CHAPTER FOUR:

Erik POV

The orchestra played above me, as I listened to the heavenly voice of my angel in her first performance. I wished I could have seen her from box five, but some fop of a patron was occupying it, (who I had decided to call Pigeon due to the one on his jacket) and I didn't have the energy to drag him out. I had been up for three long nights in a row teaching Christine the aria she now sang, and let's face, I didn't need any more trouble.

It was enough to listen, however. Her beauty flowed through her voice more than ever. Since meeting her as a little girl, she had matured into a kind, and very attractive, young woman. The feelings of fondness had been realized a long time ago, and I still felt them. But they weren't just caring and protection now. I had fallen undeniably and irrevocably in love with her. So much so, that I had developed a type of obsession.

I had prompted Antoinette to suggest Christine as the next candidate after La Carlotta (who shouldn't have been a candidate at all), but naturally I first had to dispose of the prima donna to make way for my own.

If Carlotta had been a man (though she did look a little like one with her fuzzy upper lip and all) my disposal would have been much more brutal.

Unfortunately, Carlotta was a woman, so I could not simply silence her forever, though I would have liked to.

So, instead I had dropped a set on her, which had set her on a screaming binge.

It was easy for me to get control of the levers that lowered the sets as Bouquet had been ravishing some poor girl in a back room and the others had been mixed below me in a drunken stupor. It merely took a simple unloosening of a rope or two, and Carlotta was flattened, unfortunately, her ego not with her.

She was far too self-absorbed to stand for such trickery and so, after many screeches of a half French, half Italian insults, she finally stormed out.

Christine was a sensation, the managers adored her, and the cast adored her. They all said that her voice could cast a spell on them, and no one knew this better than I did.

Her voice could make me forget everything, for a little while anyways. All the troubles of the theatre seemed to disappear into music when she sang.

There were plenty of troubles, and La Carlotta was only the beginning of it.

I now had new managers to rein in, which was never easy to do. It was also not pleasing that they had bought the Opera Populaire for the profit, not the joy of opera itself. I would have bet my mask they couldn't tell an eighth note from a quarter, a task I could accomplish at four years old.

I was also concerned about Joseph Buquet's antics. He would prey on the most prominent (and voluptuous) ballerinas, and Christine had certainly jumped up the ranks significantly, in both categories. It was not comforting to think of my lovely songbird in the arms of that weasel, and I made sure to keep Antoinette on his case.

By this time, her song was over, and the audience was applauding, murmuring their approval to each other.

Softly, so no one could hear me, I clapped with them. I listened to the patrons sitting directly behind the orchestra pit, trying to hear what they thought of my Christine.

There wasn't a single person who wasn't moved by the performance. One woman had been reduced to tears!

It felt good to know I played a part in her success. She knew that as well, and was always very grateful to me when I praised her.

"I'm only as good as I am because of you, my Angel," she had told me once, bashfully, after I had showered her with approval. She asked me after that if she could see me, something she only did when I was exceptionally pleased with her. I always said no, and I could see her disappointment. She would wait for another chance to see me, and be turned away each and every time.

But not tonight. Tonight I would step forth from shadows, reveal myself not as an angel, but a man. Hopefully she wouldn't be too disappointed, but I would show her everything, my music, my home, except one thing.

I wouldn't show her my face. It was better to keep some things secret, and letting her see beneath the mask was definitely one of those things.

If she saw me for what I was, she would never love me. No one ever would.

My own mother had never cared. She had always seen me as a freak and cast me into exile in my own house.

I knew that if she couldn't, Christine surely wouldn't either. She would never love such a monstrous, hideous thing of darkness like me. Demons like me did not deserve the love of an Angel.

It was inevitable she would be curious, and there was always the chance she would try to see for herself. But I had decided I would finally face her, and there was no changing my mind.

Quickly, I darted away from beneath the crack in the ceiling from where I listened and ran up a long forgotten set of stairs. Hurrying along the passages I had created for faster travel, I soon arrived at the chapel.

I waited for Christine come down the stairs, which she did soon after I had approached the wall to watch her from. She would never break her promise to see me, for which I was quite glad.

She fell to her knees as she reached the candle with her father's picture beneath it. She stared at it wistfully for a moment, and I didn't call out to her just yet, sensing her need to reflect briefly.

Taking a match that laid beside it, she lit the end from another candle and transferred the flame. I liked that she wasn't afraid of fire, or at least small flames. I had seen other women, much older than her, faint at the smallest spark.

She bowed her head in silent prayer. She looked exactly like an angel in that moment. It was perfect. I had to design a figure of her just like she was. I remembered my real purpose for coming and decided to get on with it.

"Brava, Brava, Bravissima," I sang to her softly, and she looked up, the traces of a smile on her face. She adored it when I sang; she would always ask me to sing for her at the end of each lesson, which I happily obliged.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Antoinette's daughter, Meg calling her name.

"Christine? Christine?" My Angel turned when she heard her name the second time, and I desperately tried to get her attention again.

"Christine," I whispered, and she looked back for a moment, before Meg skipped down the stairs.

"There you are!" she laughed, running over to Christine. "Where in the world have you been hiding?"

Christine smiled, looking away shyly, as Meg praised, "Really, you were perfect!"

She touched her shoulder as she sat back on her heels. She sighed, shaking her head.

"I only wish I knew your secret. Who is your great tutor that mother was talking about?" she asked, completely innocent in her intentions.

I glanced at Christine, reading her expression as it darkened. It was obvious she was going to confide to her about me, but the real question was would Meg believe her? I listened close, as she began to whisper.

"Meg, when your mother brought me here to live, whenever I'd come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above…" She waved her hand around the room to show this.

It was apparent from Meg's face that she didn't believe a single word of this. I couldn't blame her, but I did feel irked she didn't believe Christine. Why was I always some figment of imagination? I was a person like anyone else!

"And in my dreams," Christine continued, "He was always there." She looked up at Meg. Now she was in the middle of her explanation, she was much more confident in her story.

"You see, when my father lay dying, he told me he would send an angel. An Angel of Music."

I understood now, all of her desperation to see me was quite pitiable really. We both had longed for parents, someone who would care about us, and we had found comfort with each other, though she didn't really know who I was.

Apparently this wasn't making any sense to Meg, for she looked upon Christine as though she was absolutely crazy.

"Christine, do you believe…" She bit her lip, trying to say it nicely. "Do you think the spirit of your father is coaching you?" Christine raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

"No, I told you already, he sent me an Angel. It's the Angel who teaches me!" she explained, probably sounding like more of a nutcase then ever.

"Father once spoke of an Angel, I use to dream he'd appear."

I was glad of that. I had wished not long before she came someone like her would appear.

You'll get your wish, Christine, I thought to myself, smiling at her from behind the wall.

"Now as I sing, I can sense him and I know he's here!" That surprised me. Maybe I needed some repairs on the one-way wall; my silhouette just might have been showing.

"Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me, he, the unseen genius!"

A genius was I? I had picked a good night to reveal myself indeed!

Christine had stood up by now, along with Meg, who definitely thought she was insane. She took her arm gently, as one might take someone who was about to be placed in a straightjacket.

"Christine, you must've been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true," she told her, looking very concerned for Christine, who stared off into space searching for me.

Meg began to pull her, and I actually walked into the wall, forgetting that I wasn't in the room. She couldn't leave yet. I hadn't gotten a chance to speak to her!

She seemed to be thinking the same thing, looking back mournfully.

"Christine you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you!" Meg cried as she hurried her up the stairs. I smirked wryly. Christine talked to me every night. It was most definitely like her to be this way.

But no matter, Meg couldn't take her anywhere I didn't already know. I would be with my Christine tonight, make no mistake about that!