Desolation Dreamed Of

Of Offenses and Operas

"Christine?" The voice sounded distant and vaguely familiar, but fatigue hindered Christine from even attempting to identify it. "Christine, can you hear me?" It was clearer now, just slightly crisper against her ears, but she had little motivation to respond. "Dear child…" The words weren't meant for her, but she heard them nonetheless. After a moment of thought, her senses seized and she fought through all exhaustion to speak. Only one man she knew referred to her as a child now that her father had died. It was her angel, right there next to her, tending to her.

"Angel…" It was hoarse and could barely be heard, but she felt the being near her stop suddenly and turn to look down at her. Tension had risen in the air.

"Angel?" the voice asked quickly and a hand came to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. The hand was warm… It was not the glacial, skeletal hand of her angel… No, not an angel at all. He had been the Phantom of the Opera. And who was this here? His hand was warm and his bones did not stick out unnaturally as his had.

"Oh, Christine…" She recognized it now. Her eyes opened quickly, though her world only turned from black to a foggy grey. With a sharp intake of breath, she brought her own hand up desperately to grasp his.

"Raoul," she said breathlessly, tightening her hold slightly on his hand. Her thoughts were racing—was Carlotta alright? Had someone seen the Phantom on stage with her last night? What had happened?

"Christine!" He spoke with surprise and she could feel his eyes boring into hers. "Are you alright?" His voice was frantic with worry, but she didn't hear his words.

"Where is Carlotta?" she demanded quickly, and when he began to protest to her question, she repeated herself more forcefully. "Raoul, where is Carlotta!"

He was silent for a moment, though Christine could not understand why. Finally, he responded. "She was here earlier, and she's fine." There was silence again as Christine let out a sigh of relief. "Christine," he continued. "What has this man put into your head?"

Her breath caught and her grip on his hand loosened somewhat. "What do you mean?"

"I heard him in your dressing room. Before you disappeared." Another pause, and when Christine refused to respond, he pressed on. "You must tell me what is going on."

She burst out without thought. "It's the Phantom of the Opera!" she shrieked. "He stole me away and lied to me and he's going to hurt Carlotta!" For a moment she worried that he was somewhere in this room, somewhere hidden in the walls, but she pushed these inhibitions aside.

"This is madness!" His voice rang out in interruption and she recoiled slightly. "Christine, the Phantom of the Opera is a myth that silly ballerinas tell to the young ballet rats. He doesn't exist."

"Yes he does!" she exclaimed, struggling to sit up. "He was there on the stage with me and I felt his mask and he's going to do something awful to her!"

"Christine…" Raoul said, suddenly quite softly. "This is fanciful." His fingers ran gently across her forehead. "It's clear that a man has lied to you and has taken advantage of your blindness… And I will find out who he is and make sure he is properly reprimanded. But it was a man, not some phantom."

"You don't understand," Christine said desperately, her eyes welling up with frustrated tears as she pleaded.

"I'll keep you safe," he continued, his hand suddenly grasping hers. "I'll protect you."

"It is not I who needs protecting," she pleaded, but she already knew that this fight had been lost. She let out a shaky breath and gently laid herself back down, burdened with the knowledge that Carlotta would be injured without doubt.

The following week was strewn with terror for Christine. Every moment, both awake and asleep, was wracked with thoughts of the Phantom of the Opera. As she passed around every corner, she half expected to hear him or run into him. She braced herself for his touch at all hours of the day, preparing herself for his icy cold hands. When she didn't go to lessons and instead did extra work in the House, she worried that she would hear him reprimanding her.

But none of this occurred. Apparently he had not only stopped interacting with her, but also ceased to torture Carlotta and the ballet rats over the course of the week, because she heard no stories of his presence for once. It was as if he had completely disappeared from the Opera House altogether.

On the Friday before Aida was to open, though, she knew exactly what was coming when Meg came to the House and told her timidly that she was to come to the stage. Christine had begged her as they hurried down the hallways to explain what was happening, but Meg kept saying that she wasn't allowed to say anything. It was Carlotta. He hadn't disappeared after all.

As soon as they reached the stage, Christine nearly spit out that something had happened to Carlotta, but she knew that this would create immediate suspicion. Instead, she gulped as her eyes scanned the shadows standing across the stage, feeling their eyes upon her.

"You'll be playing Aida, Ms. Daaé," were the blunt words of Monsieur Firmin and she heard a scoff downstage of her.

"What?" She was still breathless from the running and her mind was spinning in panic.

"You heard him." They were the disdainful words of Monsieur Piangi who was standing just to her left.

"What about Carlotta?" She prayed with all of her being that she was not severely wounded, or worse—dead. She would no longer put it past her angel of death.

"She has broken her right leg and cannot perform next week."

"But why me?" she demanded, though she knew this answer as well.

There was a pause as Firmin considered this, but he continued frankly. "This is not the place to discuss such things." Yes, she could feel the apprehension emanating from the performers surrounding them.

"Rehearsals will start tonight. I have been told…" He stopped suddenly, clearing his throat as he changed his mind. "I hope that you will be prepared for the role." With that, she could hear him retreating across the stage and Meg was pulling her off of the stage. When they were safely in the wings and out of the earshot of the other performers, Christine clasped Meg's arm.

"Please tell me what really happened."

Meg didn't speak for a moment and Christine assumed that she was planning her words carefully or perhaps debating whether or not to even speak.

"They received a letter yesterday…" she murmured under her breath so that the stagehands that were milling about couldn't hear. "My mother told me about it… It said that Carlotta's fall was an unfortunate accident and that he had the perfect replacement for her… You. It was merely a suggestion, and the producers were unsure of whether or not they were going to follow the instruction. I suppose the Phantom knew that there was ambivalence, because this morning another letter came that threatened Piangi…He said that he would be more than willing to break both of Piangi's legs if they did not obey him."

Christine's breath caught in her throat as she listened to Meg's words. Threats…

"You will perform, won't you?" Meg asked tentatively, still somewhat winded.

"I don't know…" Christine admitted, barely able to speak.

"You must!" Christine closed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows in concern before Meg continued. "You don't know what he will do if you don't perform… He could come after you…Or Raoul…" Christine's eyes flew open and a deep frown became etched in her face. "Christine, even though you have said nothing of it, I know that your angel is the Phantom, and I don't think any less of you for believing. But things are becoming dangerous. He broke her leg. You must do what he says!"

Christine's face went blank and she nodded slowly. "It seems so."

That night she was led to the stage by Meg who had whispered a "good luck" to her as she left to regain her position on stage. Every person on stage was staring at her, judging her every breath. No one thought she should be there… She could feel the animosity radiating around her and she wanted nothing more than to run and hide in the House.

"She's blind, you know…" she heard a woman mutter behind her, but Christine didn't give her the satisfaction of turning around.

This was the only semblance of a welcome she received before she heard the conductor tap his stand and play a note on the piano. "We'll be starting with your aria in act three. O patria mia. You are familiar with it?" Condescension laced his voice, but she merely nodded politely. "Then let us begin."

The orchestra was not in, but this did not faze her. She had rehearsed these pieces extensively with a mere violin, so she knew she could do it with the simple rehearsal piano. After a short intro, she took a deep breath and began to sing. It was weak and unsupported and she realized in the back of her head that she had not been allowed to warm up. She couldn't complain, though. She had to prove herself. When her voice cracked on the first high note, she could hear snickers behind her as the conductor stopped her.

He and Firmin didn't think she could hear them as they whispered to each other, discussing the appropriateness of his casting, but her acute hearing picked it up easily. Her heart seized and she called out. "Please, let me try again," she said meekly, and they stopped talking.

"Very well," the conductor said and the intro came again.

"Have courage…" She couldn't be sure whether or not she had truly heard the words in her ear, but either way, she squared her shoulders and took another deep breath. Despite her inability to warm up, she could feel tension release in her throat as she reached the first high notes, allowing them to soar. There was no more snickering.

"Step to your left." The direction was inaudible to all others—in fact, she was fairly sure she had heard it in her head. It was the Phantom…He was here… Her eyes narrowed slightly, wishing more than anything that she could face him but knowing that such a thing was impossible. Nevertheless, she took several steps to the left in passion as she came to the high C.

"Perfection…" she heard him say to her as she came to the end of the aria, holding onto the high A with crystalline delicacy. Despite her inhibitions, she felt herself smiling to herself. He was proud, and even though she wanted to hate him for it, she was giddy with elation. Christine released the note into the air and silence met her ears for only a moment before applause overtook it.

"Brava!" she heard the conductor gasp in awe and she nearly doubled over in diffidence. "Yes, this will do just wonderfully. Please, please, let us continue on."

He was there in the room and he was smiling to her. He was pleased and for a fleeting moment, she forgot every wrong that he committed and venerated him once again. Only for a moment.

The next day after work, Christine found that she had an indescribable desire to go to their rehearsal room. Yes, they normally had lessons at this time and her voice longed to stretch out and be free. Against her common sense, she found herself walking slowly to the practice room, taking her time as she felt the concrete wall underneath her fingers while she walked, savoring each rivet in the stone blocks. He would be there. She didn't know how she knew this, but she did. If she went, she would have to face him. But somehow, this did not deter her as she turned the corner and felt for the doorknob, reveling in its cool metallic façade.

She opened the door slowly and closed it with equal care after she had stepped inside. Christine took several steps forward, finding the spot she normally stood in for their lessons before planting herself there.

"Bravo, monsieur," she said monotonously, resisting the urge to fiddle with her dress nervously as she spoke. She would not appear weak.

"What do you mean?" Ah yes, he was there. She had no idea where for the voice had come from all directions as per usual. It was quieter than normal, a bit less forward, but still powerful.

"Breaking a woman's leg. I knew you always did things with class." Where were these words coming from? She had never spoken to a person in such a way and she was shocked that she had the strength to do so now.

"Do not pretend that you are suddenly above me, my dear, simply because you know what I am," he retorted. "I am still your teacher, and had I chosen to, I could have remained your angel." The words silenced her, ironically because he had spoken them without malice. They were astonishingly gentle with just the smallest bite.

"Of course…" she responded, frowning slightly to herself.

"You know you mustn't be afraid of me," he told her softly and she felt a bit of the tension in her shoulders give way. "You know what I am now…But I would never hurt you. Everything that I do is for you and I would rather die than cause you any harm." She had never heard him speak like this before and despite her doubts, she felt a pang of forgiveness in the back of her heart.

"How could you break her leg?" she asked quietly, shaking her head somewhat in disbelief.
"I had to. Do you think they would have fired Carlotta and replace her with you without some coercion? This is the only language these people understand," he told her tenderly in his attempt to make her understand. When she didn't respond, he continued. "Christine, I am going to make you a star. Together, we shall astound the world. They shall be rendered speechless by your beauty and your talent. This is what you've always wanted!"

"Perhaps…" she murmured as her heart began to beat a bit faster. But what was he to gain from this? Was she to be his forever? Was she to be his Persephone? His voice interrupted her thoughts.

"There is someone at the door, my child."

"What?" she asks, furrowing her brow before she heard the doorknob turn and the door open.

"Who are you talking to?" It was Raoul. He had probably heard about Carlotta and asked Meg where she was. Perhaps now he would believe her…

"No one," she said automatically. In her mind, she couldn't understand why she was defending or protecting the Phantom. Hadn't she just tried to rat him out the day before?

"I heard you, you were talking to someone," Raoul said, his voice rather frantic. He was moving around the room and she could hear the sound of his hand against the wallpaper. "Where is he?"

"Raoul, I was simply rehearsing my aria. I would be very grateful if you would leave me to my practice," she said smoothly, moving her head to follow the sound of his body.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, coming up to her and putting a hand on her shoulder gently. "You told me he was real just yesterday. I didn't believe you then, but I have heard about Carlotta and I trust you now. Please, let me help you!" His words held such a genuine tone of concern that she almost admitted it all to him. Almost.

"And you didn't trust me yesterday?" Behind the walls, her angel—her Phantom—was grinning to himself. Yes, he had been thinking the same thing.

Raoul was caught off guard by this statement. He stumbled over his words momentarily before clearing his throat and trying again. "Christine, all I want to do is watch over you and ensure that you are out of harm's way." He paused. "I think you should go back to your room for the night. I would feel much better if you were there." He was leading her to the door, his hands gently guiding her and resisting protest. "Please do not be cross with me," he said almost inaudibly before he closed the door behind her and locked himself inside. He listened for her retreating footsteps which he heard after a moment of hesitation.

"Who do you think you are?" Raoul asked the empty room, walking about the edges slowly. "How dare you trick her! How dare you try to manipulate her and bend her to your will. She is blind! I swear by all that I know, if you have touched her or harmed her in any way, I will hunt you down. Do you hear me!" His words were echoing through the room over and over as he yelled to no one. "You're there and I know you are. You're a coward for hiding," he said, quieter. He stopped moving as he reached the center of the room and he surveyed the walls, hoping for some sign of movement.

"You underestimate her abilities, Monsieur." The words were cold and calculated, coming from every angle and enveloping Raoul in malevolence. "I would think twice about controlling her as you do. Oh yes, I know what you want. While I live, despite your childish fancies, I will ensure that she will never love you. I can promise you that, my dearest patron."

With that, Raoul heard his laughter reverberating against the walls and in a frenzy, Raoul ran to the walls, banging against each space her could reach. He was behind one of these walls, if only he could find the way through. It was in vain, though. Long after the laughter had stopped, he still could not find his way through. And so, when fatigue had finally overtaken Raoul, he trudged the door in defeat, turning the knob in order to leave. Just before he stepped through the threshold, though, he murmured under his breath, "This is not over, Monsieur le fantôme."

I apologize profusely for the wait. I promise I haven't disappeared! College has gotten to me, but I will finish this story, no matter what it takes. :D I made sure a lot happened in this chapter to make up for my lackadaisical behavior, so I hope you enjoyed it and I hope to get another one out around Thanksgiving time. Maybe sooner if homework eases up.

Until next time!

Christine