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Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

September 18th 1892: Erik

I should have known I'd end up here. Somehow my feet seemed to develop a life of their own at times, carrying me to places I had never asked them to bring me to. Yet at the moment every other place would have been better than this one. I'd have preferred Signora Marchesi's room. I'd have preferred the chorus girls' dressing room, even with them in it. Yes, I'd have even preferred the stuffy little room the stagehands met in to play cards and drink cheap wine.

But no… of all places there were at the opera, my feet had brought me here. Christine's old dressing room. The place where it had all begun, all the pain, all the misery… and all the joy. Of course I had given her lessons in another room before, but for some reason that room had never held such a big significance for me.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Christine had first seen me in there. On that day she had learned that I was not a ghost and not an angel. I couldn't help thinking that an intelligent girl such as her must have suspected it before, but she had got proof from me only that day, when I had opened the mirror and taken her with me. Today I could smile about how nervous I had been, almost like a groom seeing his bride on their wedding day. I had known our relationship would become more complicated from that day, but…

…but if I had had any idea just how complicated it would become, I'd have perhaps chosen to stay in the shadows. If I had known that more than a decade later I'd be standing at that very door because my world was breaking into pieces around me… I shook my head. There was no point in pondering on what I should have done. I had to decide what I wanted to do now.

Quickly I pulled a small key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock. Of course I could have opened the door without it, but this was important for me. I didn't want to enter the room like a thief, but like a guest, who was so welcome that he had been given a key. There wasn't the slightest bit of rust on the keyhole, for I made sure it was polished once a week, just like the entire door. The managers didn't think too much of the additional expense, especially for a room no one would ever use again, but they weren't foolish enough to question me.

The key turned without problems. I pressed down the door handle and opened the door slowly, carefully. It had been a while since the last time I – or anyone else, for that matter – had been in there. I entered the room with cautious steps, like someone might enter a church… or a graveyard. In a way, this room was both for me. It was the place where I had worshipped Christine and the place where I had mourned her. It was a place of overwhelming happiness and just as overwhelming sadness. It was hell and it was paradise.

It was just a normal room. The realisation was abrupt and cruel as I stepped inside. It was a normal, dusty old room that reeked of neglect. Well, given the fact that no one had used it in years, that was hardly surprising. All the furniture was covered with large pieces of cloth, so that it appeared oddly shapeless. I inhaled deeply, expecting to smell the sweet scent of Christine's soap and powder, only to realise that the air in the room was stale and full of dust. It made me cough.

I closed my eyes for a moment… and when I opened them, it was back. I was no longer standing in an abandoned old room, but in the dressing room of the girl I loved. Everything was there, from the hairbrush and the ribbons on the dressing table to the fan she had used to play with. The cushions on the sofa were standing in a neat row. There even was a vase with flowers.

And then there was the mirror. Highly polished as usual, its surface was shining like that of a lake… of my lake. One day I'd take her down to see it. I was sure Christine would enjoy gliding over it in my gondola. And once she'd have seen my home… I gave a dreamy little sigh. We'd sing together, and I'd play the organ for her, and we'd be happy. She'd realise how enormous my feelings for her were, and maybe she'd even return them.

A second fit of coughing brought me back to reality abruptly. Blinking the specks of dust out of my eyes, I noticed that in the course of my little journey into the past, I had pulled the cloth off the mirror, thus causing the shower of dust. The mirror was no longer shiny. It had become patched at the spots where the cloths had failed to cover it properly.

Inexplicably, the sight brought tears to my eyes. I didn't want all this. I didn't want the mirror to be dirty, I didn't want the room to be abandoned… and I didn't want Christine to be gone from it. Why couldn't things have stayed the way they had been? Why hadn't I been content with my life as the Opera Ghost? Why had I ever tried to open up to Christine?

Everything was simple: If I had never told her that I was a real person, she wouldn't have shunned me. I had practically pushed her into the Vicomte's arms. If she hadn't fallen in love with the Vicomte, there would be no Philippe asking awkward questions now. There would be no chaos of emotions inside me. Life would be easy.

I felt a wild urge to go back to that state before I had revealed my true identity to Christine. Yes, I had been lonely then. But I was lonely now, too, wasn't I? In fact, I felt much lonelier than I had felt before. By now I was sure that Philippe would reject me. So why did I have to return to the de Chagnys at all? I had experienced enough rejection to last me a lifetime; I didn't have to hear that one as well.

Go back! the whole room seemed to whisper. Become the Opera Ghost again! Life was so easy back then…

It wasn't a hard decision. After just a few moments my fingers were wandering over the upper edge of the mirror, as I searched for the switch that opened it. I could only hope it would still work after all the years of not being used.

How easily my fingers rememberd every step! Gliding over the smooth wood, finding the switch, pressing down the right side of it – I could have done it in my sleep. Stepping back I watched the glass slide aside. The corridor behind it was pitch-black, but that didn't hold me back. Other people fled from the darkness. The Opera Ghost embraced it.

A smile spread across my face as I entered the passageway, feeling the cold air hit me. Pushing aside the cobwebs with one arm, I used the other hand to close the mirror. Everything still seemed to be working smoothly. I inhaled deeply, taking a few moments to simply enjoy the sensations rushing through me. I was back to being a mere ghost, a shadow. I had left behind my worries and my anxiety. Ghosts didn't have those feelings.

I was just about to decide whether to stay here for a little longer or explore the passageway to check whether nothing had caved in, when a sound startled me. The door to the dressing room was opened, and Meg Giry entered it. She was looking distinctly worried, though I couldn't imagine the reason. But then, what did I care about what was going on in the head of a chorus girl, even if it was my loyal Mme.Giry's daughter?

"Erik? Erik, are you here?" she called, looking around curiously.

I didn't reply. Sure, I remembered that there had been a time when people had called me Erik, but it was over. Besides, no chorus girl had the right to call for me and get an instant reaction, like from a faithful dog. Who did that Meg Giry think she was?

The girl continued looking around, strutting through the room as if it belonged to her. Then her gaze fell upon the mirror. Seconds later she was standing in front of it.

"Are you there?" she called. "Hiding behind the mirror?"

Now I did have to answer.

"The Opera Ghost does not hide," I corrected her. "If I choose not to show myself, it is only my business."

"Are you trying to be funny as well now?" she wanted to know. "That's nice of you, but we don't have the time. I've arranged for a coach to pick us up in five minutes. Then we'll get Christine and Philippe as well and drive straight to my home. Jean will welcome you with open arms. He's looking forward to meeting you again. So do come out now. You can play Opera Ghost again later."

"I am not playing, Mademoiselle," I informed her politely. "I am the Opera Ghost, and I can assure you that I have no idea what you are talking about."

The girl's eyes grew wide, as if she had realised something.

"Oh Erik, something must have happened to you," she whispered. Her hand darted out to touch the mirror, but she seemed to change her mind and pulled it back. "I'll go and get Christine," she announced. "She'll make you all right again. After all, she's your wife now."

"Wife?" I repeated incredulously. "Ghosts do not have wives."