My mad Creole left a privileged life when she decided to pursue me and her doom. It was not immediately clear about how her family came to be so well positioned, but I made a mental note to ask Gaston. My fat friend either knew everyone in Paris or could find out about them.
Cesar Boulanger Charbonneau was as darkly handsome as his sister, but unlike her, there was nothing eerie or insane about him. He greeted me with grace which did not wholly mask the shock of his recognition. "Forgive me, Sir, I assure you I mean no offense in staring; it is just that I…was at the Opera the night of the fire. I never expected to see you in my home," he explained.
I nodded. He offered me a seat, which I accepted, and a drink, which I declined against my better judgment.
"You know something of my sister." His eyes darkened; if there was any hope in them after all this time, I did not see it.
"I regret to say that I have no good news for you," I admitted.
"Yes," he sighed. "Please, start wherever you will. I am at your service." I noticed his hands trembling, and I did not want to start at all. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I had never thought of her as someone with a brother who loved her dearly. I had always thought of her as a mad loner…like myself.
"Some time ago, you came to see Christine, Comtesse de Chagny, asking after your sister. The Comtesse is my fiancée. I thought little of it at the time, because…frankly…" I had no idea how to proceed. What did he know of his sister's proclivities?
Cesar seemed to sense the origin of my discomfort. "Please, I hope you will speak freely. I assure you that nothing you say will leave here," he vowed.
Still, I didn't know what to say. After a moment, Cesar spoke again.
"I did not realize that Josette had made contact with you. Was she very much trouble to you?"
That was an unexpected turn. Still, I wasn't about to expose myself until I was sure.
"I…don't know what you mean."
"I knew that she had become somewhat obsessed with the Opera Ghost, but I had no idea she had sought you out. I am sorry," Cesar paused, lost in thought. "My sister is an artist; did you know that? Come," he said suddenly.
Cesar led me to the third floor, unlocked a door and motioned me inside.
"This is her sanctuary."
It was a grand room, stretching the whole length of the house. At one end were a bed, a dressing table and armoire, but the greatest expanse was a studio. It reeked of paint and solvent; drawing table, spilled pastels, canvases half-covered, sketches…the Opera house was everywhere. Flames; the chandelier; red and gold; elegantly dressed people; the orchestra.
Cesar brought me to a large easel. "She was working on this when she disappeared." He threw the covering back and revealed my face, surrounded by flames. The flames were engulfing the chandelier; elsewhere, I saw my coffin and lasso being consumed, and in an unfinished corner, it looked as though she intended the flames to consume Christine as well.
"If you don't mind, I need to sit…please," I quavered.
"Of course. I'm sorry; it must be a shock, but…I wanted you to understand that you could speak freely. I know that Josette has strange ways."
Seated once again in the parlor, I accepted the brandy Cesar offered.
"I did not understand the white mask in the painting until I saw you today. When I saw you in person, I realized that she had pursued you."
"Yes," I admitted. "She wanted…things from me that…I could not give her. She was quite persuasive, and I admit that I did not entirely know my own mind for a time. Likely, she felt encouraged, which only made it more difficult when it became clear to her that I was committed to Christine. I am sorry to have to tell you this." I felt like hell.
"No, it is alright," he said softly.
"I am working under the Louvre, making storage vaults. We have had two accidents; one in which I lost three men. Another happened at night. It was only my office; we assumed that no one was there. Given the time that had been lost on the earlier cave-in, I elected not to reopen my office; there seemed to be no need to do so. I was away for several months, and when I returned, Christine told me that your sister was still unaccounted for."
"She went looking for you at your place of business?" He looked horrified.
"I am sorry to say that—"
"Where is she?" His black eyes were softer and gentler than hers.
"She is…there. I didn't want to just," I shrugged, "bring her, without a chance to prepare you. I am sorry."
In his grief, he threw himself into my arms. What strange people these Creoles are.
"Everyone told me to put her away, but no; I was so sure I could take care of her. If I'd listened, she'd be safe now. Safe, but locked away!"
He looked at me with those big wet eyes and I would have given anything to help him feel better.
"She would have been miserable locked away! She didn't really mean anyone harm!"
"You did the right thing, Cesar. Better for her to have a few years in her beautiful studio." What else could I say?
When I felt I could leave Cesar safely, I went and brought his sister to him. When I returned, I was grateful to see he was not alone. Two friends had arrived to support him; beautiful rich boys like him. He took the sheet-draped collection of bones from my arms with such tenderness; I have never seen its equal. I felt another pang of jealousy for the love of a sibling, and swore that Christine and I would not allow our child to grow up alone.
When I took my leave, Cesar rushed to embrace me. "Thank you, thank you. And thank you for your kindness to Josette; I know you were good to her, in spite of the trouble she caused you."
"Right," I nodded, screaming inside to escape. My mind was writhing inside my skull.
I ran back to work and hid in the rubble behind my newly uncovered table. I played the lasso through my hands and searched the ceiling for a place to hang it. Nothing there; the Opera house would have a better place, surely. Besides, it was more fitting. I thought of Christine and the baby. In my mind, it was only a matter of a few months before she would wish me dead—once she saw the creature I'd put inside her. Everything I touched was instantly ruined, it seemed. Dead or ugly…as if I could wilt a flower simply by turning my gaze on it. I was a Midas of ugliness and destruction. It was clear to me that the child was a bad idea. Marrying Christine was a bad idea. My ever having touched her was a bad idea—no, it was an obscenity. What could I have been thinking? The greatest obscenity of all was that she continued to love me. How could it be that she welcomed me, wanted my offspring?
Suddenly, I had a blinding insight that I'd poisoned Christine's mind, turning it from truth and beauty. The longer she stayed enmeshed with me, the greater the danger that she'd be utterly destroyed and become what I most despised: an aberration like me.
I penned Christine a note and found a boy to deliver it for a few sous. I slipped down to my lair to collect my emergency funds. After dark, I wrapped my cape close around me and slipped out of Paris on an eastbound train.
Dear Christine,
Forgive me, but as you know me better than anyone does, it should not surprise you that I take the coward's way out. I know this is the right thing to do, but as usual, I don't trust myself to be equal to the task.
I must go. I ruin everything I touch; I've ruined you, and it's the last thing I ever wanted to do. It was right for me to let you go with Raoul, and wrong for you to return to me. Someday you'll see the insidious nature of my hold on you; you actually convinced yourself that it was me you wanted!
Get out of that house, Angel, and make yourself a life of beauty. Take up the bottom of my coffin; there is money there which you will need to get yourself started. Once I am settled I will send money to Reza to see that you are taken care of.
Christine, you must let that child die if it is born wrong. Put it away from you; it is the kindest thing you can do. I am sorry, I know that everything in your innocent heart rebels against it, but I know—I KNOW, Christine. The horrible face is merely a symptom of the disease. The sickness is inside. If you cannot let it die, give it to the nuns. Let them raise it as an orphan. I beg you; don't let it ruin your life. Move past this shameful interlude; erase it however you can.
I have always tried to treasure your happiness above my own. For awhile, I thought it was possible for those opposites to coexist; now that I see the truth of it, I want to make it right. Please, be happy.
Forget me.
E.