Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with the Phantom of the Opera, except for a paperback novel.
After much fuss and the consumption of some protein, Christine found herself on the floor of her own apartment, accompanied by Meg. Both Antoinette and her daughter had refused to let Christine leave on her own, and Josh had been left to fend for himself. Christine, though protective of Meg, had always approved of Josh. At first glance the couple seemed unusually paired, what with his quiet, calm demeanor and her tendency to voice her every conscious thought. Despite this, they had been together since their freshman year of high school and managed to bring out the best in one another. Christine had to wonder whether she'd ever have something like that. Given the score she kept at this point, though, it seemed unlikely.
"That was some sort of dream you had, huh?" Meg was systematically pulling DVDs from the hutch beneath Christine's television and providing a steady narrative. "I mean, tell me again. He was wearing a mask? Was he cute? I guess you don't know because he was in a mask. Why would your subconscious come up with something like that, though? It seems so dramatic. Was he someone you knew? You said he was-"
"Megan." Christine held her forehead in her hand. Eating a meal had done wonders, but her head still throbbed, and being barraged by questions wasn't helping. …Not that she could focus on what the blonde was saying. "I love you dearly, but I need some time to myself, to process what's happened. We'll have a movie night Sunday, as usual. 'Kay?"
Meg furrowed her brow adorably. Everything about her was adorable, from her elfin features to her bobbed haircut. "I was carefully instructed not to leave 'til I was sure you're okay. My sense of duty binds me here."
"And you are doing your duty fabulously. You have fabulous duty."
Meg snorted. "Fabulous doody. What will they come up with next?"
Christine smiled and helped her friend to her feet. Meg peered into the taller girl's face and asked, "And you're sure you're feeling alright?"
"Like a million dollars. I'll text you later."
With a hug and another allusion to feces, Meg was off. Christine fell into the nearest chair and felt glad that her roommate was away, and that said roommate had the presence of mind to leave the spare key under the doormat.
Time to think. With peace and quiet in her corner, Christine needed to figure a few things out. She knew that she had never had a dream as vivid as her experience with the masked man. On the other hand, Mme. Giry had no good reason to lie to her. This left one option; that Christine had gone mad. However, she didn't feel mad, so she decided to review the facts.
From what Mme. Giry, Meg, and Josh told her, Christine had stopped at the grocery store after, as she had told Mme. Giry, her accompanist cancelled their meeting at the Held Theatre. She had then complained of a headache and, to Giry's prompting, described the symptoms of a migraine. At this point she collapsed, and was transported to the Giry home. Antoinette had justified her resistance to medical interference with the fact that she herself often suffered from migraine headaches, and that she felt Christine simply needed to rest.
All of this had transpired at around noon the day before. Several hours later, Christine woke and had something to drink. At that point, however, she had apparently expressed a desire to sleep longer, and was allowed to do so. She slept through the night and into the morning.
Curled up on the papasan chair in her own apartment, Christine did not quite feel satisfied with this explanation. It sounded perfectly rational, except… well, she knew that she hadn't been dreaming. But I must have been. I couldn't have been. But I must have been.
Sighing again, our perplexed heroine heaved herself out of the chair and headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea. I would do better to put this whole damned mess out of my mind, if only for a few minutes.
But then, something occurred to her.
Christine spun around and sprinted to the bathroom, throwing open the door and turning on the light. She frantically pulled back her tangled mass of hair then stared at her reflection, eyes wide.
On the right side of her neck was a tiny puncture wound.
A/N: Oh, dear. NOW what do you think happened? Share your theories with the world and with your humble authoress! To the review button with you! Also, thanks for reading!