Nadir

The exterior of the house was suitably immaculate: perfectly trimmed beds of flowers lined the windowsills, the walkway leading to the front door appeared to have been recently scrubbed to an unnatural cleanliness, and even the old bricks did not betray a speck of muck. The front door, too, had been freshly painted, or at least so ruthlessly cleaned that it remained a pristine sharp white, gleaming smartly in the midday sun.

I moved to ring the doorbell, but before my finger could even press the button, the door swung open. The woman standing behind it had pressed her mouth into a thin, terse streak.

"Come in, come in—none of that bell-ringing fiddle faddle. I've been expecting you, anyway. I figured as much, what with…well, come in."

I had seen Antoinette Giry twice in twenty years, and- unlike myself- she had defied time to ravage her. The slight lines around her pale blue eyes suggested grace rather than weariness. She remained, as she ever would, a dancer to the core: her posture was ramrod straight, her elegantly graying blonde hair was swept into its customary chignon at the nape of her neck, and her lithe, black-draped form swayed with an innate grace that belied her age as she led me down a spotless but dimly lit corridor into the sitting room.

"You may sit," she said, gesturing to a plush dark green loveseat by the window. I could not help but chuckle. She quirked a thin brow.

"My apologies, Madame," I said. "But whenever I am afforded the pleasure of your company, I am also visited by the peculiar sensation that I have suddenly been transformed into one of your dancers in need of discipline."

She stared at me for a moment, and then her features softened as she let out a quiet laugh.

"I'm sorry. Old habits, you know."

"Ah, but ones that have doubtless served you well over the years," I replied with a smile.

She shook her head. "Yes, well…it hasn't spared me any headaches, that's for sure."

There was a brief, rather tense silence laden with the weight of the seriousness of our meeting. Mme. Giry heaved an impressive sigh.

"I'm sorry, M. Khan. My manners seem to have flown the coop—would you care for something to drink? Tea?"

I held up a hand. "No, no, I am quite alright, thank you."

Another pause, this one stretched so tightly with anxiety that the tension was nearly palpable. Her eyes hardened with concern. She slid down into the chair opposite mine with astounding grace, despite her evident anxiety.

"Are you really?" she asked. "Are we?"

"For now," I said, something in my abdomen sinking at the realization that the issue at hand could no longer be evaded. Almost unconsciously, I briefly removed my spectacles and pinched the bridge of my nose, as I so often did when discussing Erik. "He has lain low since the escape."

"Dead?"

The harsh syllable was almost metallic, tinged with tremulous hope. I shook my head, staring at her folded hands, which were clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

"No. I do not believe so…I suppose it is possible. He was weak, up until…the attacks. So it is possible. But Madame, I must tell you, I think it very unlikely that he succumbed. When he fixes his mind upon something, he will stop at nothing to attain it. And death—well, it hardly stopped him before."

The unfinished part of that statement hung heavily in the air: It hardly stopped any of us before.

She brushed the thought aside and her eyes bore into mine. She did not blink.

"He wants Christine." Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke the girl's name.

I bit my bottom lip, closed my eyes, and nodded. She made a pained sound.

"Why?"

"I do not know. Love, perhaps. Madness, more likely. I cannot say why."

"He didn't say anything to you?"

"He has grown quite profoundly insane, Madame," I told her, not without a note of sadness. "What he did say made little sense. I could deduce little to nothing from his ramblings."

She shook her head in quiet incredulity, placing two fingers on her temple and resting her elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Je ne le crois pas…This cannot be happening."

"I cannot tell you how sincerely I wish it was not happening. But it is. And we must take the appropriate actions necessary to protect Miss Daae. And your daughter, of course."

"My daughters," she corrected firmly, and my sorrow softened slightly at her touching affection for the girl. "Absolutely. I'll do whatever needs to be done. I've got relatives in Quebec. We'll move there. We'll leave—he won't find her."

"You cannot leave."

"What?"

"You cannot leave, Madame, we—none of us can."

"What are you talking about?"

I suddenly felt bowed beneath momentous fatigue

"I do not know why—but I am certain that now that he is alive—fully alive—we can no longer leave Paris. We are confined to it."

"Confined to it? By whom?"

"It is not someone that is confining us here. It is something."

Silence. She wore an unreadable expression that had pulled her face taut.

"Monsieur Khan—" she began. I held up a hand.

"Please. Let me explain. Or let me attempt to explain—for you see, I do not fully understand it myself. Yet I have a vague notion of what may be…" I sighed, dreading that which I knew I had to tell her. "I have been searching for him since his escape, and I have quite exhausted all my resources. I have checked every possible means of refuge available to him, but to no avail. And so I began to wonder if he had decided to temporarily regroup elsewhere, outside of the city's bounds, and return when he saw fit. It seemed a plausible course of action. I knew of numerous areas several kilometers north that would have served him well, had he wished to depart. Two nights ago, I set out to begin my search. I purchased a train ticket, intending to tour the surrounding countryside for possible leads. But I could not get on the train."

She blinked."You could not—what do you mean you couldn't get on the train? There were no tickets?"

"No. Nothing like that." I paused, dreading continuing with the narrative. Dreading her reaction. Still, it had to be done. "I physically could not enter the station."

"It was closed? Or what? What are you saying?" Her tone, for some reason, was urgent, punctuated by deep, inexplicable worry. I studied her a moment before continuing.

"It was not closed. It was bustling with activity. I got out of the taxi, approached the platform, and…Madame, you must indulge me, for I realize this will sound ludicrous…I approached the platform and felt...a sort of...enormous pressure, as if there was something physically barring me from entering. Much like a large wall would bar entrance to a compound. Yet there was nothing there. There was no wall. There was nothing, but it was precisely that Nothing that was barring me from leaving Paris. I circled the perimeter of the station, yet each time I attempted to advance within, I was stopped. It felt as if...Madame, do you swim?"

She was staring at me in thinly-veiled shock, her eyebrows in danger of disappearing into her hairline.

"I assure you this is relevant," I said, despite the fact that she likely thought me completely mad. "Do you swim?"

"I…occasionally…" Oddly, there was a note of foreboding in her voice. I continued.

"Have you ever stayed beneath the surface of the water for longer than is prudent? That is, have you ever swam beneath the surface without taking in an adequate amount of air prior to going under? There is a pressure, a bursting, heaving sensation in the lungs when—"
"—when you need to take in more air," she finished slowly, horrified. I furrowed my brows, leaning in closer.

"Madame?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and said muttered something inaudible. "I beg your pardon?"

She was shaking her head. "Oh, my God, I felt it."

I could only stare, struck dumb. "You felt it?"

"I felt it," she repeated, sickened. "You're right. My God. I was…I needed to go to Beauvais. I'd just bought a 1904 set of Disraeli's…Disraeli's novels from an antique shop in Beauvais . I needed to pick them up for the bookstore. I needed to go to Beauvais to pick them up for the bookstore. But when I reached the station, and when I tried to board the train, it was as if...it felt as if my lungs were about to burst, as if there was some sort of barrier preventing me from—" she turned to me quickly, looking more than slightly disturbed. "I could not board the train. I literally could not board the train. There was something unseen preventing me from boarding it. I thought I was ill. There is a...several of the girls in the ballet corps have missed practice due to the flu. And so I thought I had simply contracted the flu. A chest cold. A fever, something of that sort. That, or I was…"

A pregnant pause swelled in the silence. She clenched her jaw, laughing darkly before she finished.

"…losing my mind."

"Then we are losing are minds in unison, Madame, because I experienced the same sensation," I said. The attempt at humor fell dreadfully flat, yet I continued, trying to convince her that she was not at fault. "I could not enter, either. I could not leave. I thought it possible that I was hallucinating—just as you did—or that I had somehow contracted some sort of ailment. Do you know I spent the better part of a day at nearly every train station in Paris attempting to exit the city? I thought perhaps the barrier was limited to one station—that perhaps I would feel better if I took a walk, tried another route. None worked. I could not leave. It was the same pressure, the same barricade, or whatever you may choose to call it." I swallowed at the memory of the stifling sensation. "I returned to each station the following day, and the day after that, each time resolving to leave Paris. But I could not leave. I could not leave. So I hired a taxi, hoping that would afford me a mechanism of escape. And still nothing. I even attempted to depart on foot, and I could not. I could not. Believe me, you are just as sane as I."

She let out a bark of derisive laughter, shaking her head incredulously.

"I can't even get the books now," she said, more to herself than to me.

"…The b-?"

"The Disraeli books, I can't even get them!" she cried somewhat hysterically, throwing her hands up in desperation before tearing one through her carefully-pinned chignon. Several strands of hair escaped from the knot at the nape of her neck and fell haphazardly around her face. She huffed angrily then, as if irritated with herself for momentarily abandoning her cherished composure. "Oh, God above, what am I even saying? Who gives a damn about the books? I did the same thing, you know. I did the same thing. I went back a few hours later. I called the antique store and asked if I could pick up the books at a different time. I thought I was tired, perhaps, and that was what was making me feel so ill each time I tried to board the train, and so I slept for a bit. And then I went back to the station, purchased a ticket, tried to board the train, and I couldn't. I couldn't board the train. I couldn't leave. Because it felt like there was something blocking me, something suffocating me. Because I am losing my damn mind."

"No. That is not the case." I had inadvertently leaned in closer to her. "Madame, it is imperative that you understand this: you are not losing your mind. Something has happened to prevent us from leaving Paris."

The blue of her eyes seemed to grow more saturated as she suddenly fixed me with a sharp, intense stare.

"He's doing this. Isn't he? Preventing us from leaving. Preventing Christine from leaving."

"The thought has crossed my mind," I admitted. "Yet we cannot be certain this is his doing. I do know, however, that while he was…confined…I could enter and exit the city freely. And after he disappeared, I could not."

"Nor could I."

"Nor could you. Whether or not that change is attributable to some sort of control he is wielding over us, I do not know. But it seems that something, possibly that same something that permitted his escape, has also confined us here. Its main purpose may be to confine Christine here so that he may find her, but I have been wondering if the reason we have been affected by it, as well, is because we are...inevitably connected to her. To them. Now, as we were...then."

Mme. Giry huffed and remained stiff for several seconds before she abruptly stood and, with a muttered, "Excuse me for a moment," hurried down the corridor. I heard several cupboards loudly bang open and the clanking of what sounded like silverware before her heeled footsteps began increasing in volume as she approached the sitting room once more. When she entered, she held a sizable bottle of vodka in one tight grip and two gleaming glasses in the other. I failed to suppress a smile and she arched a thin eyebrow.

"Don't even," she warned. "This entire affair is impossible and ridiculous. Things like this don't happen. They just don't happen. You cannot possibly tell me you aren't fazed by it."

"No. I cannot. It baffles me to this day," I confessed. "I do not know what any of it means, and I do not know why any of it has happened when it steadfastly defies logic."

She tilted one of the glasses toward me inquiringly. I shook my head. "No, thank you."

She unscrewed the bottle cap.

"Can't stomach it, can you?" she asked without looking up from the steady stream of clear liquid she had begun to pour into her glass. The corners of her mouth tilted upward.

"I doubt it," I said with a chuckle.

"Don't worry," she said as she finished and placed the bottle down on the end table with a loud thud. "I won't tell if you won't."

"It is a deal, then."

She inclined her head and, in one impressive swig, downed the entire glass. My jaw dropped slightly. I quickly snapped it shut before she could see.

"Ah...Well?" I inquired, more than slightly shocked.

Her face scrunched in a grimace.

"Awful," she croaked, and promptly poured another glass.

She heaved a great sigh before settling back into her chair, rubbing her temples. The delicate clock on her mantle ticked cheerily for several seconds before she spoke again.

"You'll help me protect my girls?" I realized that she was referring not to her ballerinas, but to her daughter and Mlle. Daae. And again, I felt myself smile, despite the grave nature of our meeting; her affection for the girl was immensely touching.

I nodded. "I will do everything in my power to ensure that they remain safe."

"And Raoul?"

I raised my brows in surprise. "Monsieur de Chagny? He is here, as well?"

"They're all here," she said quietly, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "All of them. Us. Just like it was…before."

"My word. I did not know."

She looked up. "You didn't?"

"No." A weight had settled in my stomach. Just as it was before. "No, I did not. The thought entered my mind, of course, but I never..."

I cupped the lower half of my face, running a hand over my beard. Time had peppered its coarse blackness with the telltale grizzled gray of exhaustion. Gray that gently urged me toward retirement. Rest. Gray that painted an unmistakable portrait of weakness, not yet dominant, but waiting patiently beyond the cusp of the horizon. I wanted nothing more than to dissolve into that horizon and surrender, at long last.

Yet I could not. I would not.

End this first, came that ever-present oath. And as I so often had, I bowed to it once more.

I fixed Mme. Giry with a frank expression. Subtlety would only be destructive.

"If the Vicomte is here," I said, "Erik will come for them both. And he will kill the boy. I've no doubt of it."

Mme. Giry blanched slightly, and she nodded grimly. "I thought he might."

"But he will not succeed," I said quickly. Vehemently. "Because Madame, I promise you, I will not let him wreak such havoc again. I will not. I refuse to. I will do everything in my power to ensure that history does not repeat itself. I will keep them safe."

"We will keep them safe," she said firmly. "You are not alone in this."

"Thank you," I said softly. She smiled, though her deep-seated concern for her loved ones' well -being prevented it from reaching her eyes.

Her gratitude, however, was genuine. She took my hand in hers and squeezed it.
"Thank you, Monsieur Khan. Truly. I don't know how you've kept such a level head."

"Ah, much in the same way you have."

"Really? Because I was under the impression that you didn't drink."

"Vodka never was my strong suit, I will admit," I laughed. "You do not give yourself enough credit, Madame. You are a forced to be reckoned with."

"I hope I am, at least as far as he's concerned." Her eyes narrowed, and she lowered her voice, staring at a spot over my left shoulder, resolute. "I swear, if he so much as comes near them, I'll decapitate him."

"I…doubt that will be necessary."

"Oh, it will be necessary" she said. She took another swig of vodka and then furiously slammed the glass back down on the table, pointing a long, thin finger at me. "Let me tell you something, if he comes near them, it will be god damned necessary."

I would not have put it past her, in truth. Given the opportunity, she could have easily bludgeoned Erik to a bloody pulp. But I wanted to curb bloodshed, not encourage it.

"I will apprehend him well before that is called for," I said.

"How?"

"Somehow."

"Not alone, surely?"

"I cannot very well explain the situation to the police," I sighed, again absentmindedly running a hand over my beard. "At least not at the present. But the media, at least, is aware that there is an escaped prisoner. They do not know the details, of course, but the attacks naturally made headlines. At least the public is on alert, should he slip and be seen."

"He won't."

"It is unlikely," I agreed. "But anything, as I am sure you have learned, is possible. I will continue to search for him. And once I have sound evidence that I have discovered his hiding place, I can alert the authorities."

"But not before?" she queried. "Why? We'll need all the assistance we can get."

"Yes. But only after I am certain of his plans—-not before." I squeezed my hands together. "I know Erik, Madame. Tailing him must be done without his knowledge, if that is at all possible. Should I work with the police, there will be too many questions. I am sure of it. Can't you imagine it? There will be too many questions, most of which even I cannot answer. None of us can. They will ask about everything, Madame. I cannot risk it. I do not wish to become the focus of their investigation. Erik must remain their focus. Erik must remain our focus. Let the trail go cold for the authorities for now. Let them busy themselves with false leads—-that will be good. It will afford me ample time to search for him. To plan."

"Do you really think that's wise, M. Khan?" Her tone was one of mingled concern and disapproval. "Letting him fester while you plan? Suppose he hurts someone again? Suppose he kills while we are idly sitting by, poised to attack yet doing nothing?"

"You know we cannot say a thing to anyone," I said, searching her tense face. She knew. Of course she did. "You know we must do it beneath the veil of secrecy. We cannot say a thing. And even if we did, I ask you, Madame: who would believe us? "

She punched out a breath of air, and closed her eyes briefly, in silent answer to the question. No one. No one would believe us.

"We must only inform the authorities at precisely the right moment," I continued, annunciating every syllable, pleading with her to understand. "Only when I am certain that he can be felled. And you know that. There is no other way. You know Erik nearly as well as I do."

Mme. Giry let out a dark chuckle, shaking her head. "I suppose I do. And then again, I doubt I ever truly did. Because for a time, I thought…"

Her lips thinned as she trailed off.

"What?" I prodded gently.

"He had such promise," she said, so quietly that I wondered if she was speaking more to herself than to me. "That is what I will never understand. Such promise. Such talent. Such a potential for...something more. Something else. It was there. I knew it...or I thought I knew it, at least. He fooled us all, didn't he? Bloody horrid slip of a man...I just kept hoping that he would..."

She turned to me, her gaze searching."You saw it, didn't you? You must have. You've known him longer than I."

"Yes…" I swallowed, images of Persia floating lazily to the forefront of my mind. Rare slips of kindness, gentility, and warmth seeping through his mask of merciless hatred.

Kindness in the darkest of hours from the most unlikely source.

"I saw it," I said. "Many times. And I prayed as often as you did that he would embrace it and find some sort of peace. He had a heart, Madame. There is no denying that. He had a heart." I exhaled slowly. "But it has long since died. Nothing can be done. He is gone and has nothing left to lose. And it is our duty to curb the damage that may result from that desperation."

A lesser woman would have bowed beneath the weight of that knowledge, yet Madame Giry merely stared fixedly ahead, plainly worn, yet determined. Unflinchingly regal. I admired her more than I could say.

"Where is Mlle. Daae now?" I asked.

"The hospital. No, no, nothing like that," she said quickly, sensing my alarm. "Her music professor's wife was one of the nurses injured in the attacks. Edda Valerius. Christine's been visiting them as often as she can the past few weeks. She worries herself too much...but she's known them both since childhood. I told her to rest, but she's got her mind set on seeing them. Gustave—her father—was friends with Hermann. The professor."

"Ah…" Edda Valerius. The name sounded familiar...

Erik's nurse.

The woman I had tended to after the attacks.

"Allah," I breathed. "She knows Mlle. knows Mlle. Daae,and she was there the entire time with Erik...Astounding. Just astounding. It is all connected, isn't it? It really is."

"My thoughts exactly," Mme. Giry said, rubbing her hands along her upper arms as if she had suddenly caught a chill. "But I don't think Edda and Hermann know anything. I truly don't. I met them through Gustave shortly before he died. They are quiet, kind, gentle people. They don't seem to have meddled in any of this. I went with Christine to the hospital this week and spoke to them, and as far as I know, they believe the attacks were merely an accident. The product of...oh, what did she call him? 'An unstable individual unaware of his actions.' Edda didn't seem suspicious at all."

I nodded. "That is good. Though I must tell you...I spoke to her myself immediately after...Erik struck. And she did acknowledge that she sensed something unusual about him."

Mme. Giry snorted.

"Well, of course she did. He isn't exactly the friendly next door neighbor, is he?"

"Whatever the case, at least Mlle. Daae is safe right now. But in order to ensure she continues to remain out of harm's way, I would like to keep an eye on her as much as I possibly can in the coming weeks. With your permission, of course."

"Oh, absolutely. We'll both keep her close. Though I have to tell you, she's quite busy. All over the place. She works herself too hard," she tutted. "You may work up a sweat tailing after her."

"I am more than up for the task," I assured her, something fierce welling up within me. I had to protect the girl. I had to keep her safe. I refused to accept any other outcome. She would not be the victim this time.

"Should we tell Raoul?" Mme. Giry asked. "He's a saint. He'd do anything to protect her, I'm sure."

I deliberated for a moment, then shook my head. "No. Not yet. I should very much like this to end quietly, Madame. It is my hope that I can apprehend Erik without anyone becoming the wiser, Mlle. Daae, M. de Chagny, and your daughter included."

"...Mmm," she offered in agreement. "Yes, I suppose that's best. For now, at least. Right. Very well. Christine works at the café in the Opera this afternoon, and again tomorrow and Friday. You may find her there. I will keep an eye on her in the bookshop. She attends classes at the university Monday through Thursday, as well, and then volunteers at the university's children's music program on the weekends when she is able. I will provide you with a map of the facilities. And M. Khan?"

"Yes?"

"Please take care not to be seen. It kills me, impeding her privacy like this. I know it's necessary, but I just…"

"Betraying her trust in this case is not immoral, Madame," I said softly, and she raised her brows, as if surprised that I was aware of what she was thinking. "You love her. You are protecting her. It is all we can do. And I promise you she will know nothing. If she does happen to catch a glimpse of me, I will do my best to be as unassuming as possible. I've been doing this for years, Madame. It is my job. I have the utmost respect for Mlle. Daae."

Mme. Giry smiled then, a true smile unimpeded by worry or her customary barrier of stoicism.

"I know she is in good hands, M. Khan. Thank you. I trust you more than I can say. I only regret that I have not kept in contact all these years."

I shrugged. "Life happens, Madame. What can one do, mmm? I cannot say that my life has been particularly interesting these past twenty years, anyway. One long span of damage control, really."

Mme. Giry sighed softly and faced me with a solemn look. In that instant, I felt she knew me wholly. For we both knew weariness. We both knew fret. We both knew what it meant to silently bear the troubling burden of secrecy.

Again, her sharp eyes bore into mine with an intensity that almost masked the unmistakable note of fear in her voice.

"What does he want with her, Monsieur Khan?"

"Oh, Madame. I wish I knew."