September 18th 1892: Erik
The room went quiet so suddenly as if everyone had been struck mute at the same time. Before, there had still been a little talking here and there, Mme.Giry had been whispering with Meg and Philippe with the Vicomte, but now there was absolute silence. Everyone was looking at me, eager to see how I'd react. I felt their glances on my back.
At first, I didn't react at all. I was too stunned to do more than stare wordlessly at the little girl in the bed, whose pretty little mouth had uttered such an ugly request. I took a certain pride in the fact that I was always prepared for everything that could occur, but I wasn't prepared for this. When I had pictured the situation in my mind, I had imagined the children lying in their beds, perhaps crying, in desperate need of someone to comfort them with nice stories.
Now I was the one who was shocked. Well, actually everyone else was shocked, too… except for Antoinette. And even the girl seemed to know exactly what an impact her words had had. I doubted that she had known it from the start, but she certainly was aware of it now. She was chewing on her lower lips, looking uneasy, probably because of the sudden silence.
I knew it was up to me to do something. I couldn't expect anyone else to take over my task and give the girl the answer to her questions, even if they had been able to do so. For the Opera Ghost, it would have been simple. He'd have refused the request with a few short words and disappeared. But I couldn't do such things anymore. I had spent too much time with the children – mainly with Philippe, of course, but also with Antoinette – to disappoint them now.
Besides, I had made a promise. I had promised that I'd tell them tonight what lay beneath my mask. With all that had happened, it had been easy for me to forget that promise, but apparently Antoinette hadn't forgotten it. And I had to deal with the consequences of her good memory now. If I told them the truth, I faced the risk that they'd be appalled. But if I didn't tell them anything or else made up a story, I'd be a liar, and I didn't want Philippe to think badly of me.
The decision was made. There was no other solution than honesty. I cleared my throat, which felt very dry.
"You're right, Antoinette," I said. "I promised to tell you about the mask, and I'll… and I'll do so."
I heard several sharp intakes of breath behind me. Then a warm hand touched my shoulder gently.
"You don't have to do this, Erik," Christine whispered "No one will force you. The children can have another story."
"They want this one," I told her simply. "So they'll get it."
Christine stepped even closer. Our bodies were almost touching, and I could smell the strange mixture of dirt, sweat and the sweet flowery soap that she used. It took me a lot of effort to keep myself from turning around and taking her into my arms in front of everyone. But I managed to remain strong.
"People have the tendency to want things that aren't good for them," she breathed, so that only I could hear it. "I also thought I wanted to see what was under the mask and…" She didn't finish her sentence, but I knew what she wanted to say. She had been disgusted by my appearance.
I covered her hand with mine in a silent thank you. I appreciated her attempt to help me. Yet our tender moment was interrupted by the Vicomte.
"You know, I think he's right," he said loudly. "A promise is a promise. If he told the children he'd explain about the mask, he should certainly do so."
He sounded positively gleeful, which made me puzzled. I'd have been sure he'd be furious if he found out what I wanted to expose the children to. Yet it only took me a moment to understand his motive: He regarded the situation as a chance to get closer to the children himself. If they were appalled by me, it would automatically bring them closer to him. It never ceased to surprise me just how low this man could stoop.
Of course this made my situation even more difficult. If I didn't tell the children now, the Vicomte would make sure they'd think me a liar, even if they wouldn't have done so on their own. But if I told them and they reacted in the way I feared, he'd be the winner. Apparently I was the only one who could never win, no matter what I did.
And then, in this moment in which I had no idea what to do, Mme.Giry spoke.
"Why don't we all leave now?" she suggested calmly, as if she hadn't noticed any of the tension in the room. "We could take a little nightcap in the sitting room, and then it'll be bed-time for us as well. This is between Erik and the children, and none of us should interfere."
"But I'm their father," the Vicomte protested. "I have the right to – "
"You have the right to leave them alone every now and then, when they need it," Mme.Giry said sternly. "You'll still be their father in the morning, and they'll still need you then. At the moment, they need something else, something you cannot give them."
Even I found it hard to disagree with Mme.Giry if she was in this mood, and the Vicomte certainly was no match for her.
"All right," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I'll go. Christine?"
I was still covering her hand with mine, and I applied a little more pressure, holding her where she was. I didn't want her to leave. If I truly told the story of the mask, I'd need as much support as possible.
Christine seemed to understand all this without me having to explain it to her. It was a sign of how close we were.
"Go without me, Raoul," she said. "I'm still needed here. And don't…" She cleared her throat. "…don't wait for me when you go to bed. There are a few things I have to discuss with Erik."
Now I simply had to throw a triumphant glance over my shoulder. The Vicomte looked shocked.
"But Christine…" he murmured. "I thought we could…" His voice trailed off as Mme.Giry steered him out of the room.
Meg followed them, but stopped when she was next to Christine.
"If it's not too late when you're finished, come to my room," she said in a low voice. "There's something I have to tell you. Something important." Before Christine could respond with anything more than a nod, Meg walked away and closed the door behind her with a snap.
I'd have given a lot to find out what had happened while I had not been here. Something had obviously been going on between Christine and Meg as well as between Christine and the Vicomte. I hadn't failed to notice the tension between them. But now was not the right time to ask her about it. The children had listened to the adults' conversation patiently and were now gazing up at me expectantly, waiting for me to start.
Sometime in between, the decision had been made a second time, and it was still the same. I wasn't sure who had made it or why, but it had happened. I had to tell them the truth, no matter what the consequences would be. I just had to do it. It was all clear in my head, as if I had known the outcome from the start.
I settled down on a chair in the gap between the children's beds, which was barely wide enough. Christine fetched a second chair and sat down opposite me, so that she could look at me. We were sitting so closely together that out knees were touching, and I drew more comfort from that little touch that I'd have believed it possible.
"Can we finally start now?" Antoinette asked, managing to sound bored with the previous conversation and excited about what was to come at the same time. It might have been surprising, but neither of the children looked remotely sleepy. They were far too eager to hear my story.
"Yes… yes, we will start now," I replied heavily. "You wanted to know what lies beneath the mask, and you will know it. The right side of my face is deformed since my birth. It… it is… many people have tried to describe it, but there are no words for such horrors, because they shouldn't exist at all. It looks like…" I sighed, annoyed with my own disability to explain.
"What does it look like?" Antoinette wanted to know keenly. "Why don't you explain it properly?"
"I told you: There are no words for it," I said. "But if you really want to know, I… I can show you…"
Christine gasped.
"Erik…" she breathed, but it was too late. I had made up my mind. The girl was right: Now that I had started doing it, I could as well do it properly.
I seized the edges of my mask with trembling fingers and took it off. Then I turned my head, first in Antoinette's direction, then in Philippe's. Seeing the flicker of fear in my boy's eyes was almost more than I could bear. He took one look a me in my full ugliness, then he crawled out of his bed and ran away. The door closed behind him.