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.

if i have made, my lady, intricate

if i have made, my lady, intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind – if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy – if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair

– let the world say, "his most wise music stole
nothing from death" –
you only will create
(who are so perfectly alive) my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul.

e. e. cummings

Chapter Thirty-Four – Into the Ragged Meadow

"This is wrong. I told Erik that there would be no secrets between us. And yet, here I am keeping probably the most important event of our lives a secret from him. I cannot continue to do this. He needs to know. No. He has the right to know."

She closed the open book on her lap and sighed again. Reaching her hand up, she began to massage her forehead in a vain attempt to release the headache forming there.

"I guess I shall just have to come out and tell him then." She spoke aloud.

The young woman almost jumped out of her skin as the subject of all her thoughts inquired.

"And, just what is it that you need to tell him, ma chéri?"

"Mon Dieu! I am not ready to tell him, but I refuse to lie to him. Angel, give me strength!"

She chewed on her lower lip and met his concerned eyes with her appraising gaze.

"Mon amour, I must tell you about a dream that was not a dream."

She sighed and looked down at her hands, which lay folded on her lap. Erik walked to the bed and sat down on the edge next to her. He placed one of his hands atop hers and with the other one; he lifted her chin so he could look her in the eyes.

"Have you been reading Poe again, ma chéri?"

He chuckled, but Christine saw that his eyes were shadowed with worry over whatever she planned to tell him. She met his gaze warily and fervently hoped he could see the love she felt for him in her eyes. The man's smile faltered and became wan as he continued.

"Only the truth between us, Christine. Non?"

"Oui, Erik. Only the truth. I have not forgotten. After all, we promised one another. And, I am tired of secrets. Since I came to the opera house, my life seems too full of secrets and lies."

A single tear ran unnoticed down her cheek, leaving a crystalline trail of salt in its wake as she relayed to her husband all that happened during their visit to the abode of the Angel of Music.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

Erik raced from his bedroom with the words of his wife echoing in his head and drowning out her cries of anguish as he attempted to flee from the confusion that threatened to overwhelm his mind.

"Angel? Music? Sins? But, I have nothing to confess! I committed no such sins. That dream must have seemed very real to her, but I have done nothing! I feel so betrayed by her easy acceptance of my state of supposed sin. Yet, if an angel visited me, would I believe anything other than what the angel told me? Oh, Christine! What am I to think of all this? Angel or father? Wife or phantom? Who is upstairs waiting?"

As he always did in times of great emotional distress, he felt a burning need to speak with his mother, the one person, until he met Christine, from whom he ever felt unconditional love and trust. His feet led him to his music room as tears blinded his eyes too thoroughly to see the way. He entered the darkened room and quickly moved about turning up the flames on the gas lamps until the room was bright as day. When he was satisfied with his banishment of the darkness, he allowed himself to collapse on the piano bench. Leaning forward, he placed his crossed arms atop the keyboard and heedless of the cacophony, rested his troubled head on his arms. He closed his eyes and imagined his mother sitting next to him. Her lovely face with its pale aristocratic features turned towards him. The love she felt for her son plainly etched upon her face. Emerald eyes framed with golden brown hair met eyes of a matching hue and hair of the deepest ebony. Age had only left the faintest of marks upon her flesh near the corners of her eyes and mouth. The corners of her mouth turned up with the slightest of smiles, which held only a wistful kindness.

"What is wrong, my son?"

He could imagine he heard the concern in her voice and a choked sob escaped his lips.

"Mother? She believes that I have tarnished my soul with sins of a mortal nature. I know that when I was younger I gave into the rage in my soul, but Mon Dieu! I thought that battle won years ago. Why must my life be so hard? Was not being born with this face enough punishment? Must I now confess to dark deeds that my heart and soul never committed? Surely, if there truly is an Angel of Music, he would not require that I lay claim to sins I did not commit. Would that I had sinned as then I would not feel so hurt by these accusations."

He imagined his mother placing her arm around his shoulder and giving him a slight hug.

"Erik, God never places a burden upon us heavier than one that we can bear. Have faith! Son, do you love her?"

He sat up and turned his head toward the image of the ghostly woman that he saw in his mind.

"Yes!"

The forcefulness and immediacy of his response disallowed any dispute of the truth of the man's answer.

"Then believe in your love. Trust it. Perhaps, this is a test of your love. Maybe, Christine is the one suffering under the burden of past sins. I know not. I am simply a woman. I am no angel, but I am your mother and I know you did no wrong of that magnitude. Believe in love and it shall believe in you. Remember well the vows you spoke to her. Do not forsake her, my son. She needs you now more than ever before. You must help her find and face the truth."

The man lowered his head once more and moaned into his arms. His shoulders shook and he wept bitter tears. He tried to open his heart to the love he felt for Christine and not allow his heart to harden against her and the rejection he feared he would soon face. His body began to rock as he unconsciously attempted to soothe himself and after a time, the man fell into a fitful sleep.

♥ ♫ ♥ ♫ ♥

"No! Erik, please come back! I love you! I only wish to help you!"

The woman cried after the fleeing man, but to no avail. She turned and went to bury her face in her pillow. Instead of finding the soft comfort of feathers, she felt the hard leather cover of a book. Briefly, she felt her nose mashed flat against its stiff surface before she rose to examine its title.

"The Divine Comedy – Purgatorio." She murmured.

She sat up and moved the books to her night table. She looked again at the books she had borrowed. The King James' Version of The Holy Bible and the three books of The Divine Comedy – Purgatorio, Inferno and Paradisio by Dante. She had found the definitions and descriptions of the punishments for the sins, but not the means of absolving a person's soul.

"Perhaps, exculpation is granted for these sins in the same manner as with all others. The sinner must truly repent and ask for forgiveness. I can only hope that it is so. Perhaps, I should speak with a priest."

A voice sounded hollowly in the still room.

"Christine, perhaps you need to remember that confession is good for the soul …. And, seeing as you too have a soul, you must remember that you are included within this cliché."

Her wide brown eyes searched for the source of the voice, all to no avail.

"Who is there? Erik? Angel?"

A small, shadowy figure entered the bedroom doorframe.

"Who are you? Do not come any closer or I shall scream!"

A light laughter filled the room with its bell-like tones. Christine felt a cold finger of fear trace its shivering way up her spine.

"Do I know you?"

The laughter repeated, but this time the lightness was gone and replaced with a glowering snicker.

"Oh, you most definitely could say that you know me. Although, I know you have tried to bury me away many a time, I am free at last! Nice place you have here. I think I shall feel most at home here. Now, I am warning you, you had best keep quiet about my visit or …."

All color and emotion had drained from Christine's face as she finally recognized the owner of the voice.

"Or, I had best keep my hand at the level of my eyes."

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait and the brevity of this chapter! I had this chapter halfway posted and then … a sudden inspiration struck me and I had to take it down and rewrite the entire chapter.

Well, several readers guessed about the books Christine borrowed from the opera house. No one guessed The Divine Comedy, but JackieLu and Timeflies did correctly guess about the Bible. I based my descriptions on editions of the books I have in my home's library.

Oh! I would like to welcome several new reviewers: Dancer of the Opera, DuoHarryVegeta, saucydeviant and DonJuanTriumphs … hope all of you continue to read and review!

Well, I once again apologize for the brevity of this chapter. I shall endeavor to supply you with a chapter of a more pleasing length for Chapter Thirty-Five!

Fondest wishes, --ny