Every time she looked at the garment bag hanging in her bedroom, Christine repeated that word in her head to herself. Perfect. Those half-whispered two syllables were branded into her memory, and she sometimes liked to wonder just what Erik meant. Of course he meant that the dress fit her perfectly, but still…It was distracting to think of other things he could have meant.
Playing with her cross necklace, Christine sang softly to herself and returned to the kitchen to ensure that dinner wasn't burning. Raoul was coming over, and she was hoping to have a nice evening with him to make up for being so scarce the past week or so. She hadn't had any energy or motivation to go out to a public place, instead opting to curl up in a blanket and read with music playing softly in the background. For a few nights, she had attempted to read her Swedish fairytale book, but her throat had closed and her eyes had filled with tears, and she had put the book away hurriedly, unable to read it anyway with her eyes so clouded.
As she stirred her sauce, her eyes lingered on the envelope that she had put on the counter. It was a hospital bill, and she was too frightened to open it. It had been sitting on her countertop for three days, and she knew that she would soon have to gather her courage and pull out the devastating amount. Thinking, she grabbed it and slid it into a drawer and out of sight. The last thing she wanted was for Raoul to find it and then question her about how she was managing. She didn't even know that herself.
Still singing to herself, she double-checked the things in the oven and the pots on the stove, and as she was setting out plates there was a knock on the door.
Raoul smiled at her when she opened it, and he stepped in, giving her a quick kiss.
"How're things?" he said. "It smells good in here."
She managed to laugh a little, and he pulled off his coat.
"I forgot how small this apartment is," he said, looking around. "Still, it has a nice view. The Opera House looks really great from here. It's nice that you're so close to it. When is your try-out again?"
"Three weeks," she said, trying not to sound too nervous. "And it's called an audition, silly."
He shrugged. "Same thing. How's your dad?"
Christine bit her lip as she put dishes onto the small dining table. "I don't know. The doctor called me this afternoon. He wants me to come in tomorrow morning. I'm worried…"
"I'm sure it's nothing," Raoul said. "You shouldn't worry."
"I know, but I do," she said. "I mean, it's my dad…If something happened…"
"I'd be here," Raoul said gently, reaching out to take her hand. "You know that, right?"
Christine nodded silently. Then the moment of silence stretched out too long, and she cleared her throat and said, "Let's eat. I'm starving."
For several minutes, there was only the gentle clink of cutlery and the murmured general table phrases, such as 'please pass the salt' and 'do you want more?' Just as she was about to ask how work was, she was cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. Raoul gave her an apologetic look and pulled it out before looking at the screen and sighing forcefully.
"It's my mom," he said, some unhappiness in his tone. He tapped on it and held it up to his ear. "Hey, Mom," he said. Christine busied herself with her dinner, trying not to appear like she was listening, but…she was. It was hard not to listen.
"No," he said. "I'm just eating dinner with Christine…No, Mom…I don't know." Raoul stood, pressed his hand over the mouthpiece, and mouthed Sorry to Christine before walking away from the table to continue talking. Christine strained to hear what he was saying, but he had gone into the bedroom and had closed to the door, so she returned to her meal.
As she ate, she briefly caught herself wondering what Erik was doing.
Probably…killing someone, she thought, giving herself the chills. The idea that she took voice lessons from a murderer was…somewhat unsettling, especially considering all that had transpired between them. They were not close, and she knew that they never would be, but she oftentimes found herself subconsciously thinking that Erik was not a bad man—yet she knew he was. He was a very bad man. However, it was getting harder putting the murderer and the virtuoso together. She didn't like thinking that her teacher was also the Phantom who was paid to kill people. That blood money had probably paid for this apartment—the food in her mouth…
She suddenly found that her appetite was gone, and she poked at her food until Raoul returned. There was a slight frown on his mouth.
"Sorry," he said, sitting down. "She's been harping on me to go up and visit my family for a while. She wants me to come up for Easter."
"Why don't you go?" she half-asked, half-suggested. "What's wrong with that?"
"I don't know," he said. "I just…it's all the way upstate. And I don't know if I can get work off."
She knew that he was lying about the second part. Raoul had weekends off.
"A weekend with your family would probably be good," she said. She wanted to add something about him spending time with family because he had a large family and shouldn't take it for granted, but she kept her mouth shut.
"Yeah, maybe," he said, shrugging again. He paused and then said carefully, casually, "You should come with me if I go, though."
"What?"
"It would be just for a weekend," he said. "We'd just drive upstate, and you can meet my family. You've only met my parents, right? You could meet my brother and sisters. Oh, and my nieces and nephews would probably be there. Anyway, they have a really big house. There would be plenty of room for us."
She remembered the last time he tried to get her to take a trip with him. It had ended in a big fight and her moving out. And Raoul said that it took two people to make a relationship work. She knew she was bad at that aspect. Raoul was always with her at the hospital, sitting around with her and watching Gustave sleep when she knew that he could be out with friends or doing something else. She felt guilt creep up in her stomach, and she took her time chewing and swallowing before saying,
"We'll just have to see what's going on with my dad and my singing and stuff."
"I'm sure a weekend won't kill anyone," Raoul said, though he looked happier by her half-commitment. "It's just for a couple of days. How long has it been since you've had a break?"
She echoed his shrug. In all honesty, she hadn't ever been out of the city since she had moved to it. The farthest she had gone was to a farm a few miles out of town for a trip for her high school.
"So I saw that red dress in your room," Raoul then said, looking at her. "Got a hot date with your secret boyfriend that you haven't told me about?"
Christine actually laughed a little at the thought. "Of course not. Don't be stupid. It's my audition dress."
"Really?" He looked a little skeptical. "I never pegged you as a red dress type."
"Yeah, me neither," she said truthfully. "My teacher picked it out for me."
She regretted saying that as soon as it came out, for Raoul's eyebrows jumped up and then down.
"Wow," he said. "Should I be jealous of this teacher? I mean he's told you crazy things about your dad, helped you find a place to live, and now he picked out a sexy red dress for you to sing in. You do spend more time with him than me, you know…"
"Ha, no," she said shortly, completely serious. "There is no reason on earth why you should even think about being jealous of him. He's a little kooky, honestly, and I'm pretty sure he's a lot older than me."
"You do go for older men," Raoul said, grinning a little.
"Not that old," she replied. "But seriously, Raoul. You don't really think that…do you?"
"No, of course not," he said. "I was just teasing."
"Good," she said. And she was able to return his smile.
When Christine walked into the theater the next day, she felt as if she would never be able to smile again. Her heart was heavy, and her hands were shaking. She wanted to run away and never come back. She didn't care where she went, but she never wanted to return.
Erik was angry when she walked in. "I believe you are familiar with my views on the subject of tardiness," he snapped at her.
Christine silently climbed up onto the stage and walked over to the piano bend. She looked at him and felt her eyes fill with tears.
"I talked to the doctor this morning," she said thickly. "He said—he said…" The words were ringing in her head, but she couldn't speak them out loud. It was as if they weren't true if she didn't say them.
But she knew that they were, and so she burst, "He said there's nothing to be done for my dad. He said that my dad has a…has a resistant strain or something…The medicine won't work."
Erik looked at her and then said, "I have heard of such a thing occurring more often. Very interesting."
She looked at him in shock, and he looked back with a blank stare and a straight mouth.
"I didn't know what to say," she continued miserably. "I just…I didn't even cry, not even when they let me see him for a few minutes."
"They allowed you to become exposed to him?" Erik then said, his voice beginning to rise.
"They put gloves and one of those hygienic masks on me," Christine said. "It was…Erik, it was so awful. He was just lying there, and he looked so sick. And do you know what he said to me? He said that he was—he was glad, because this meant that he could be with my mom again!" She burst into angry tears at last, and she stood there and sobbed, rubbing at her eyes. "How could he s-say something like that?" she wailed. "Does he th-think that it's okay if he leaves m-me? And I couldn't even say anything! I just s-stood there! How can he do th-this to me?!" She sank down to the stage and bawled, her face buried in her knees, all of the hurt and anger and terror and frustration pouring out. She was too miserable to be embarrassed and too beaten to feel any shreds of dignity that would normally prevent her from wiping her nose and tears on her sleeve.
After a moment, she felt something by her head, and she glanced up to see that Erik was silently holding out what appeared to be a handkerchief. She took it and resumed sobbing, though she used his offered handkerchief instead of her sleeve.
Christine didn't know how long she sat there and cried, but it was long enough to make her entire frame sore from sitting on the hard stage. When she cried herself out, she coughed and choked on whimpering hiccoughs and shuddering little cries. The last thing she wanted to do was get up and sing—or, even worse, make the trip back to her apartment. Christine leaned over and laid down on the stage with a heavy sigh, using her arm as a pillow. She curled up and continued to wipe at her nose and eyes.
Erik had not said anything during her entire breakdown. He had not said words of comfort or given empty promises. He hadn't even touched her in an attempt to console. He had handed her the handkerchief so he wouldn't have to see her wiping fluids onto her clothing. She looked up with aching eyes and saw his shoes and thin legs underneath the piano, resting lightly on the damper pedal. He was still there, and she felt a glimmer of gratitude that he had not gotten up and left.
Yawning widely, she let her eyes drop close, and when Erik began to softly play something, she dropped off to sleep instantly. Her dreams were full of her mother, something that hadn't happened since she was a girl living in Paris. She could barely remember her, but Christine knew that she had been a beautiful woman. Christine remembered a subtle, flowery scent, a bell-like laugh, and pretty, delicate hands. Gustave had told her many things about her mother, but Christine could hardly recall anything from her own memory. It seemed that it had only been Gustave and her for her entire life. And yet, even then…she could sense that yearning in Gustave whenever his wife was mentioned. Even with Christine, Gustave had wanted someone else—someone long dead. The past fifteen years had been his attempts to escape her, but she still haunted him, and he still could not let her go. Christine had known this all along, and yet it was too awful to even think about. Gustave loved her—adored her, of course…but Christine knew. She knew. Her mother had always overshadowed her, always put a fog over her Pappa's eyes when he looked at her. He ached for her, and he was glad to be going back to her—glad to be leaving Christine alone at last.
She woke with a little gasp, and her eyes flew open. For a moment, she stared out into the dimness, and she blinked to try to get a sense of where she was and what was happening.
There was a pressure on her, and she looked down to realize that something black had been spread over her. Shifting a little, she realized that it was a coat. It was warm and surprisingly-heavy, and as she was curled up, it covered her from neck to toe.
The stage seemed to press up into her, and she rolled over with an uncomfortable groan, feeling pain shooting through her. Her eyes were heavy, and her nose was raw. Her head was throbbing. She felt completely miserable.
"It is best you leave now, my dear."
Christine turned her head so quickly that she felt her neck crick in protest. She rubbed it with a sore arm and peered up through the gathering darkness. Erik was sitting at the piano bench, looking down at her, his white Oxford clearly distinguishable in the dim theater—like a beacon.
"It is late, and I am sure that we will soon be joined by others in the theater."
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, resisting the urge to give another groan. The coat slid into her lap, and she gingerly grabbed it before forcing herself to stand. Her head swam, and she felt her vision blur a little as her body readjusted itself to the sudden change. Then she rubbed her forehead with her free hand and held the coat out to Erik.
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.
"It is of no concern," he said curtly. "The last thing I need is for my student to be stricken down with the flu."
Suddenly feeling very cold with the absence of the coat, Christine stood awkwardly for a moment before nodding once and stumbling off the stage and into the quickly-drawing night. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked to the nearby bus station. A long, hot bath sounded like pure heaven.
It was too late in the season to snow, but it was too early to be considered spring, and the city was gray and gloomy. She rode the bus in silent dejection, staring out of the window, fully aware of her puffy eyes and red nose. What did it matter what she looked like? Gustave was not going to get well. The doctor had told her that. None of the medicine they were using was working.
When she was at last in her apartment, she pulled off her shoes and coat, dropping them in the front room and walking straight to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet, steam quickly filling up the room, and as she pulled off her clothes and tossed them into a corner, she felt the chill of the room with the heat of the steam meeting her bare skin.
As she sat in the hot bathwater, she leaned her head against the porcelain rim of the tub and closed her eyes.
Gustave had been everything to her for her entire life. Everything she ever did was for him, to make him proud of her. He had looked so frail and weak, lying on that hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines. His face was pale, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot. She had simply stared at him, unable to even rush over and embrace him. Was that how he felt when her mother had died? Unable to help her fight the illness destroying her body, simply forced to stand by and watch as she died in front of him…
But Gustave had had Christine afterward! Christine would have…no one. Didn't he realize that? He had to! He had to realize that he couldn't die, because that would mean that she would be left alone, and no one would be there to protect her read her stories…hold her hand…check for trolls in her closet…
As she sat there, she heard her phone begin to ring, and she looked over at her pair of discarded jeans, knowing that her phone was in the pocket. Raoul was calling her, because who else would? Feeling no desire to move, she instead sank deeper into the hot bathwater and closed her eyes once again, letting the voicemail pick up the call.
After the water cooled, she got out and wrapped herself up in warm pajamas, going into the kitchen to make herself weak tea. While waiting for the kettle to boil, she looked over to a drawer and remembered that she had slid a hospital bill in it. Sniffling and aware that nothing else could ruin her day more than it already was, she opened the drawer, intent on opening the bill and crying at the amount.
To her shock, there was no envelope. She looked in every other drawer and even in the cupboards, feeling a little frantic that it had disappeared.
The kettle was shrieking, and she pulled it off the stovetop before heading back to the bathroom for her phone.
She listened to Raoul's voicemail: "Hey, Christine. It's me. I was just calling to talk. Didn't you have to talk to the doctor this morning? What did he say? I hope it was good. Listen, sorry I didn't call you earlier. Work was awful today. Remember Margery White? That fish woman? Well, she got fired a couple weeks ago, and now she thinks it's okay to sue the whole company for sexual discrimination. That's just stupid, because I've only asked her to make me a sandwich a couple times. Heh." He laughed a little at his own silly joke, and Christine managed a watery smile at his good humor. "Just a joke, by the way, she's never made me a sandwich. Anyway, the lawsuit will never go through, so it's fine, but it's just a lot of paperwork. So…yeah. That was my story for the day. Call me back, okay? Miss you. Bye."
There was a beep to signal the end of the message, and she released a little shuddering sigh before dialing the hospital's number, biting her lip and returning to the kitchen to sit down at the table. She was exhausted.
After being transferred a few times, she finally said into the phone, "Hi…I'm just calling to check up on my dad. His name is Gustave Daae."
There was a slight shuffling of papers, and then the woman at the other end said, "He had a high fever several hours ago, though he is now at a normal temperature. The doctor has switched his medication, and we're hoping to see results in a few days."
"Okay, great," Christine whispered, pressing her hand to her forehead and staring at the wooden table. "Also…um, I need a bill sent to me again, if that's okay. I…misplaced it, I guess."
The woman sighed a little, and then Christine was transferred through several more people before connecting with a tired-sounding man.
"Miss Dye, I understand that you have a question concerning your latest hospital bill," the man said, and Christine could hear a slow, languid clack of the man typing something on a keyboard.
"Yeah," she said. "I need the bill resent, if…if that's possible."
"Of course it's possible, but why would you need it?" the man said. "According to my records, the bill has been paid in full."
"What?" She rubbed her eyes and squinted through the brightly-lit kitchen. "What do you mean?"
"The bill has been paid and everything went through with the bank and with your insurance," the man repeated. "Do you still want the bill re-sent? Maybe for your personal records?"
"Oh—um, no thanks," she said, completely confused. "Sorry about…the call, then."
"It's no problem," the man said slowly, and she could hear a barely-suppressed yawn in his voice. "Have a good night, Miss Dye."
She hung up and stared at the phone for several long moments before getting up to finish her tea. However, as she pulled out the required materials, she found that she didn't want it anymore, and so she put everything away and went to her bedroom, curling up in the bed and staring at the wall for a while before closing her eyes and falling asleep.