Chapter Three: What the Heart Wants

Christine returned to the Giry household quiet and subdued. She was greeted at the front door by Meg who, seeing her friend upset, immediately pulled her into an hug.

"I am sorry, Christine. He was a good tutor, even if he was not such a good man. I know you will miss him."

Christine closed her eyes and rested her head against her best friend's chest, returning the embrace. "More than you know, Meg. More than you know."

Late that evening after dinner, Christine was helping her ballet instructor clean the dishes. Meg had gone to bed early, excusing herself from dinner because she did not feel well, and the house was quiet save for the soft ticking of the old wooden clock on the mantle and the crackling of the fire. The two women worked together in silence, lost in thought, the clinking of the blue and white china and the sloshing of soapy water their only conversation.

"Christine, you have barely said two words since came home. What did he say to you?"

Christine looked up, startled, nearly dropping the plate in her hand. "How did you know about that?"

"I have my ways." Seeing that Christine was not satisfied with her cryptic answer, she went on to explain. "Erik is an old friend of mine. I have known him for many years – before he was the Opera Ghost. I had a feeling he would come."

"But just the other night you said he was dead, and – "

Madame Giry held up a hand. "No. No, I did not say that." Christine opened her mouth to protest, but the older woman's stern matronly gaze stopped her. "I told you that the papers claimed he was dead, but I also said there was a possibility that he escaped."

"But the body in my dressing room – "

"Was obviously not Erik."

"Then who…?"

Madame Giry shook her head. "As I said before, it was burned beyond recognition. Likely an adoring fan of yours, perhaps one of the mob come to loot the room during the confusion of the fire, or possibly one of the stagehands looking for you. I do not know. But the police believed it was Erik, and I would not dare tell them otherwise."

Christine looked hurt, betrayed. "If you knew all of this, why didn't you tell me?"

"He wanted everyone to believe he was dead, Christine, including you."

"Because he wanted me to feel guilty?"

"Because he loves you. He knew that if anyone was caught helping him, if anyone knew of his whereabouts and did not share them, they would be held accountable for being an accomplice to murder. By keeping you in dark, he was protecting you and giving you the freedom to be happy with the vicomte without feeling any kind of obligation to him. He told me that if you were to ask, I should convince you that he was dead. I believe he assumed that would keep you away from the opera house...But when you came anyway, I think it was too much for him, too difficult for him to remain in the shadows."

"You said no one had seen him since the fire…that he wanted everyone to believe he was dead, but he came to you."

"He had nowhere else to go. And I did not see him, ma cherie. You know better than I his talent for throwing his voice. He did not let me see him because he did not want to put me in a position where I would have to lie to the authorities. I let him stay in the old gardener's shed for a few days after the fire and gave him some food to take back, but he never showed himself. As long as I did not see him, I could not be considered a true witness. If I had reported hearing voices, I would have perhaps been labeled as a bit mad, but not a criminal." She sighed. "This will be the second time I have been his accomplice, and God forgive me, but I could not let them find him. He is as a son or a younger brother to me."

Christine looked surprised. "The second time?"

Madame Giry sighed again. "The first time was many years ago…He was just a boy, then, perhaps twelve or thirteen. I was not much older. He had been in a traveling circus, a freak show, exhibited as 'The Devil's Child' and treated like a wild animal – no, worse! When he killed his master, I was the one who helped him escape." She looked down. "I know what he did was wrong, but I cannot say that I would have done differently if I had been in his place. I took him to the opera house, and he has been there ever since."

Christine took a moment to think over all that had been said. "You knew, then? You knew that he loved me…that he was going to take me beneath the opera house?"

The ballet mistress nodded. "I knew. But I also knew that he would never hurt you. Had I known the consequences of my mistake, I never would have allowed it. I let things go too far…but I had hoped that perhaps you might be the one break him from his dark prison, to free him from himself. I now know that what I did was wrong, and I am sorry for the trouble that I have caused you, but please know that I was only doing what I thought was best at the time."

Christine paused thoughtfully before proceeding with her next question. "Does Meg know?"

"She knows about his history. She knows that he did not die in the fire. I did not tell her of his feelings for you, though I suspect she may have come to her own conclusions. I do not think she knows what happened today." Madame Giry was silent for a moment. Then, as if none of their previous conversation had taken place, she returned to her original question. "So…what did he say to you that has upset you so?"

The girl shook her head. "You know, when I went back to the opera house today, everything was so different, so gray. It was as if all the life had been drained from the place, as if it had been deserted for years, not days…I thought…I thought I saw something in the shadows, and then I thought I must be losing my mind because I could hear him! I could still hear his singing, even when I knew that could not be possible. It seems silly now, but I actually thought he was a ghost! He gave me quite a fright when he revealed himself in the chapel. I was so happy to see that he was alive, and at first, I thought he was happy to see me, too." She gave a half-hearted laugh. "How strange that the same hands that can murder in cold blood can be so warm and gentle…" She shook her head, trying to banish the thought of his gloved hand caressing her cheek and the frightening yet not altogether unpleasant feelings it had stirred within her. She frowned. "We…we had an argument. I think by the time I left, he wished I'd never even come."

"I see." The older woman moved to stack the dishes that had been dried and returned them to their place in the cupboard. "And what was this argument about?"

"He said he has forgiven me, but in his heart, I think he still blames me for exposing him…and leaving him. And to be honest, I cannot blame him. He insists that he has done nothing wrong, that the world has wronged him and that gives him license to do as he pleases. He blames his behavior on his face, saying that God has cursed him to live such a miserable existence. I think he has become so accustomed to being treated as some kind of monster that he actually believes he is one."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that he was using his deformity as an excuse. I don't understand…I know that he is capable of compassion. That Raoul is still alive and I am not his prisoner are proof of that. Why must he be so stubborn in his will to live up to society's cruelty? He believes that exacting vengeance will solve his problems, but he is only perpetuating his own misery, giving them yet another reason to hate him."

"But you do not hate him." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. Perhaps I should, but I do not."

"He told me what you did for him. I am proud of you, Christine. You will never know how much that moment of happiness, however brief, means to him. Even if it was only out of pity or concern for Raoul that you acted, it was still probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him."

Christine hesitated, afraid that if she voiced her feelings aloud it would make them too real. She felt ashamed to have such longings, such desires for another man when she was promised to Raoul. That she had experienced such feelings at all seemed sinful and unclean, for she had never even kissed a man before Raoul. They were feelings that she could not explain, that both frightened and excited her. Suddenly, she longed to be back in Raoul's arms, far away from the opera house and these strange, discomforting emotions she felt for the Phantom.

"I am not entirely certain," she whispered, "that pity was my only motive."

Madame Giry smiled knowingly, inviting her to continue, her matronly eyes wise and understanding.

Christine took a deep breath. This is why she had come here. If anyone could help her make sense of her emotions it would be her, and yet now that the time had come for her to bear her heart before the ballet mistress, she suddenly became shy.

"When I kissed him, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. Like fireworks raining down, like lightning on my lips, like a fire coursing through my veins. Like magic." She smiled wistfully at the memory of his lips on hers, soft and gentle, wet with tears. "When Raoul kisses me, it is different. I am comfortable…and happy…but there is no spark. I know he loves me, and I think I love him, but he has changed since he was a boy. Not in a bad way. He's just…different. We cannot talk the way we used to. He has grown up in the world of politics and high society and I have grown up in the world of music. Raoul tries to understand, but he cannot feel the music, cannot make it come alive the way that he could." Christine sighed again. "When we were on stage…when we were dancing…the way he held me, it…it was like there were no other people in the entire world. Like nothing else mattered. It was not act on his part, and not entirely on mine." She looked down guiltily. "I think Raoul noticed it, too." Suddenly she looked up, eyes filled with anguish. "Madame Giry, I am frightened by these emotions! I'm so confused…"

"Love is a confusing feeling, Christine."

"But I don't know what to do! The wedding is in two week's time, and I'm not even sure I want to marry him anymore!" Christine clapped her hands over her mouth, realizing what a scandalous thing she had said. "I did not mean to say that…"

She met her teacher's eyes hesitantly, relieved to find that Madame Giry did not appear the least bit angry. If anything, she looked slightly amused.

"But it is true, yes?"

Christine lowered her eyes again. "Yes."

Madame Giry placed a hand on her shoulder. "Christine, what are your exact feelings for Raoul? For Erik?"

"I don't know! Raoul has always been kind to me. He is the perfect gentleman and a wonderful man. He is, perhaps other than Meg, my best friend. Erik is so…complex and difficult to understand. One moment it seems as though he loves me and the next, he is shoving me away! And the intensity of desires that he awakens within my soul terrify me."

"You must remember that Erik has received very little kindness in his life, Christine. He has a difficult time conveying his feelings for you because so few have shown love to him. I have tried my best to be there for him, but…there are some places in his heart that even I cannot reach. As for your feelings, they are perfectly normal. I know such feelings can be frightening, but they are not wrong unless you act on them inappropriately. There is a difference between love and lust, Christine. Desire without love is lust. Desire with love is passion."

"But I care for them both, and I do not wish to hurt either one of them!"

"I'm afraid that may not be possible, Christine. I will not encourage you one way or the other, but eventually, you must choose."

"I know."

Madame Giry lifted the girl's chin and looked into her eyes. "You may not be able to give both of them what they want, Christine, but they both desire for you to be happy above all else. So the real question is…what do you want?"