A week later I stood in my spot behind the manager's office mirror. The orchestra members had been brought in a few days prior to begin practising Don Juan and I watched their rehearsals carefully. They had not brought in the actors and actresses yet. The letters that I had sent out regarding their parts had been received, but I had yet to hear what everyone thought of their roles. The managers had planned a meeting for that afternoon, and though I had not been officially invited, I made certain to attend.
Andre was sitting alone at his desk, flipping through the copy of Don Juan Triumphant that I had given him the night of the Masquerade. He looked irritated and as if he had not slept since the Masquerade.
"This is ludicrous!" he grumbled.
Firmin stormed in a minute later.
"Have you seen this score?" Andre asked him pointing at the manuscript. "What are we going to do?"
"This is the final straw, Andre!" Firmin said.
"It is outrageous! We cannot perform this drabble!" said Andre.
"We do not have much of a choice," Firmin pointed out.
Andre groaned. "You are right. We certainly cannot afford another chandelier."
Firmin sighed. "And look what I have," he said, holding out two envelopes.
"Oh, no," Andre moaned, taking his reluctantly. He ripped it open.
"Dear Andre. Regarding my orchestrations: I have been following the rehearsals carefully, and I have a few," he paused. "Suggestions. We need to assign a new first bassoon. If you would kindly try to find one with a sense of pitch it would be much appreciated. Also, the third trombone has to go. The man cannot be deafer, so please try to find someone who can at least play in tune," he said, looking highly affronted.
Firmin held up his letter. "Dear Firmin. I have some instructions regarding the chorus. There are a few members who will have to be let go. Please try to find someone with a sense of pitch to replace them. I have managed to assign a rather minor role to those who cannot act."
"How insulting!" said Andre. "He acts as if we know nothing of the theater!"
I laughed silently at that. It was not my fault that the idiots could not tell a Prima Donna from an overpaid toad. They had made it clear that they had no business being in the arts.
There was a knock on the door and Raoul entered. Just seeing his arrogant face made me livid. What did he want? I wondered.
"Ah, Vicomte! Glad you could join us," Firmin said
"I take it you received my correspondence," the Vicomte said.
"Indeed we did. It was very…enlightening," Andre replied.
So, I thought. He had told them what he had learned from Madame Giry. I had figured as much.
"So I take it you agree?" Raoul asked.
The managers looked nervous. "Well, now, I am not so certain…" Firmin said.
"I believe we have no other choice," Raoul added.
What were they talking about? It sounded as if the Vicomte had something in mind. But what?
Before they could continue the office door burst open and Carlotta flew in, her face purple. Piangi hurried after her like a shadow.
Carlotta stormed up to the managers and waved a letter under their noses. "This is an outrage!" she cried. She carried a copy of Don Juan under her arm.
"What is wrong now?" Firmin asked exasperatedly.
"This whole affair! It is an outrage!"
"Signora, please," Firmin said, looking annoyed.
"Now what is wrong?" Andre asked, shaking his head.
"Have you seen the size of my part?" she asked. She waved the book at Andre.
"Signora, please listen…" Andre began.
"This is an insult!" Piangi said, pushing his way forward. He too held his script.
Firmin groaned. "Oh, not you as well."
"Look at this! It is an insult!" he shouted.
Behind the mirror I smiled. It was about time those two were put in their place. If you asked me, it had been a long time coming.
"Signor, Signora, please, try to understand," Firmin said, waving his arms.
"Ooh! The things I have to do for my art!" Carlotta said dramatically.
"That is if you can call this-this thing art!" Piangi said, motioning towards his copy of Don Juan.
"Hah!" Carlotta said.
I raised an eyebrow. I held as much store in their opinions as I did those bumbling managers'.
Everyone turned as the door opened again and Christine walked in the room. My heart jumped when I saw her. She was wearing a dark blue dress and she was holding her copy of Don Juan. Her face looked drawn and her eyes were puffy.
"Here's our little flower," Carlotta said snidely.
"Miss Daae!" Firmin said as she walked over. "You are quite the lady of the hour!"
"She seems to have gotten the largest role in this Don Juan," Andre said to Carlotta and Piangi.
"Christine Daae?" Carlotta repeated disbelievingly. "She does not have the voice!"
"Signora, please," Firmin hissed at Carlotta.
"It is she!" Carlotta fumed. "Christine Daae! She is the one behind this!"
Christine, who had not yet said a word, whirled on Carlotta. "How dare you!" she spat.
"I am no fool!" Carlotta retorted, but she looked slightly taken aback by Christine's vehemence.
"You evil woman! How dare you!" Christine said, her eyes glittering dangerously.
"Do you think I cannot see?"
"This is not my fault! I do not want any part of this!" Christine said. I narrowed my eyes. This was something I had not expected.
"But-but Miss Daae, surely…" Firmin sputtered.
"Why not?" asked Andre.
Piangi, baffled, turned to Carlotta. "What is she saying?"
"Well, it is your decision. But why not?"
"She is backing out!" Carlotta said to Piangi.
"But, you have a duty!" Andre protested.
"I cannot sing it, duty or not," Christine said, her eyes wide.
Raoul stepped forward and put his arms around Christine and I bristled.
"Christine, they cannot make you. You do not have to do it," Raoul said comfortingly.
Madame Giry and Meg joined the crowd in the manager's office next. Madame Giry was holding my latest note. "Please, Monsieur: I have another note."
Everyone in the room, save for Christine, groaned as Madame Giry pulled the letter out of the envelope and began reading. "Fondest greetings to you all! Just a few instructions before rehearsals start. Signora Carlotta must be taught to act if she wishes to secure any part in my production. Her normal way of strutting around the stage will not do."
Carlotta's face reddened and her eyes widened with indignation. "Well!" she said.
Madame Giry continued. "Our Don Juan must lose some weight in order to play the part; in any case it is not healthy in a man of Piangi's age."
Piangi looked slightly befuddled at first, then, as my meaning sunk in, he was indignant.
"And my manager's must learn that their place is in the office not the arts. As for Miss Christine Daae, doubtless she will do her best. Her voice is good and her talent vast. But should she wish to excel, she must realise she still has much to learn, if pride will let her return to me…her teacher. Your obedient friend and Angel."
A hush fell over the office. The occupants looked around at each other uneasily, save for Christine, who backed up and stood apart from the others. Her face was white and she stared into the distance, her expression unreadable. She clutched the Don Juan script tightly in front of her and she was trembling.
Suddenly Raoul began scratching his chin. "Messieurs," he said, addressing Andre and Firmin. "About my idea…"
"Ah, yes," Andre said. "You wish to set a trap. But how do you trap a Phantom?"
"He is just a man," Raoul said scornfully. "And all men have their weaknesses."
"Go on," Andre said. "We are listening."
"We have all been blind. The answer has been in front of us all along. This is our chance. We shall play his game, perform his Opera. But remember we hold the ace, Messieurs. If Miss Daae sings, it is certain he will be there."
Firmin's face brightened with enlightenment. "We bar the doors, bring in guards."
"We make certain they are armed, and when the curtain falls, his reign will end," Raoul said, his eyes glinting.
I listened to their pathetic little plan with a grin. So this was Raoul, Vicomte de Chagney's grand idea. For heaven's sake, one would have thought they would have learned! I thought, shaking my head.
Madame Giry was the first to react. "This is madness!"
"Not if it works, Madame," Firmin said.
"The tide will turn!" said Andre.
"Monsieur believe me, there is no way to turn the tide," she said, her hands shaking as she held her walking stick.
"You stick to ballet, if all you are going to do is give us dire warnings," Firmin said.
Raoul whirled around on Madame Giry. "Then help us!"
"Monsieur, I cannot," Madame Giry said, shaking her head. Meg stood behind her, wide-eyed.
"Could it be that you are on his side?" Raoul asked.
"Of course not," Madame Giry snapped. "I mean no ill will, but Messieurs, we know what he is capable of. We have seen him kill, or have you forgotten Josef Buquet?"
Silence greeted her words, then the office erupted.
"Christine is behind this madness!" Carlotta shouted. "This is all her doing!"
"This so-called angel will fall," Raoul said.
"Hear my warning! You must fear his fury!" Madame Giry said.
"If this plan succeeds we will be free of this Phantom!" Andre said to Raoul.
Carlotta turned to Piangi. "What glory does she think she will achieve? She is obviously insane!"
"She is crazy!" Piangi agreed.
"If Christine will sing, we will surely catch him," Firmin said to Andre.
"This dark angel can say his prayers," Raoul said triumphantly.
Suddenly Christine spoke, her voice quiet. "Please stop…" she said in vain.
"Monsieur, I beg you, do not do this!" Madame Giry pleaded with Raoul.
"We will win, Madame, be certain of that," Raoul replied.
"If you do not stop this I will go mad!" Christine shrieked, her voice cutting through the din and silencing the occupants of the room. She threw her script to the ground and they turned to stare at her. Her eyes were wide with an almost wild look in them. She stood, staring at them, her breath coming in heaving gasps. Then she collapsed against Raoul, who held her up. "Raoul, I am frightened, please do not make me do this! Raoul, I am scared. What if he comes for me again? He may never let me go, and he is already always there, singing songs in my head…"
"She is mad!" Carlotta breathed, staring at Christine.
"You said yourself that he is just a man, and yet while he lives we will never be free of him," Raoul said, taking Christine's hands.
Christine turned from him, her lips pressed together. She stared at the mirror and took a deep breath.
"Twisted every way," she whispered, as if speaking to herself. "What answer can I give? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Will I become his prey? He has killed without a thought, will he murder me as well?"
I watched her carefully. Her expression showed many emotions. Fear and hope and despair. "I cannot refuse him…"
I narrowed my eyes as Raoul walked over to her and put his arms around her. What did she mean by her words? "Oh, Christine, do not think I do not care. But every hope and prayer for this trap to work rests on you."
Christine put her hands to her mouth. "I cannot," she whispered, shaking her head. "I cannot do it." She burst into tears and ran out of the room.
Raoul watched her go and a look of anger crossed his face. "And so, it is to be war between us," he said, looking around the room, apparently addressing me. "But his time, the disaster will be yours!"
That is what you think, Vicomte, I thought angrily. He thought guards could stop me? He thought locking the doors would keep me from escaping? The boy was playing with fire. A dangerous game to play with someone who had spent a lifetime in Hell.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I stood in the centre of the manager's office, listening to everyone shouting at once. My emotions were in a whirl as Raoul spoke of trapping the Phantom, Erik. All the while I was remembering him. Remembering the gentle way he tutored me, the beautiful dresses that had to have been made just for me. I remembered his laughing blue eyes as I tasted his awful tea. I remembered those same eyes burning with desire and than blazing with anger after I removed his mask.
Fire and ice. My Angel of Music that dwelled in the shadows. How easy it was, thinking of him, remembering him, until the memory of Josef Buquet invaded my thoughts. I remembered the chandelier as it crashed to the ground. I remembered his deadly voice at the Masquerade.
"Please stop," I whispered. They continued their shouting until I could not take any more.
"If you do not stop I will go mad!" I cried, my voice shrill. I collapsed against Raoul, my emotions overpowering me. "Raoul, I am frightened, please do not make me do this! Raoul, I am scared. What if he comes for me again? He may never let me go, and he is already always there, singing songs in my head…" I said the words before I thought of how they would sound.
"She is mad!" Carlotta said, backing away from me slightly.
Raoul took my hands in his. "You said yourself that he is just a man, and yet while he lives we will never be free of him."
I turned from him and faced the mirror. My fear of Erik, of what he was capable of battled with my longing for my Angel of Music. "Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Will I become his prey? Do I have a choice? He has killed without a thought, will he murder me as well?" I whispered. I remembered his words at the Masquerade. 'Your chains are still mine, Christine. You will sing for me.' I stared at my pale reflection. "I cannot refuse him."
I sensed Raoul's anger and confusion even as he tried to hide it. "Oh, Christine, do not think I do not care. But every hope and prayer for this trap to work rests on you."
"I cannot. I cannot do it!" I said and the tears that I fought spilled as I ran from the room.
I kept running, not caring where I went as long as I got away. As I left the room I heard Raoul saying something, but I ignored him and kept running, tears stinging my eyes. What they wanted to do would surely mean Erik's death, if their plan worked. I could not be part of it, I just could not!
Without thinking of the repercussions of my actions I ran to my dressing room and locked the door. I collapsed on the floor in front of Erik's mirror, sobbing. I had never felt so alone. I was starting to think that perhaps Carlotta was right. Perhaps I had already gone mad. What other explanation was there that I felt the way I did? Raoul loved me, wanted to marry me. He was handsome, sweet and charming, everything a woman could possibly want in a husband, and yet it was not his voice I heard in my dreams. It made no sense!
"Christine."
I looked up at the sound of his voice, my heart skipping a beat. "E-Erik?"
"Yes, child, I am here."
"What do you want?" I asked, sniffling.
There was a pause. "I would like to continue our lessons," he said, his voice flat.
"You-you would still teach me?"
"I want you to excel, Christine. I will teach you if that is what you wish."
I took a deep breath. "I do," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
As I watched my reflection in the mirror it grew hazy and a moment later the glass slid sideways. Erik stood, outlined in the frame of the mirror. He wore a hooded black cloak that threw his face into shadows. He held a lantern in one hand.
"Come, Christine. Sing once again with me," he said. His voice was no less mesmerizing than usual, but it seemed strangely expressionless.
I stood, expecting Erik to hold out his hand. He did not. He merely stepped aside and motioned me to follow. I stepped through the mirror, and he touched a little lever to my left and the glass slid back into place. He turned with a flash of his cloak and began walking down the passageway. I hurried to catch up.
He did not say another word as we walked. When we reached the boat he hung the lantern on the front and stood, waiting for me to get in. I waited for him to help me, but he just stood with his arms folded. Awkwardly I scrambled in, trying not to fall. He stepped lithely in after me, still silent.
I sat in the boat, glancing back at Erik every few minutes as he calmly rowed the boat across the lake. The only sound was the splash of his pole in the water. I inched forward until I was practically sitting in the water. His very silence frightened me almost as much as the angry voice he had used at the Masquerade.
I turned my attention to the front of the boat. I reached down and trailed my fingers in the water. It was inky black and ice cold and I shivered.
My heart was racing by the time he poled the boat to the dock on the other side of the lake. He jumped out and tied the boat up. He began walking to his chambers, leaving me to try to get out of the boat on my own without tipping it over. I hurried after him.
When I entered the main chamber he was tossing his cloak onto his chair. His face, behind the mask, was unreadable. He walked to the organ and sat down. I stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, wondering what he was thinking.
"Shall we begin?" he said finally, raising his eyebrow.
I swallowed, my mouth dry, and went to stand by the organ. He had a copy of Don Juan and he handed it to me.
We ran through some scales before we started with the Opera. There was a tension in the air that made it hard for me to concentrate of the music, and my voice, unused for the past six months, was terrible.
Erik made a tsk-tsk noise as I attempted the first solo that I would sing as Aminta. "You have not been practising," he said. I sensed his sarcasm and tried to ignore it. I had no doubt that he knew where I had been and who I had been with the past six months. The man seemed to know everything that went on.
We practised for what seemed like days. Over and over I sang, and each time Erik found fault with my performance.
"Christine," he said finally, exasperated. "You must feel the words you are singing."
I bristled. "Feel the words," I repeated. "How do you expect me to feel words of a song like this? It is-it is indecent! The whole thing is indecent!"
Erik stared at me, then slowly shook his head. "Are you an artist or not?"
"Of course I am!"
"Then you must learn to sing without judging what you are singing. Your job is to perform, not criticize."
I remembered suddenly that it was his Opera I was insulting and felt my face redden. I sighed and we continued.
When Erik finally stood and took the Don Juan script from me I was exhausted.
"Come, I will take you back to your dressing room," Erik said. He had not complimented my singing once and I was hurt.
"I-I thought I would just stay here. There will not be rehearsals until Monday," I said. "We can practise more tomorrow."
Surprise flickered across Erik's face, and was quickly gone, leaving him expressionless again.
"If that is what you wish," he said formally.
Frustrated I turned and went to my room and slammed the door. I did not understand a thing. He was being so cold! The way he was acting frightened me. He seemed so unpredictable. I shook my head, inwardly cursing my muddled feelings. I was engaged to Raoul, and yet here I was, with Erik, who was acting as though I was nothing more than a spoiled chorus girl. Who knows, perhaps that is all that I was to him.
A little while later there was a knock at my door. I stood up and opened the door a crack. Erik was standing with a tray.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said.
I swung the door open but before I could step out he handed me the tray and walked off. I stood in the doorway of my room, holding the tray, my mouth open. Erik walked across the room and disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. I clenched my jaw and shut the door.
I was beginning to think that I had completely misunderstood Erik. I thought about those flashes of desire I had thought I had seen in his eyes before. I was beginning to believe that I had been mistaken.
The next morning when I opened my bedroom door Erik was seated at the table with a tray of tea and a plate of pastries.
"Good morning, Erik," I said.
"Good morning, child," he said.
I do not know why, but something about the way he said it angered me. I gave him a dark look as I sat down and poured myself a cup of tea. If he saw my look he ignored it.
We finished eating and Erik took the tray to the kitchen. When he returned he went directly to the organ. I followed him and stood beside him at the organ. We began with the same solo as the day before. I was still upset and, if anything, my singing was worse than it had been the day before. I could sense Erik's frustration with me.
After we had gone over one line about twenty times Erik sighed and looked at me. "Christine. You must concentrate."
"I am trying!" I said. "I just…I cannot…"
He sighed again. "Perhaps a different song, then." He flipped through the pages of the script and settled on a song. "Shall we try this one?"
Another solo, Aminta singing of the way Don Juan had deceived her.
"How can trust the words he says
how can I hope to know
his love is true, not just a farce
when all was built on lies…"
I sang the words and felt my confusion and doubt pour into my voice. Erik watched me as I sang, his eyes burning into me.
"Much better, Christine," he said when I finished. It was nothing like his normal compliments, but considering how awful I had been singing I was happy with even just that.
We practised most of the day, and Erik complimented me very little. He was cold and aloof, nothing like the gentle, fatherly Angel of Music I had come to know the months he was tutoring me. But neither was he the angry, malevolent Phantom that had killed Josef Buquet and ruthlessly dropped the chandelier at Il Muto.
When he was finished with the lessons, he stood up and firmly dismissed me back to my room with a curt, "Supper will be at seven," as he left the room.
Back in the bedroom I stared at my reflection in the mirror as if it could give me some answers. My pale, peaked face stared back at me and I realised with a jolt that I had not thought of Raoul once. I firmly pushed down the guilt that was creeping up on me. Surely by now Raoul had tried to find me, had most likely been to my flat to look for me. No doubt he wondered where I was. The alarming thing was, I was not certain I cared….