give voice to his protest, her deft fingers dipped to his trousers and pulled the stone from the front of them. A shudder passed through the man's body. His voice trembled.
"Oh, Christine! You should not entice me so! You play at being the tantalizing temptress, but I do not believe you truly realize what you do. Please! Woman, do you truly understand the fire with which you so casually play?"
She did not answer him. Christine simply continued to smirk at the man for a moment then held out her hand to him. He stared at her hand and wondered when she had replaced the black gloves that once again encased her dexterous digits. The man placed his large hand in the woman's small one and she led him from the chapel.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
She led him swiftly through the halls and corridors of the dimly lit opera house. Their path seemed to lead them higher and higher. As they passed a rack of costumes, Christine paused and released Erik's hand. She selected two heavy, fur-lined, winter cloaks and indicated that Erik should do the same. When he made no move towards the rack, she groaned.
"Come, Erik. We are only borrowing them! It is very cold on the roof. Believe me; you will thank me for it later."
Hastily pulling two larger cloaks from the rack, he hurried after the shadowy form moving soundlessly ahead of him.
"Why are we going to the roof? Surely, there must be someplace warmer we could go?"
Erik peered into the shadows, as he strained to catch a glimpse of Christine who had disappeared from view. And, then her voice surrounded him.
"Surely? Warmer? Yes, of a certainty, there are other places, but none of them is for me, Erik. The roof is my only refuge. The place I seek for peaceful solitude. It is the only place of light where I feel welcome. And, the only place no one will interrupt us at this time of night. Please? Come with me, Erik."
Her icy demeanor thawed and the man caught a glimpse of the warm, passionate woman he had held in his arms at the park that afternoon.
"Of course I will come, Christine. I can deny you nothing."
And the two continued their journey in silence.
♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥
Once the two had comfortably ensconced themselves in the nook beneath Apollo's lyre, Erik fought down his rising desire to take Christine in his arms and make her completely his.
"I feel so strange, so alive and so wild. She instills in me such passion, as I never thought to experience. She is such a confusing mix of vixen and virgin. I cannot fathom where the truth lies, although I am certain that it most likely lies more towards virgin. She tears off my mask of civility without any effort, leaving me trembling in frustration. I know that she does not purposefully do this to me for I feel that I have the same effect on her."
The man's thoughts ground quickly to a halt by the woman's quiet words.
"Erik, something happened to me this evening. Something that, if someone else told me of this, I would not believe it."
She lifted her hand and seemingly pulled the piece of obsidian from the thin air.
"This stone is the only thing that gives me hope. That allows me to believe that my sanity has not abandoned me. After we parted company, I felt most restless and knew it would be a fool's quest to attempt retiring to my bed for the night. I felt a deep need to visit the chapel. I needed to say a prayer for my father and I hoped to see my angel once more. I went to the chapel and prayed, but the angel was not there. I saw a flash of light and then I think I remember the stained glass window opened. It opened without me throwing the switch and I felt an overwhelming curiosity, so I entered the hidden corridor. There was music, which led me through the bowels of the opera house and into the caverns beneath. There is a lake under the opera house. Did you know that? I heard rumors, but I can tell you now, the rumors are true. I have seen it with my own eyes. This piece of obsidian lay along the shore of the lake. And, all the while, there was someone playing a violin. The sound of it was heartbreakingly beautiful and hauntingly familiar. There was a mist on that vast glassy lake. I could not find a way around and stamped my foot in a fit of childish pique. Unfortunately, for my foot, the obsidian happened to be directly beneath it. It hurt and I must have made a noise for the music ceased. I heard someone rowing a boat towards me and I hid around a bend in the path. Out of the mist, I saw a boat and in the boat, there was a shadowy figure. That dark shape was a man. A man that I know. It was my father."
"Christine, your father is …."
The man began to interrupt, but was in turn shushed by the woman.
"I am well aware of the fact that my papa is dead, Erik. Do you understand now why I fear for my sanity? Believe me, I am fully well aware of how this sounds but that does not make it any less true."
With a practiced flick of her wrist, she threw the piece of stone into the side of a roof vent. The blade-like rock easily sliced through the metal and stopped, impaled halfway through the vent. She sighed and passed her hand across her face.
"Erik?"
His attention had drawn away from Christine to focus on the stone, but her call brought him back to her. His eyes met hers.
"Yes, Christine?"
"You loved your mother very much. Is that not so?"
"Of course, I did and still do. What has that to do with anything?"
"You would know her voice, the touch of her hand, her scent. You would know her, even if you were in a darkened room and could not see her. Would you not?"
"I most certainly would and I can say that without hesitation or reservation."
"Erik, I am just as certain of my ability to recognize my papa. The man I met this evening was truly my papa as a young man, but I recognized him all the same. Before he died, he promised to send the Angel of Music to me. I have waited and waited for the angel to come, but until last night, I waited in vain. Last night, the angel showed me your face in the stained glass. That is the reason I fainted when we first met. After all this time, my papa kept his promise. He sent you to me. When we spoke, he told me that he could not fulfill his pledge to me until now because the Angel of Music did not exist. The angel is real now because my papa has become the angel. He had exchanged his immortal human soul for that of an angel, so he could honor his oath to me. He wanted to let me know that. Also, he wanted to assure me that you are indeed the fulfillment of his word. He faded away after making me promise two things. Alone in the dark, deep under the opera house, I thought I would wander lost there until death took me. The last thing I remember was crying. I must have cried myself to sleep for the next thing I remember is waking to find I was in the chapel with you."
The man stroked the woman's hair, drinking in the delicious scent of her curls as he placed light kisses about her head and face.
"I believe you, Christine."
She turned, tilted her head up to look into his eyes and read the truth of his words there. Erik noticed an old, white scar on the edge of her chin and ran his finger over it.
"What is this?"
She frowned.
"My first encounter with the cruelties of man."
He sat up and pushed her upright as well.
"What do you mean?"
"When I was four years old, my papa took me to the park to play. I was a very bold child and wandered away from papa. I remember there were two older boys, almost young men, playing on swings and I sat nearby watching them. They took note of me and asked if I would like to use one of the swings. I eagerly accepted the swing and their subsequent offer to push me. I am a small person and as a child, I was quite small for my age. They began to push me higher and higher. Then faster and faster. I became dizzy and frightened. I tried to hold on to the swing for dear life, but my hands became sweaty and I lost my grip. I know with my adult mind that I went flying. However, in my mind's eye, the world around me moved and I hung suspended motionless in the air. The last thing I remember was the ground rising up to smash into my face. Unfortunately, the point where my chin impacted was the same place a piece of glass lay on the ground. The result was the glass driving into my chin and leaving me with a wound that dripped a considerable amount of blood. The fall left me stunned and most likely crying. The young men ran away, leaving me to fend for myself. I seem to remember someone else though …."
Erik interrupted her reverie.
"A boy of 13 came to your rescue. He scooped you up into his arms and sang to you to calm you. Then, he brought you back to your father."
Her wary eyes darkened.
"Yes, he sang to me. He sang "All the Pretty Little Ponies." He comforted me and then my father was there again. How did you know?" She whispered.
He smiled.
"That boy was me."
Author's Note: My life has been in a state of turmoil lately and my only refuge has been writing. I would like to let all of you know that your reviews have been the high point of my life lately and I send all of you my sincerest thanks for taking time to write them. I really do enjoy reading them and appreciate all of your kind thoughts. Hope you liked this chapter! --ny