September 18th 1892: Meg
"What happened to Uncle Erik?" Philippe cried, his eyes growing wide with fear.
It was only now that I saw him struggling to leap out of his armchair, held back by his mother's arm, that it occurred to me that simply running into the room had been very foolish. I should have better called for Christine and asked her to talk to me outside. Unfortunately blind panic wasn't the best advisor in such matters. It had merely told me to come here as quickly as possible, drag my friend out of the room and go back to the opera.
Yet now, facing a terrified little boy, I realised I needed a much better plan. Suppressing my own fear and agitation, I replied airily:
"Oh, it's nothing serious. Erik just… needs your mother's help.". I stressed the last words, winking at Christine meaningfully. "He… he can't find a certain… object in his house, and he wants her to help him look for it."
I watched Philippe nervously to see whether he believed my story. I didn't have a lot of experience with little children and wasn't sure how gullible they were. Yet to my relief the boy nodded.
"Can I come with you?" he then asked. "I'm good at finding things. What is it that – ?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," I interrupted him hastily, before his mother could give a different reply. "You see… you see…" Frantically I searched for a new excuse, but the fact that I didn't lie very often made it very difficult for me.
Christine still seemed to possess her old intuition for times when I was in trouble. She comprehended my problem at once and jerked her head into the direction of the boy. At first I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I threw her a puzzled glance, and she repeated the motion of her head, this time combined with a small wave of her hand… at the book in Philippe's lap. Finally I understood her. At least I hoped I did.
"Erik wants you to continue reading… in that book," I said tentatively.
Christine nodded.
"It'll be best for you to go down into the kitchen while we're not here," she decided. "Larisse will look after you."
"All right," Philippe agreed, getting up from his armchair. This time, his mother didn't hold him back. "But if you come back and still haven't found it, I'll go looking for it, too."
"Of course, of course," I muttered, although I sincerely hoped that would never happen. The state Erik had been in had scared me. I didn't want to expose a child to it.
Christine made small attempts to speak to me without Philippe noticing it all the way to the kitchen, but I just shook my head. It wasn't a matter that could be explained in two minutes' time, and frankly I thought it better if Christine sat down while listening to what had happened. Just in case…
"In the coach," I murmured, and she nodded reluctantly.
The other two went into the kitchen, but I waited outside. I wanted us to leave quickly, and I knew it would become much harder once the cook had spotted me. She'd doubtlessly offer me something to eat or drink, and we didn't have time for such things now. I used the few minutes to think about what I'd tell Christine. I had already done so on the coach ride, but I still hadn't found the right words.
It would have been a big advantage if I had known what exactly had happened to Erik. Christine probably wouldn't believe me how serious his condition was, or she'd think my story to be a joke, just like I had done at first. Yet she hadn't seen Erik. Well, I hadn't seen him either because he had been behind the mirror, but hearing him had been enough to frighten me. He had sounded completely sincere in his claim that he was the Opera Ghost and nothing more.
Yet what had scared me most had been the fact that he had said he didn't have a wife. Erik would have never said that, not when he was so happy about finally being with Christine, unless… Maybe he had bumped his head somewhere and forgotten everything. I had heard of such incidents. The problem I had with this theory was that I simply couldn't imagine Erik bumping his head. It was too… undiginfied. Besides, he knew every inch of the opera house, every wall and every beam. Such a man didn't hurt himself. It would be like a sailor losing his way in his own bathtub.
Finally Christine left the kichen.
"What is it?" she demanded at once. "What is this thing Erik had lost and wants me to find it?"
I swallowed hard.
"His mind," I whispered. "I believe he has lost his mind."
"Are you making a joke?" she wanted to know. "For if that's supposed to be a joke, it's not funny. You scared Philippe as well, you see."
"Do I look as if I were joking?" I asked.
My friend examined the expression on my face closely for a moment, then she seemed to understand that I was serious, for the smile on her face faded.
"No, you don't," she said in a low voice. "Why don't you finally tell me what happened? What makes you think Erik has lost his mind?"
I opened my mouth to comply, but closed it again, suddenly remembering how much time I had already lost since I had arrived here. In my initial plan it had all worked much faster, and I couldn't afford any more delays. So I simply grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her down the corridor, muttering "I'll tell you in the coach.".
She barely had time to take her handbag and a coat before we hurried out of the door and down the steps.
"The coach is waiting for us," I informed her. "I rented one of the opera's coaches. I could have taken Jean's, but I didn't remember I had come in it…" I shook my head about my own behaviour. It wasn't like me to react that carelessly.
"So?" Christine asked, the moment we had taken our seats in the coach and I had told the driver to take us back to the opera.
Knowing we didn't have any time to lose, I launched right into the tale of what had happened between Estella and me on the stage this morning. I made it quick, for I could practically see my friend growing more impatient by the moment. She was probably wondering what on earth all that had to do with Erik.
"…and I didn't realise Erik was behind it until my mother said so more or less openly," I finished, making Christine smile for the first time since our journey had begun.
"I should have known he'd do something like that," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "So he never planned to let her… oh, never mind that now," she added, seeing my questioning glance. "None of it sounds as if he had been out of his mind. Are you sure you weren't… exaggerating a little?"
"I wish I was," I said with a sigh. Then I told her the rest of the story, the part that I had been dreading. I told her how peculiar Erik had been when I had talked to him in the dressing room, that he had refused to come out… and that he had claimed not to be married. Christine grew paler with every word I uttered.
"How could he say that?" she whispered. "We were so happy together…"
"Of course you were," I assured her gently. "Everyone could see that. Something must have happened between the time he talked to Estella and the moment I came to see him in your former dressing room. But I wonder what that could have been. There wasn't that much time, you know. I only exchanged a few more words with my mother, then I left the stage to look for Erik and thank him for what he had done. Well, it did take me a couple of minutes to find him, but…" I couldn't go on, for in this moment we reached the opera and had to leave the coach.
Neither of us spoke while we made out way through the corridors. By now they were so crowded that any word would have been overheard, and we couldn't risk that. Every now and then, I threw my friend and sideways glance. Her face was still very pale, and it looked as though she were clenching her teeth, probably to hold back tears.
At last we reached the dressing room.
"What am I supposed to do?" Christine asked me in a whisper, gripping my arm. She looked terrified and utterly helpless.
"Just talk to him," I suggested uncertainly. "If something has really made him lose his memory, I'm sure that you're the one who can help him get it back."
She nodded, and I regarded it as a sign that she was ready. I didn't bother knocking, but opened the door at once. Fortunately it still wasn't locked.
The room was empty. I hadn't expected it to be any different.
"Erik?" I called. "M. le Fantome?" I added after a moment, remembering that he hadn't reacted to being called Erik the last time. "I'm back, and I brought Christine with me." It was then that I spotted something in the dim light coming from the door: The mirror stood slightly ajar. In a display of far more courage than I felt, I went over to it and peered through the crack. As far as I could tell, no one was there.
Hearing a gasp, I spun around. Christine was crouching on the floor. At first I thought she had doubled over in pain, but then I realised she had bent down to pick up a small object from the floor. Apparently the sight of it had been so shocking that she had sat down.
"Please, God, no," she whispered, her voice sounding terribly hollow. When I came closer, I recognised the small object as a golden ring.