CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Christine POV
I found I was in room of swirling mirrors, reflecting countless images of myself, and Raoul who swung his sword around uselessly for Erik had obviously long gone.
Erik's reflection appeared in the mirror before me and I whirled around, but there was no one there. He was playing with us, cat and mouse, but I would not fall victim to something this easy. Keeping my head, unlike Raoul who screamed and panted as though he had run a marathon, I began feeling around the mirrors for a secret exit.
The sound of a cracking whip echoed through the room, and I saw the same lasso that had been around Buquet's neck hanging from the ceiling. I felt myself lose the little colour I had left in my face.
Raoul did not take this as well as I did, promptly passing out on the floor. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't do anything against it. This was getting serious; I had to find a way out.
Feverishly, I began hurrying as fast as my gown would allow around the room, checking the mirrors for passages.
Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder and I spun around, ready to fight back against Erik if need be. I was met, however, with Madame Giry's solemn face, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Pick up your fiancé, and let me take you somewhere safe." I Raoul's arm, and Madame Giry took the other. Dragging Raoul along a passage, we headed up the dark hallways until we reached her private quarters that I had only been in once before, when I had first arrived.
Laying Raoul down on the floor, he suddenly came to, jolting up violently. He looked around for a minute and saw I was there and seemed to relax a little, but looked over at Madame Giry.
"Madame Giry, you~"
"Please, I know nothing more than anyone else," she told him, turning to the mirror and undoing the clasp holding up her dark brown braids. Raoul got up to his feet.
"Well, I'm not going to stay here and worry about it, I'm going…" he trailed off. Giry looked up at him in the mirror cynically.
"To do something about it?" she asked, with doubt lacing her voice. He grimaced, obviously rethinking the matter.
"I'm going to get some rest. Er… will you be safe here, Christine?" I didn't look at him, as to not show my pleasure. I couldn't have stood another minute in that stuffy house.
"Yes, you get some rest, love," I murmured softly, and he bade both of us goodnight before departing. I looked at Madame Giry.
"He's hopeless, you know," she told me, removing the bobby pins that riddled her hair.
"Will you tell me? Erik's past?" I asked quietly, and she paused for a moment. Her watchful eyes met mine.
"I would never tell a soul," I promised, and she sighed.
"All right, but only because you need to know, and for no other reason." She turned to me, her eyes full of remembrance that seemed almost bittersweet.
Flashback:
Antoinette POV
"Come on, Antoinette!" Marie yelled, pulling me along behind her. I sighed and followed her further into the camp. All of these gypsies roaming around didn't comfort me. Gypsies had robbed my parents once and now I feared them more than any pirate or pickpocket.
All around me were freaks of nature: men who could swallow knives whole, contortionists, fortunetellers, bearded women. I even saw a little pick-pocketing monkey!
From inside a shady tent, a man beckoned us over.
"Come, come and see the greatest attractions of all, pretty ladies. Come and see the Devil's Child!" he persuaded, and I was pulled along with the excited throng around me. I didn't like looking at people and their differences. I saw no entertainment in laughing at others. But I thought if I were to watch the show, I would get the best spot I could.
I held onto the bars of the cage and peered in cautiously. Inside was a small boy, maybe half my age at the time. He wore only pants and a dirty sack over his head that had eyeholes and a small mouth hole. The bag boy turned my way. Green eyes with golden flecks gazed morosely back at me for a moment, as though wishing he was on the other side of those bars.
Before I could call to him, he had already turned his attention back to a little roughly hewn monkey toy he held. He placed two metal cymbals within its woven hands and tapped them together softly, so a pretty ring reached my ears.
His master crawled through the cage hole, a wood plank in his hands and I felt a surge of fear for the boy, though I had only just seen him. He could not possibly be that bad, why was he considered the freak?
With venom, the man who owned him, kicked the monkey out of his hands, and the boy collapsed on the ground, though no harm had come to him. He was mercilessly beaten with the plank. The other girls around me laughed as if it was the most hilarious thing in the world to watch a young boy be clubbed into submission.
I clung to the bars tighter, willing myself not to cry for him.
"Please!" I called to the boy's master. "Please, stop! For goodness sake, please don't hurt him!"
The throng, and the master looked around at me, seeming very confused that I felt sorry for the poor creature. Couldn't they see he hadn't done anything wrong, or was it a crime for him to try to be happy?
The boy, whose chest was now bleeding from the repetitive blows, looked up at me. Cautiously, he dipped his torso in what I realized was a shaky bow. I attempted to curtsy in return but my legs gave out and I just sunk to my knees.
His master looked at me with scorn, thinking I was scared of him.
"Be quiet, stupid girl!" he hissed before turning back to the bag boy, who cowered instantly at his feet. Holding the boy's hands back so he couldn't cover his face, the man ripped the sack off his head.
I felt my expression drop as I looked upon the boy's face for the first time. He was hideous, with folds of mottled skin rippling down his face and one eye sagging a little. It was obvious why he was the best attraction, I felt sick just looking at him.
The crowd began howling with laughter, although there was still nothing to laugh about. This was the least funny thing I had ever seen in my life.
They began to throw things at him, old chicken bones and bits of garbage as the man let go of his arms. The boy did not retaliate, although later I knew he could've, but instead, huddled on the floor with his face in his hands while he sobbed bitterly. All of the pity I possessed overflowed at that moment, and I tried to stop the girls around me from throwing their food at him.
"Please, Marie! Ginette, Madeline, all of you! Please!" But they did not pay me any attention until the boy had slipped the dirty sack over his head once more.
The crowd filed out, knowing the show was over, but I remained for a moment. I could hear his muffled weeping and whispered words of comfort to him from behind the bars.
"It's all right, it's going to be all right." He looked over at me from behind the bag.
"Why are you talking to me?" he breathed, sounding alarmed but also curious at the same time. His voice was very soft, not at all like the rough-toned gypsies he lived with. I suspected that he had been bought, maybe a poor boy off the street. I reached for his hand but he pulled away from me.
"You look so helpless, and I can't help but pity you." I heard the sound of the Madame Perrault, the ballet mistress at that time, calling the girls to assemble.
"I have to go," I murmured, slipping away from the bars. His hand now shot out and grabbed mine. His hand was colder than ice, but was wonderfully gentle. I shivered at his touch, and his gaze grew more desperate, thinking I was afraid.
"No, please! I don't even know your name," he pleaded, looking hastily over at his master, who was busy counting the silver coins he had earned.
"Antoinette," I whispered back and pulled away from him. He held steadfast to the bars in an attempt to force me back by his side, but I continued on my way. There was nothing I could do to help him, try as I might.
I was just about to leave the tent, when I heard the choking cry of a man behind me. I looked around and felt my mouth open in shock and horror.
The brutal master was being choked by a rope, which had once been his makeshift belt, by none other than the bag boy. I gasped and ran forward, but it was too late for the man collapsed in the cage, dead.
The bag boy took his monkey toy and slipped silently out of the cage. He was about to leave when he saw me standing at the door, my eyes wide with fear. Slowly, he took a step forward and I flinched backward, gazing fearfully at the rope that trailed from his hand.
"Oh, no! Don't be afraid! I won't hurt you."
That surprised me, and I let him approach. For a boy of his age, he was tall and very mature.
"B- but… you killed him," I stuttered, pointing to the grotesquely mangled body of his old master.
"You have done me no wrong, mademoiselle." I breathed a sigh of relief, but my calm was soon replaced by fear. The sound of shuffled footsteps reached my ears.
"We'll just check in on the Devil's Child, make sure nothing's happened," I heard a gruff voice say a little ways off from our tent. The boy pushed me away and hurried around the other side of his cage.
"You must go! Never speak of this to them, or anyone! Go!" I ran after him, not wanting him to get caught. I grabbed his icy hand.
"No, I don't want you to get hurt~" I protested, but he cut me off, taking my shaking hands.
"Antoinette, you won't believe me, but I've done things you wouldn't imagine doing. I won't get hurt. No one will know I'm gone 'til morning," he assured me.
At that moment a thickly bearded gypsy man, who I had seen at a tarot card stall, entered. His eyes fell on the dead master, and traveled up to where we stood holding each other's hands tightly. I heard the boy swear under his breath.
"Murderer!" the bearded man shouted, and the boy bolted, pulling me along with him.
In and around tents we wove, so quickly I thought I would trip. Thankfully I didn't, for I was sure the boy would've stopped to help me, spelling our doom.
"Where do you live?" he asked me, ducking as a rock passed by his head. He helped me over a fence with ease. We turned onto the streets of Paris and the opera house loomed ahead of us.
"In there," I told him, pointing at the massive structure. His green eyes lit up with wonder.
"The opera house… perfect," he breathed so quietly I almost didn't hear him. He looked at me with wary eyes.
"Would it be all right if… if I…" I understood what he meant and nodded brightly.
"I will show you a way in," I murmured, pulling him into an alleyway nearby. I led him to a metal grate in the wall.
I pulled it open for him and he jumped through.
"Wait for me in the chapel," I instructed and I saw the bag move up and down below me in a nod.
Just as he disappeared into the chapel, the mob turned onto the street.
The leader of the group barked at me, "You, girl! Have you seen a boy with a dirty bag on his head?"
I shook my head fearfully; pressing against the grate I had let him through. The mob decided he had gone down a different path and hurried out again, chanting as they went. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Hurrying into a sidedoor, I hurried down the stairs to the chapel where the boy stood waiting for me.
I grabbed him and pulled him along a labyrinth of corridors that wound downward deep into the ground. All the while, the boy would whisper to himself, as if he was writing a map with words.
"Turn corner, walk straight down hallway…"
"Why are you doing that?" I asked finally, fed up with his hissing voice in my ear. He looked into my eyes, seeming to read my emotions.
"I want to remember everything, so when you get rid of me, I'll have the memories."
I was rendered speechless for a minute or two. I couldn't believe how calmly this boy could speak of being rejected, as if it was as natural as breathing. I had to wonder what had happened to this poor creature.
"I'm not going to get rid of you," I told him, surprising him greatly.
"You're not?"
"I can't let you live out there. You'll be captured, or worse!" He stared into my eyes as though I was the strangest creature he had ever seen.
"Who are you?" he breathed. "Are you an Angel?"
"Excuse me?"
"I can't think of anyone else who could be that compassionate."
"No, I'm not an angel," I told him, and he seemed to deflate a little.
"Oh. It would've been nice if you were. I would like to go to Heaven one day." That remark nearly broke my heart in two, but I withheld my emotions.
We began to wade across a lake to a special room my father had made for me before he died.
My father had been an architect and made secret passages in the opera house for me, so I would be amused while he worked. He died when one of the metal tiles had fallen off the roof and struck his head. I had missed him for many months, and stayed at the opera house to pursue his dream for me: to become a dancer.
I showed the boy my secret room at the end of the lake and he climbed onto the rocky shore, looking around in awe. It was essentially a large cavern with a bed resembling those in a prison, but he seemed overwhelmed by it.
"Do you like it here?" He looked around at me, with flashing eyes.
"Like it? Just look at it!" He walked the perimeter, running his hands along the rough walls.
"It's like a palace," he breathed. I laughed.
"Hardly, it's even not close to what a palace looks like," I chuckled with a little smile.
"Well, not now. But just think! If there were stairs leading up there, and, oh!, a bedroom, and an organ!"
"An organ?"
"Yes, how else to play music?" he said, as if I were a fool for asking. "And there would be a boat, so we wouldn't have to walk through the water. And a portcullis! And…" He trailed off, sitting on the ground.
"Antoinette…I...I… thank you," he murmured finally.
"You are welcome, I will help you, and give you food as often as I can," I told him, before stepping into the water again.
"Antoinette?"
I looked back at him, expectantly. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"
I thought for a moment, and came up with a request.
"Tell me your name," I asked curiously. I couldn't tell, but I think from behind the bag he was smiling a little.
"Erik."
I nodded once.
"Goodnight, Erik," I murmured softly, treading through the water carefully so as not to fall.
"Goodnight, Antoinette."
I sat in the chapel, staring at the picture of my father, when I noticed an object on the floor. It was the monkey that Erik had brought with him. It gave me comfort that I had a friend here, and not the snobbish ballerinas who laughed at the unfortunates.
I picked it up and thought of returning it, but decided to keep it until the morning. Putting it under my arm, I hurried up the stairs, not knowing that many years later Erik would comfort another girl here.
Christine POV
Madame Giry held the monkey toy she had described in the story, gazing at its roughly fashioned face with tears in her beady eyes. Raoul had come back for the last half of the story and was sitting to the side, looking untouched by such a sorrowful tale.
"I hid him from the world's cruelty. He has known nothing of life in the outside world, except in this opera house," she told me, for she ignored Raoul the entire time. She shook her head, trying hard not to cry, which I had never seen her do. I, as well, was blinking back some tears, especially since the part when he had been playing with his toy monkey in the cage. I had once had a toy monkey as well. I had loved the dear thing so much, but lost it when I moved to the opera house.
"It was his playground, and now it is his artistic domain. He's a genius."
Raoul grunted in disbelief, but she let this pass.
"He's an architect, a designer, a composer and a magician: he's a genius!" she cried again, wiping her eyes.
"But clearly Madame Giry~" We both looked at Raoul, who was making his first comment of the night, "Genius has turned to madness."
This seemed to do it for Madame Giry, who through the years had clearly gained strong motherly affections for Erik.
"That's it, monsieur. I can not stand it any longer." She walked out of her room, slamming the door. We sat in silence for a moment, before the door opened again.
She walked back in, angrier than before.
"This is my room, out!" she ordered Raoul, who did not complain. He departed and she sunk down before her vanity, her head in her hands.
"Madame~"
"Please! You can call me Antoinette, my dear." I made to pat her shoulder, but refrained and sat uncomfortably in my chair.
"Antoinette… I would comfort you, but I don't know how," I told her truthfully. She looked up at me and gave a weak smile.
"You need just as much comfort as I do, mademoiselle." I nodded, feeling tears trickle down my cheeks once again.
"What do I do?" I whispered, "I don't know who to love, and I'm so confused! Father sent me two gifts, but which do I take? The angel or the man? Is the angel the monster, is the man the monster, or is father the monster? Oh, I don't know!" I cried, and sobbed into my hands. She put her arm around me soothingly, the way I had seen her do to Meg many years ago. Just like my mother might have done to me.
I cursed softly under my breath. I did not need to think of mother now. It would only make me cry more.
"I don't want to cry," I told Antoinette through tears, not finding the strength to wipe them away.
"I know," she told me and held me tighter. I knew that she would be the only person to understand my confusion. It was the same battle for her, to love or let go?
I eventually fell asleep with my head on her lap, clutching monkey that had been lost so many years ago.