The next morning, I found another offering in my room. A black morning dress of fine silk taffeta was placed on the chair at the foot of my bed. I examined it with little enthusiasm at first until I saw that unlike the other dresses in my wardrobe, this one was brand new. On the floor lay the box and pretty tissue paper from an elegant Paris boutique and unlike the dresses I owned, this had the very latest fashion silhouette with a long train of compactly placed ruffles and a tight fitting skirt that clung to my waist.
I was concerned on how Erik had acquired this most recent gift.
My eyes were red from crying as I examined myself in the mirror. I also still wore my clothes from yesterday and reasoned I had probably fainted from the emotional stress. I barely remember the previous evening or how I had managed to move myself down the passages in the opera cellars. Like Atlas, my concerns and fears felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I thought of Raoul and our awkward conversation. I recalled the sweet kisses he foolishly laid on my hand. I was still stunned at his lack of concern for propriety as we spoke. The way he flung out his arms to hold me tightly against him. Despite my protests I had relished the experience of his strong arms around my shoulders and the sensation of my face against the soft velvet lapel of his dress coat.
His confessions of jealously thinly veiled his admittance of his affections for me and I felt weak and unworthy that I could not receive or return such love.
My own confession to Raoul tore at my thoughts. Now only he and Erik knew the truth about Frederich and what he had done to me. My mind kept conjuring up the horrible scene again and again. Even though Frederich was no more, the memories would not fade. And then as if it delighted in tormenting me, my vivid imagination flashed the image of Frederich before me. Frederich, lying on the street in some miserable alley, the blood drained out of him and his body nearly shredded to pieces.
And these terrible thoughts only circled around to bring me to my most consuming fear. The man who left presents in my room. The man who had offered his home to me and I had in my naivety and desperation accepted. A man who had confessed his passionate love for me. A man who had killed for me. Erik waited just outside my door. I was a prisoner in his home, too afraid to upset him and too cowardly to run away.
All the while, I was supposed to be grieving. The woman who was the closet thing I had to a mother was gone. I could reason with myself that I had only had one chance of visiting her and I missed it. I could try and fool myself that I was so frighten of returning home that I did not seek her out again. Maybe she would have gotten better and I would have gotten the chance to visit her.
Perhaps it was really Erik I was afraid of not Frederich. But the truth was I had no one to blame but myself. Erik had willingly let me leave the first time and he surely would have left me visit the hospital to see her. I hadn't. I had stayed away. I had left my fear once again stop me from doing the right thing. Thats why I was trapped in that situation before. Now it had ironically landed me in the predicament I faced now. Would I learn anything?
I rubbed at my eyes, noticing how red they appeared. I was tempted to use some of the cosmetics that had been left for me to add some color into my poor tired face.
Erik ever diligent waited for me in the sitting room and escorted me to the ground floor. Our morning passed in silence. He released me once more, confident that I would again return.
When I reached my dressing room door, I could hear a faint sobbing sound coming from inside. I was usually one of the first to arrive at the opera and Genny had a puerperal habit of being always a few minutes late. I turned my key in the lock and opened the door.
Genny lay next to the mirror, crumpled against the wall. Her long blond hair had fallen out of her coiffure and lay in messy heaps of white yellow around her face. Her pretty white face was streamed with tears. Sobs racked her small frame causing her to shake and she brought her fists to her face, jerking them in the air.
"Genny…" I called softly, while my heart quickened its pace.
She stopped mid sob and looked at me, her eyes as red as mine had been that morning. She too wore a black dress similar to mine. I could only assume Raoul had told her the unfortunate news last night and this was the cause for her grief. But I knew that not even the death of Madame could bring such sorrow and terrible tears. It was something else. I leaned over to her level, gently brushing the hair off her face were it stuck to her tear stained cheeks.
"Christine…." She moaned. "You must think I am a terrible person!"
I shook my head. "I do not. Tell me, what has upset you?" I asked as calmly as possible.
"You have just lost someone…so dear to you…." She stuttered trying to regain her composure. "I can't possibly burden you with my regrets."
Genny had always seemed so confident. Even as children I had never seen her driven to a state of weeping as she was now. I walked over to one of the dressers and dipped a cloth into the basin of water. Returning to her side, I saw she had moved from her fetal position and now sat with her back pressed against the wall. I offered her the cloth which she placed on her neck.
"Christine, Raoul told me what happened…" For a moment, I thought that Raoul had confessed everything to his sister, despite what I had made him promise. "I'm so sorry about Madame, but at least….she is in heaven now with…with the angels." At this her voice broke again and she whimpered before she broke into mad sobs.
At this I took hold of her shoulders, feeling them shake beneath my figures. She did not stop crying.
"Genny! What's wrong?" I asked again.
"He has left me!" she shouted. "The Angel has left me. My...my Angel of Music." Her voice sounded like a hiss. "I thought I had done everything to please him, but since the closing night of Orpheus, I have heard his voice no more."
I still did not believe in the Angel of Music. But then again, until recently I had not believed in phantoms either. Perhaps who ever had been deceiving Genny had grown tired of their joke and took their leave. I should have been relieved that my friend was no longer under such an influence or deception. But she wept as if she had lost the most precious thing in the world.
So I played along.
"Did he say anything to you?" I asked.
"After my performance, he told me he was pleased with me and that I was destined to replace Carlotta by the end of the season. He promised me this! I have not seen any admirers or suitors. I did as he instructed." She rose and stood in front of the mirror. She would have usually used this opportunity to perfect her appearance as she did with any mirror. She made no move to wipe her face or pin back her tangled hair.
"Even after what happened to us...when we where chased by that...fiend. I still returned to the opera house. I feared for my life but I feared that I would lose my angel more. I have waited by this mirror every day since then, waiting to hear his voice again. But he has remained silent."
At this I nearly jumped to my feet and stood beside her at the mirror.
"The mirror..." I whispered.
She nodded. "Yes he speaks to me through this mirror." Her eyes glanced back to catch mine in the mirror. "I thought I told you that. How else would angels speak to us mortals." she reasoned.
I felt again the familiar sick feeling in my stomach. I knew that there was no real angel, but now I knew who this pretender was. The secret passages between the mirror and the wall. The confession that he had kept a watchful eye over me since my first day at the opera. Once again the pieces fell into place. I cursed my foolish ignorance as if I had failed to solve the simplest of puzzles before me. The Phantom of the Opera, Frederich's murderer and the invisible Angel of Music. They were all the same man.
Had Genny not being leaning back in my arms at that moment for support, I would have fainted myself. I wrapped my arms across her small chest and held her tight, for both our sakes. I bit my lip hard, bidding the sickness and the fear to leave me.
I held her tightly, feeling the overwhelming need to protect her.
There was a light drizzle as the funeral mass occurred. Thankfully for the few people in attendance, it had stopped before the casket was loaded on the hearse for it's final journey. Madame was to be interned in the cemetery at Montmartre, in the same district where Frederich had been murdered.
Michelle was there, wearing the best dress she had. I had arranged with M. Girard that a portion of my inheritance be left to Michelle so she wouldn't have to seek work for several years. The rest went to Frederich's mother and sister. Michelle insisted walking to the cemetery which was only a mile away from the chapel. I joined her. Even though Raoul protested because of the cold, he finally left his carriage and walked with us. Genny, who was still too distraught and out of sorts took the carriage back to her townhouse and did not come to the burial.
Raoul was persistent until I took his arm and let him lead me down the boulevard behind the hearse. He only offer more condolences and for this I was grateful. No amounts of words could bring my Mamma Valerius back. When we reached the grave site I was stunned to see two identical arrangements of white roses in heavy clay jars propped next to the freshly carved tombstone. There had been no flowers at the chapel or with the hearse. Not many acquaintances had come to the mass and since many were as old as Madame had been, they begged off making the journey to the cemetery. I looked at Raoul in surprise.
"Who could have left these?" I wondered.
Then his eyes glanced away shyly and I knew the answer.
"Raoul..." I whispered. "They are beautiful...I'm very grateful."
He nodded and we watched again in silence as the coffin was lowered into the earth. I leaned my head against Raoul's shoulder in exhaustion and he in turn shuffled his arm so I would be more comfortable. The few well wishers trailed off and the grave diggers stood conspicuously out of sight, waiting to finish their task.
"Thank you for being here." I finally said, lifting my head.
" I needed be here, Christine." he replied. "To pay my respects." His feet shuffled and I found myself carried away as we took a strange stroll through the rows of headstone. Passing the vases with the roses, Raoul reached over and pluck up a long steam with a not yet blooming bud. He handed it to me and I clutched it against my chest.
"I had my parents on this earth for such a short while. In that respect, I suppose we are alike Christine. I looked to the Valerius as a second set of parents. I wasn't there to say goodbye to the Professor or your father. So being here is the least I could do."
I looked out across the cemetery, seeing the skyline of the city beyond the gates. The bold and bright buildings with their windows starting to come to light with candles inside them, contrasted with the empty burial ground. Its' endless rows of headstones stared back at us like blank faces. Th stoic stones reflecting the lost lives of the souls buried beneath them. We stopped to look up at the sky, which was suddenly growing cloudy and dark. I moved away from Raoul and leaned against a large stone statue. I stared up at the figure of an angel, looking down upon the earth. Her serene face matched the loving gesture of her outstretched arms awaiting the souls of mortals.
"Raoul, do you remember the stories of the Angel of Music?" I asked.
"The stories your father told us. Yes I recall them." he took a few steps away, his hands clasped behind his back.
"But do you believe in angels?"
He gave a small laugh. "I suppose so. I like to think I am a good Catholic."
He must have thought I was depressed by my melancholy musing, but I was trying to be serious. "But either way, angels should remain in heaven, don't you think?"
"What is it Christine?" he asked. "Why such talk of angels?" He walked over to where I stood and leaned an elbow against the statue. "You and Genny both are talking too much of angels and ghosts lately."
I clutched his arm tightly in a panic "What has she told you? About ghosts?"
"Nothing...nothing serious. Just silly gossip about an opera ghost she mentions from time to time. But I thought both of you were too sensible for talk like that." he scolded.
"And angels?"
"You know something Christine. I see the same look in your eyes that night after Orpheus...when you seemed reluctant to toast to the Angel of Music. And you speak of it now. It's not like you. Tell me do you believe in the Angel? Or the Ghost?" he demanded.
I pressed my hands against my ears, not wanting to be interrogated. "No, there are no such things as angels or ghosts!" I shouted, my terrified voice disturbing the stillness of the hallowed ground. "But I fear that Genny does. That her blind beliefs will lead her to harm."
At that, Raoul's eyebrows darted up in surprise. "Genny?"
"I cannot say all, but Genny believes in the Angel of Music. She told me she hears him in her dressing room." I explained quickly
"Him? The Angel of Music is a man?"
"Yes!" I breathed sharply. "I had the same reaction as you when she first told me. I thought she was joking but she described to me that this voice, this angel's voice spoke to her in her dressing room. She heard it and spoke to it. And it spoke back." My chest felt tightly as I whispered this information to Raoul. The things Genny swore me to secrecy. I could only help in so many ways. By keeping Erik satisfied, I was keeping him distracted. He wouldn't have the time to play the cruel farce with my best friends.
But Genny needed more protection than I could give her.
"Have you heard this angel Christine? Do you know him?"
A rapid breeze went by us, and the chill air stung at my throat and nose as I spoke. "No." I denied.
"You think it's someone playing a trick on her." He stated.
I nodded. "I think it's worst than that. I think someone is praying on her faith and ignorance. They may only trying to use her trust to gain some sort of advantage." I mused. In truth I knew not what Erik's motives were in this matter.
"Like what? You speak as if you know more…" Raoul prodded. His arm wrapped itself around my waist. He could have pulled me closer but he didn't.
"No, I know nothing more. I just have some horrible feeling about this all. I fear Genny's mind is not well, that her faith in the angel has distorted her perception somehow. I will try and talk to her, but I'm afraid…"
"It seems like you are the one who is afraid." Raoul pointed out. "You're trembling." At this statement, I became painfully aware of my vibrating body against Raoul's open palm.
"There is a company break between the end of this opera and the next one in the spring. For the holidays. Do you think that you could manage to persuade Genny to take some time off? To go away for awhile." I asked.
His arm went from my waist up to my forearm and now he dared to pull me towards him. I let him, having his arms turn me about to face him. The sun was setting, and instead of gracing the earth with its brilliant hues, it only made all around us gray.
"Do you think that would be the best idea?" he asked, raising a figure to my chin.
I nodded. "Perhaps whoever is doing this will tire of his charade if she isn't around. Maybe he will leave her alone."
"Do you think this person could be in love with her? That he is stalking her?"
I gasped. "No, no I don't think so." On that I was certain.
"It will take some strong convincing to get Genny to leave the stage." Raoul said. "Even if only for a few weeks. Perhaps…if you came with us, she might be more open to the idea."
"I cannot. I cannot leave…Paris. Not now." I protested.
He sighed. "It seems to me you're the one in desperate need of a holiday. You've been through so much, and you've tried to bear it all by yourself." He placed his hand against the back of my head. It was large enough that his palm rested against my ear. It sent out the most pleasant warm feeling.
"You don't have to do this alone. You have nearly no one left in this world, except..." he started. He looked around his shoulder cautiously. As if anyone would be watching us.
"You could come stay with me...with us." He corrected himself. "There is enough room in our townhouse. Come live with us. If you are so concerned with Genny, maybe it would be better if you stayed with her. It would be completely sensible. No one would think it would be ..."
"Hush Raoul." I commanded. " Are you listening to yourself? You know that isn't possible." It could have been an ideal situation. To once again taken care of. I could have been very well kept. The de Chagnys had more than enough money. But it was impossible.
"Why not?" His breath caressed my cheek. He was so close. He was always too close.
"Because of this." I whispered. "Because you are always...so close. So quick to offer your help. You're not thinking. Because we both know the real reason...why you are asking this..."
His eyes shut in disappointment. "I know...but I can't help..."
His lips were almost on mine. I ducked out of the way, dropping the rose in my hand. I bent to retrieve it. "Please Raoul...I just need to be alone." I cried. Again I found myself running away from my friend. A friend who openly offered me his hand...and his heart. I was afraid. Just like I had been afraid the night Erik had first offered to give me singing lessons.
I was afraid then that it was too good to be true...and it had been.
I heard Raoul's footsteps tread down the gravel path. "I'll fetch us a cab." He said. With rose in hand, I walked back to Madame's grave. The sun was finally out of the sky, and the dim glow from the street lights was my only source of illumination. In the course of our short walk, the gravediggers had returned and neatly filled the hole.
Glancing around, I saw that I was truly alone. I lifted my skirt, so that the fabric of my undergarments buried themselves in the soft earth, and not the fabric of my dress. My right hand reached out to touch the ground as my eyes focused on the words carved in the granite. Words that had been carved too soon.
"Mamma..." I whispered. I took back every evil thought I had about Frederich. About the horrors I wished for him. The stubborn disappointment I had felt toward Madame for letting him live under her roof. I took them all back. But my penance was meaningless. She couldn't hear it anymore.
"Requiem aeternam...dona eis Domine...et lux perpaetua...luceat...luceat." the words of a Requiem mass spilled from my lips involuntary. It was all I could offer now to express my guilt. For not being there, for letting my fears keep me away.
Fear was still keeping my away from the people I loved. It stopped me from returning Raoul's apparent affections for me. It stopped me from admitting my love for Erik.
"Luceat eis... Exau di, exau di orationem menam..."
A girl alone in a graveyard at twilight should have been frightened.
Then I heard a song echoing my own, but it was not another voice. Nor was it the sound of the wind blasting between the headstones. It was the sound a violin. I stood and followed the sound. I had tears on my cheeks and the breeze nearly chilled them to my skin. I couldn't see who was playing, but I could hear the sounds of the strings all around me. I placed the white rose on the grave and moved to away.
With the light of day fading with every second, I hunted for the sound of the violin. It continued the requiem that I had started. The cemetery was small enough with only a few rows of headstones. The large angel statue was the tallest structure in the place, besides the plain stone walls that enclosed it. But I walked the length of the cemetery and saw not a soul.
Then the tune changed from the mass to a new one. Strange at first but then I recognized it. The Resurrection of Lazarus.
How appropriate that I heard these ghostly chords here, where the dead lay. I had heard my father play it on his violin and more recently, Erik had played it for me in the house by the lake.
Erik!
It couldn't be. The heat that rushed to my face thawed my tears and I raced back to the headstone. He had followed me. The violin stilled played on in the same genius skill I knew he was capable of. The comforting notes of the song that should have brought relief to my grief, only struck me with terror. He was here and he had been watching me. What had he seen?
What had he heard?
I was foolish on how easily he had let me leave. I had agree to return to his home and stay with him and yet he without hesitation released me every day to the world above. I could have easily run away, taken a coach out of Paris.
Stupid girl. I should have known. He would have stop any escape I had thought of because he was always watching. Even outside the walls of the opera house. My boots skidded to a halt in the dirt by Madame's grave. The stark white petals of the roses in the vases shone like beacons in the stale darkness. I picked up the rose I had left on the ground.
The violin wailed on. I clutched the rose in my hand, feeling its thorns stick me through my gloves. It was not the same one I had left in the soil moments before
It was a red rose in full bloom.