Don't own the lyrics.

Chapter 9 – Jealousy

Erik

Entry 4

I have felt many things over the last few days.

Despair, relief, anger...

Out of all of these feelings (some so abstract that I cannot even put a name to them) I will always remember that sense of joy and happiness - as close to ecstasy as I have ever been.

But I am jumping ahead of myself; I should begin with the day after my last entry - the day that the new managers paid a visit to the Opera.

I had quietly made my way up to the upper stories of the Opera, quickly concealing myself behind some old props which provided adequate cover and plenty of room to observe without being seen.

I watched as the cast assembled on the stage below me, some still rubbing the sleep from their sleepy eyes as they emerged into view from the darkened corridors. The orchestra sat in the pit and began to tune their instruments, glaring angrily at each other as elbows and instruments were jostled in the quest to get seated.

The dancers arrived together, a mass of giggling fluttering costumes. My heart leapt in my chest, battering against ribcage. Christine, she would be with them.

I risked exposing myself as I slid from my hiding place to get a better look.

There was no sign of her among the excited dancers.

Where was she?

Was she hurt?

Was she ill?

My heart was racing for a completely different reason now as I began to panic about Christine.

Just as I began to move away from the shadows to find her, a familiar figure caught my eye as it darted onto the stage.

It was Christine. She ran swiftly onto the stage followed closely behind by Meg, they quickly joined the other dancers and fell effortlessly into step.

I took the opportunity to watch her with others her own age, she always had a smile on her face and was constantly swapping glances with Meg as they laughed or smiled at something that apparently only they found funny. I could not help but smile at their antics.

"Aaaaa"

My gaze was suddenly snapped from Christine as a scream cut through the air, or was it supposed to be a note. It was hard to tell as Carlotta traipsed onto the stage in full costume looking like some kind of exotic bird displaying her feathers for all to see. Her coarse voice filled the air killing the songs she was singing which were punctuated at points by her yelled complaints at anyone who seemed to be within ear shot.

I spent the best part of an hour drowning out the sound of Carlotta's screaming and replacing it with memories of Christine's lovely, fine, unforced voice as I watched her dance her pieces. She moved gracefully across the stage and I wondered (and not for the first time) why she was never confident about her dancing. But then I suppose that I am biased in my view of her, for nothing she does is less than perfect.

I was so focused on her that I was surprised when all the dancers came to an abrupt halt.

The music had stopped.

What?

I scanned the crowd below me, trying to discover the cause of the disturbance.

Then I remembered why I was here to begin with.

The new managers.

I listened carefully as Monsieur Lefevre introduced the two gentlemen to the attentive company as they pushed forward to get a better look at the new owners.

There was a noise from the side of the stage and I watched a fair haired gentleman stride onto the stage. The managers both old and new drew him into their conversation before introducing him to the more than curious crowd.

The new patron.

I glanced around the throng of dancers, amused by their flirtatious glances as they tried to catch his eye.

I felt anger as I found Christine's gaze too resting upon the new arrival but calmed myself when I saw the thoughtful look that passed across her features – so much different from the smiles and fluttering eye lashes that the other dancers were directing at the man. She whispered something to Meg who joined her in watching the stranger, she leaned in to reply.

I did not know what to feel as a huge smile spread across Christine's face (a smile of recognition with no coyness to be seen)as the Vicomte strode towards her, only to be replaced by a sad smile when he passed her.

My chest tightened as the anger of not knowing spread through me.

But who was I angry at?

I did not know.

I had never before (well not since the ball last year anyway) had to worry about Christine meeting men.

So who was this man, no this boy to Christine to take the smile from her face? By the way she gazed at him she definitely knew him from somewhere.

But where? That was what I wanted to know, what I needed to know.

I walked backwards away from the scene playing out below me, not paying any attention to where I was walking. Carlotta continued to shriek about some gross injustice she felt she had suffered, but I did not care. My mind was reeling with what I had just witnessed between Christine and this imposter.

I heard the orchestra begin to play again as I spun around.

I walked into something, my foot catching on one of the many ropes that filled the floor.

I released my foot moments before the rope whipped from the floor and a backdrop went crashing to the ground below.

I rushed from the scene only just remembering to take my letter for the new managers from my pocket and let it drift to the floor.

I could not hold back the laugh that escaped my lips as I heard Carlotta's indignant screams, after all, if it should fall on anyone what were the chances of the backdrop falling on Carlotta?

As I was now a fair distance from the accident I slowed down ducked into one of the darkened corridors as an angry Carlotta went storming past, shadowed by her ever present followers, hairdressers and the like, not to mention her husband – the man must have lost his hearing years ago.

I was about to follow them when I heard something...something familiar and adored.

I froze.

Christine?

I ran back the way I had came as fast as I could, by some miracle meeting no one as I rushed towards the stage and climbed back into the rigging high above the performers, twisting between the ropes and boards as I searched for a perch.

I looked down.

It was her.

Christine was standing there, on the stage, singing.

Pride filled my chest.

Her strong, pure voice engulfed the now silent theatre, as she held the company under her spell. The two new managers stood with grins spread across their faces as they exchanged glances.

But how had this happened?

How had it come about that she was singing?

I scanned the crowd below just as Madame Giry was doing the same thing to the rafters above her head. Our eyes met and she gave me one of her rarely seen smiles.

So it was her doing.

I returned her smile and turned my eyes back to Christine. She truly does have the voice of an angel – a little angel trapped on earth.

I watched her, as spell bound as the rest of her audience until she had finished.

Magnificent.

I wanted so much to tell her of how proud I was and found myself wanting to take her into my arms – a wish that has been made more frequently during the last year.

She let out a deep breath and smiled at Meg before she was taken swiftly from the stage by the beaming managers.

"Congratulations my dear," exclaimed one of the managers as she was ushered away "You will make a perfect replacement for Signora Carlotta,"

I nearly jumped for joy as I felt an over whelming urge to yell in triumph.

Christine, my Christine was playing the lead in the opera, the lead. Not just some little part but the lead.

It was unbelievable.

The pride that had filled me upon hearing her sing expanded to an almost unbearable proportion, I felt as though my chest would explode with it.

My little love...no I corrected myself almost savagely, I must stop calling her that.

Christine was finally going to prove herself to everyone; she was going to show them what she was capable of, what her voice could do.

I made my way back down below the Opera toward my home, almost in a dream as I thought of Christine finally achieving the goal that I had had in mind for her since her lessons had began. Tonight she would astound all of Paris with her gift.

But my thoughts turned dark as I thought of the boy, the Opera's patron.

The Vicomte de Chagny.

I spat the name out angrily, each syllable catching in my throat.

How could Christine know him?

As far as I knew she had obeyed my wishes concerning men. But then he would have surely spoken to her if they were acquainted but he had not. Instead he had stalked past her as though she was nothing, just another dancer.

My anger returned in full force, growing stronger at this unknown man.

How dare he treat her so, even in a sea of identical costumes I could pick Christine out in a second, and he had been within a foot of her...

But this is just my rambling thoughts so I shall move on.

My thoughts continued to dance between overwhelming joy at the idea of what Christine would soon be doing and anger at this...this...Vicomte.

As my mind reeled with thought I paced the shore of my home restlessly, the hours dragged by until the doors of the Opera were opened, admitting the excited audience.

I made my way to the grates under the orchestra pit where the music would drift to during the performance – allowing me to hear if not see the entire Opera.

I could hear the bustling crowd as they entered the auditorium and found their seats while the musicians warmed up their instruments. I smiled to myself remembering the scene that I had witnesses that morning as elbows were knocked and feet trodden on. I was more than sure that the exact same thing would be happening but just a little less openly.

Finally the chattering audience fell silent as the music began. The chaotic sound of tuning instruments coming together in harmony.

My heart raced as I tried to picture what Christine would be doing, how she would be feeling, where she would be standing on the stage.

My breathing stopped as I heard her voice rise with the music and fill the air.

I could imagine the looks of surprise that the audience would be throwing at each other; after all they were all expecting the tall, fiery haired Italian, not my dark and petite little angel.

I began to breathe again as I heard the audience burst into applause the sounds filling the passage in which I stood.

For the umpteenth time that day my heart filled so much with pride that it was almost an ache.

I stood until the end of the performance, listening closely as Christine hit every note she was required to. Once I heard the final applause and the audience begin their chattering once more I made my way to the chapel, following the dark passages and corridors without much thought, my feet taking me naturally to the place that I wished to go – there was no doubt in my mind that Christine would make her way there at her first opportunity.

I took up my hiding place behind the wall opposite the chapel entrance and waited.

Finally the candles flickered as the air was disturbed. I pushed myself closer to the wall. She was coming.

I was not prepared for the effect that seeing Christine in her costume would have on me.

She entered the dark chapel dressed in sparkling white, her dark hair kept in check by a glittering net of shinning stars. She looked beautiful, the gown making her small frame look all the more tiny and breakable than in her usual dresses.

She took my breath away.

Every inch of her looked like an angel.

I watched as she sat upon the floor and lit a candle (no doubt for her father) and placed her hands in her lap staring into the flame of the candle.

I wanted so much to go to her, but I knew I could not, I must not.

"Brava, brava, bravissima." I let my voice drift to her and I watched as a smile spread across her face at my praise, her eyes glowing in the candlelight

She took in a breath as though to speak when someone called her name.

I was stunned; no one ever came to the chapel.

I watched the entrance curiously.

It was Meg.

She went straight to Christine's side and plopped herself down on the floor, taking her hands in her own.

I turned away to leave, my time with Christine now over. I smiled as I heard Meg praise Christine on her performance and I was glad that her friend had accepted her after her triumph and did not sound in the least bit jealous. Though I doubted that such thoughts would have passed through either of the girls' minds, they could not be more devoted to each other if they were sisters.

I slipped back through the corridors, no longer in the Opera walls.

Christine would be given Carlotta's dressing room no doubt.

I wanted to leave something for her. But what?

I went to the stables; they always kept a vase of roses there. The old stable master's wife had a weakness for the flower and he had got onto the habit of always having a vase for her in case she ever came to visit him...

But I am detracting from the point.

I carefully made my way to the stables dodging into any available alcove or corridor when I had to avoid meeting anyone, the corridors seeming to grow in length as I rushed towards my destination.

There they where, the vase of roses.

I took one from the bunch and seeing a black ribbon lying abandoned lifted that to.

I slipped back into the shadows and made my way back down below the Opera to find the passage that led behind the wall of the dressing room.

Since the Opera House was first built almost 70 years ago the wall of the lead soprano's dressing room has had a floor to ceiling mirror adorning one of the walls. To all appearances a permanent feature, unmovable and fixed in place.

Just shows how little is known of the Opera by the owners.

As a child I spent hours exploring the many twists and turns that few know exist behind the walls of the Opera, one such turn had led me down a corridor to the mirror.

But it was no normal mirror, for I could see into the room beyond without being seen myself. I soon discovered that the glass panel was designed in such a way to shift into the wall allowing access into the room.

Never before in my life have I been so happy knowing this fact. For now it allowed me to enter the dressing room and lay the rose complete with ribbon upon the dressing table and swiftly retreat.

I stayed behind the mirror waiting for Christine to appear, praying that I had been correct in my assumption.

After what seemed like hours the door opened and Christine appeared followed closely by Madame Giry who firmly closed the door behind them.

I watched them as she gave Christine a smile before turning away from her. The smile faltered – she had spotted the rose.

Taking it from the table she handed it to Christine.

"He is pleased" she told her as she went to leave.

She knew it was me who had left the rose. One thing that I have discovered about the ballet mistress through the years is that she can be very astute when she wishes to be – the interfering woman, Christine would not know what or who she was talking about.

Christine stood staring at the rose as she played with the ribbon.

She moved from the door and sat at the dressing table, still examining the rose.

What was going through her mind?

I so desperately wanted to know.

I took my eyes from Christine as I heard movement by the door. It opened quietly.

I looked back to Christine who still had not realised that she was no longer alone, the person spoke and she looked up.

I turned my eyes back to the door and felt the anger from that morning spring to life once more, burning through my body.

That boy.

How dare he.

Who was he to just enter her room without requesting permission?

My vision took on a red haze as he walked straight too her side and crouched by her chair, a smile across his face as he spoke.

He kept calling her 'Little Lotte".

The anger rose even more as he called her a name that was not hers.

Christine sat smiling at him, her eyes dancing as he spoke to her.

Who was he to her?

I had not kept her safe all of these years to have some boy swoop down and steal her away from me. A streak of jealousy shot through me very nearly obliterating the anger that I had felt.

I listened as he congratulated Christine on her performance.

"Papa sent me the Angel of Music." she told him her smile never faltering.

I was shocked, I had always been her secret, she had never willingly spoken of me to anyone before and yet this man appears and she tells him everything.

I guessed that they had been children together; it was the only logical conclusion as Christine would not have had the opportunity to meet someone of his social standing since she moved to the Opera.

He agreed with her statement and rose from his position by her side. I began to breath steadier as he increased the distance between them.

"Now I will take you to supper."

A growl almost escaped my throat as I listened to him.

They may have been children together but Christine was no child now.

What right did he have to come into her life after ten years and start issuing orders to her?

"The Angel of Music is very strict," I heard her explain quietly and firmly.

Ha, I nearly crowed with triumph, despite everything she still held true to her promise.

The boy laughed it off, still heading for the door he told her that he would not be long, leaving Christine yelling his name at a closed door.

How dare he not listen to her wishes, how dare he jump to conclusions and expect her just to go along with his plans.

An idea took root in my mind.

I decided to slow his return down and made my way to the stables, getting there faster through the passages than the Vicomte, who was taking the corridors.

I quickly entered the stables for the second time that day and looked for a carriage that had not been there during my first visit – as patron the Vicomte's horses are stabled with the Opera livestock and not with the other vehicles.

I found what I was looking for and quickly got to work, cutting the leather straps and harnesses that would keep the horses in check and left as quickly as I had arrived.

The Opera was now silent. All the cast heading to bed and the last of the straggling audience leaving for home. Carefully I found the cleaners keys that are kept hanging from a hook in one of the closets and removed the one for Carlotta's dressing room. I was determined that the boy would not interfere. Slipping from the shadows I locked the door. I looked up to meet the eyes of Madame Giry as she stood concealed behind a curtain. I scowled at her as she glared meaningfully at me.

I did not care what she thought.

Christine was mine and I would not lose her.

OK so I really really hated the first version of this and decided to redo it. There aren't any huge changes but I think it is a bit better than the first attempt. I still think it is missing something though. I just don't know what. I'm still trying to avoid making him sound like a stalker.

Once again thanks for the reviews, I am so glad to know that you're all enjoying it (though this chap still might change your mind).

Let me know what you think.

Cheers.

(Wee note for smiley1face23 – thanks for pointing out the spelling. Yip it was supposed to be 'here' and not 'hear'-my computers spell checker has gone a bit crazy and started replacing random words and letters, I thought I had got them all but must have missed some. Same goes for the spelling of Erik. Thanks)