Chapter 11: Opera Populaire, Paris, France, 1881
"No!" Christine gave a cry of horror. "No!"
She tottered backwards, losing her sense of balance and crumpled to the stone floor. She looked up Antoinette, searching for a twinkle of jest to be in her hazel eyes. She found none.
Madame Giry didn't move to comfort as she herself was suddenly suffering immeasurable torment.
'Look what you've done…' her conscious bemoaned.
'I had to…she cannot bear the truth…' She reasoned.
Christine wept into her hands, wailing agonizingly. "No…not Erik…he can't be…he can't…"
The Madame couldn't stay in the room any longer, her insides dying at the sound of Christine's grief and anguish. She turned away from the chapel, as cruel as was, to leave the girl alone. She had done what she had to and Christine could not be consoled.
'Heaven forgive me...some day you will understand...' she thought. Antoinette Giry soundlessly cried as she left, hearing the echoes of Christine's brokenness.
"Erik, oh Erik…I'm so sorry…so sorry…"
'Erik…wake up, man…'
'No…'
'Wake up…someone will find you…'
'I don't care…'
'Lotte could find you…'
'No…no…NO! She can't see me like this! She mustn't know I'm still here! She can't find me…she can't…she can't…she can't…'
"Christine…"
The Phantom of the Opera groaned awake, the hard wooden platform digging into his ribcage. His head and chest pounded, reminding him the consequences of not breathing on a regular basis. He opened his eyes, miserably hoping he was back in his lair waking up after another nightmare. But he smelled the odor of dank wood, and the sweet aroma of brandy and he knew it was all too real.
'The gala…Christine…'
Erik bolted to the upright position, half-expecting to have someone standing over him, plotting to turn over him to the authorities. But he was alone… painfully and despondently alone. He grabbed the continuous, sturdy rail of the platform, forcing himself to stand. His legs were no more than sticks of melting butter and he leaned forward, the rail keeping him from collapsing once more.
Involuntarily, he gasped as he looked down at the ground floor. Christine and Meg were gone. Had it all been a horrible coincidence?
The muffled hammer of the clock in the Grand Foyer soon convinced him otherwise. It rang six times, signaling that dawn would soon cast a glow upon the Paris sky. The revelry had died down to a ghostly hush. No shouting, laughing, or clamor of any kind was to be heard. Realization struck Erik. The gala had ended and now the opera house was sleeping in intoxicated serenity. He had missed the entire evening. Erik had lost the battle with consciousness and had fallen prey to Morpheus' pitiless seduction of escape.
Erik felt the cold sweat return, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end and his lungs to constrict. Instinct screamed at him, telling him he was vulnerable and that he needed to run. Not knowing how he did so, Erik convinced his muscles to cooperate. He pumped his long legs furiously, not caring if anyone heard his boots pounding above them as he ran, bursting through and down secret passages.
After what was an eternity, he felt the frigid, barely decipherable breeze of the underground lake. The feeling sent him into on an irrepressible frenzy to reach his bedroom. He fairly flew down the long spiral staircase that led into the dangerous bowels of his home, but not even the fear of his own traps stopped him. By whatever guardian force, Erik found himself untouched by his devices, panting at the edge of his private section of the lake, his black organ standing ominously in the center of his stone abode.
"Erik? Erik where are you?"
The Phantom heard a soft, sorrowful voice whisper throughout the caves. His eyes grew wide with fear and he grabbed a curtain hanging from the wall to keep him from fainting once more.
"Erik…why do you run away?"
"Go! Don't come to me! Stay back!" he cried, waiting for her to suddenly appear before him. It was only a matter of time before she followed his yells and searched him out.
"It's Christine …we are friends …"
"Stay away!" Erik panicked, frightened beyond all reason.
'Its all in your head, Erik…she's not really here.' His subconscious hummed, but the voice kept calling him.
"Trust me…let me help you…"
"No! You abandoned me!" Erik darted to his room, yanking shut a heavy red curtain to block off the tormenting echoes. He clutched his hair and clenched shut his eyes, attempting to drive away the voice.
"Angel of Music…come to me…"
"NO! Stop! Stop it!"
Erik burst into the inner chamber, rushing to his vanity. He jerked the cabinet open, hysteria mounting upon him. He grabbed the glass bottle and unscrewed the top, his hands quaking. Erik poured the entire contents down his throat in one motion, gasping and sputtering as the medicinal powder burned his throat and chest. He stumbled backwards as his vision blurred and his equilibrium faded from control.
"Christine…go…Leave me…" he murmured as he fell to the cold floor, the powder numbing the pain and mind.
It was early morning and the Giry women had thought it best to stay together in the Madame's private quarters. Some less than reputable males had the tendency to continue the gala's festive aurora long into the night and Meg knew it would be safer if she was not in the girl's dormitories. Antoinette and Meg had slept little as they both worried over Lotte's absence. Meg had suggested to fetch her after Raoul had stomped away, but Antoinette had objected, telling her daughter that it was best for Christine to be alone for a while in the solitude of the chapel.
Hours had passed, and Lotte had not been seen by either woman. Meg had fretted whenever she awoke from her irregular, abrupt bursts of sleep, but Antoinette remained silent and solemn sitting by her vanity mirror, a small lamp the only light in the room.
"Mother?" Meg propped up on her elbow, sitting up from the sheets of her mother's bed.
"Hmm?" The Madame replied wordlessly, not bothering to face the girl.
"Christine mentioned something earlier and it made me…uneasy." Young Giry cut right to the point, for both were weary and not wanting to expend much energy.
"Oh? What did she say?"
Meg hesitated slightly, "She asked about Erik."
The room felt unusually small and unprotected, as it always did whenever he was referred to.
"And what did you say, my dear?" The Madame asked quietly.
"I told her I didn't know." Meg sighed. "I felt as if I betrayed her."
"How so?" Antoinette turned on her stool a bit to face Meg now, her composure still unreadable and stern.
Meg paused, her fair brow wrinkled in thought. "Well, I don't know much about Erik's doings nowadays… aside from his occupation as The Phantom of course. So what I said was partly true… but I do know something, I suppose. At least more than Lotte does, anyway. The inquiry shocked me, Mother. I didn't know how to respond really."
Madame Giry nodded in understanding. "You did very well, my dear. You fared better than I did I'm afraid."
"What do you mean, Mother?"
Meg was met with silence. She noticed that her mother suddenly appeared very tired and her reflection in the mirror appeared haggard and careworn. Meg slipped out from beneath the covers, stepping up behind Antoinette and placed a hand on her shoulder. Antoinette immediately covered it with her own sighing deeply.
"Christine asked me the same thing, Meg. In the chapel."
Antoinette again turned to look up at her daughter, her gaze tearful and pleading. "I couldn't bear to tell her the truth."
Meg held her breath, worried over her mother's words.
"I told her that Erik is no longer…among the living."
"W-what?" Meg stuttered shocked.
Madame Giry stood up slowly, taking Meg's hands in hers as she had done earlier with Christine.
"B-but Erik is alive. I-I mean he's here…with us…under the opera house." Meg searched in her mother's eyes for the logic behind her mother's previous statement.
Antoinette put a gentle palm on Meg's cheek, her features regretful. "That man that lives in perpetual darkness and relishes in others' pain and terror is not Erik, mon cherie. That is a ghost of the person he once was…a shade of the night haunted by his own fear."
"But Christine doesn't know that. In her mind, Erik is still the boy she learned to love with all her innocence and compassion. The Phantom may be another mask Erik hides behind, but he is still Erik, Mother." Meg argued, though not unkindly.
"Erik died the day Christine left," Giry bristled ever so slightly, releasing Meg from her grasp. Her voice became more assertive and confident. "This game he plays as the Opera Ghost does not allow the memories of the past to infiltrate his mind."
"But it's Christine!" Meg pleaded, confused and angry at her mother's uncharacteristic deception. "Even Erik in all his wrong doings would surely realize how important she was to his life."
Antoinette did not reply. Meg breathlessly returned to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Not a word was spoken for several moments. The clock in the Grand Foyer banged the sixth hour and the Madame stiffened considerably.
"Meg," Antoinette's tone left no room for dispute, "To Christine, Erik is dead. For all she can recall, Gustave could have killed him that night."
Both immediately remembered when Erik had suffered a severe head injury at Gustave's hands. Erik had nearly lost his life and Christine had never known if he had recovered, but obviously she assumed so.
Antoinette faced Meg now, her eyes hard, "I do not want her to know otherwise, Marguerite Giry."
Meg scowled her disapproval visibly, in one of the rare times she ever rivaled her mother's wishes. She crawled back underneath the blankets, her back to Antoinette and her face towards the wall.
Madame Giry sighed. "You will understand in time, my dear."
Meg heard the key scratch the keyhole and the Madame bustled out the door, leaving her child alone to her thoughts.
Lotte fluttered open her eyes, then sat up quickly, unsure of where she was. She gazed around, her eyes bloodshot and her face blotchy. She had cried herself to an exhausted, grief-induced slumber. An undercurrent of woe passed through her and her emotions threatened to smother her once more. She managed to stifle it down, however, and staggered to her feet.
"Gustave!"
"Papa! No don't hurt him!"
Echoes cried throughout the chapelle, leading Christine into a trance-like state. She left the room, passing through the corridors silently.
"Erik, stop now!"
"Erik! NO!"
"CHRISTINE!"
Memoriess played over and over again in her mind, the masked boy calling out her name, then suddenly bloodied and unmoving. All she could recall was Antoinette's screams mixed with her own. Her next memory was awakening in a stagecoach with her hung-over father. She was cold, hurting, and far from home… away from her music and away from Erik. She had never known if Erik had recovered. In her mind, he must of. He was as stubborn as a mule and as tough as nails…Erik had to have survived her father's wrath.
'But he didn't…he was killed…at your father's hands…and you did nothing to stop him…' A voice hissed in her head.
"Oh, Erik." Christine moaned to herself, anguish threatening to tear out her soul from her body. The name reverberated around the dark hall. She glanced at the stone walls, numbly wondering if they found pleasure in echoing the dead's names to hurting loved ones.
'Or maybe it's his ghost…'
If she hadn't been so sorrowful, Christine would have snickered in amusement.
'Erik always said the opera house held secrets…and this place seems so odd now…like it's…haunted...'
Would it be haunted now that a murder of an innocent child had taken place?
Christine choked on a sob. She ran down the winding halls blindly, tears and lunacy squeezing their icy grip tighter and tighter. She tripped on her skirt and fell, crashing onto the stone floor in a heap.
"Erik…my Angel." She cried.
'Angel…' a soothing sound whispered from a deep part of her soul. Unexpectedly, Christine felt a bit of comfort and it caused her to look up. She soon realized she was only steps away from the Grand Foyer…where she had last seen him…
She forced herself to her feet and walked ever so slowly onto the floor of marble. Moonlight trickled into the expansive area, glistening on the statues and reflecting off the chandelier. Her shoes clicked quietly as she took in the dreamy scene, remembering her past life. She stared at the front doors, the marble ground, and the staircases leading up and throughout the opera house.
"Please…remember him as you knew him, my dear. He would have wanted you to honor his memory with all the pleasant moments you shared together."
Christine ascended the center staircase slowly then she stopped in mid-stride, a sudden idea springing in her mind.
'Honor his memory…' she mused.
Christine thought for a moment, wondering if she could be put at peace with Erik's death.
'Maybe I could sing for him one last time…'
She took a deep breath, not sure of what she was about to do. Whispering, she sang her heart…
You were once
My one companion
You were all that mattered…
You were once a friend and brother—
Then my world was shattered…
Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near…
Sometimes it seems if I just dream
Somehow you would be here
Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never will…
She held back another sob and continued to go up the marble steps. Her voice amplified as her emotions continued to swell within her.
Too many years fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die?
Wishing you were somehow here again
Knowing we must say goodbye
Try to forgive
Teach me to live
Give me the strength to try
Christine reached the top, standing at the round stage of smooth stone that lay in between the three staircases. Courage filled her being unexpectedly and she felt calmer. She sang softer, at last bringing closure…
No more memories
No more silent tears
No more gazing across the wasted years
Help me say goodbye…
Help me say goodbye…
She turned and looked out across the foyer remembering that night so long ago.
"Goodbye…" she murmured.
Christine sighed and knelt, the emotional weight still bearing upon her heavily. She placed both hands over her eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Erik," She said softly, "Forgive me…if only I could change the past…if only…"
A groan and creak suddenly resounded from underneath the girl. Christine looked down to see the solid marble floor crack open. Before she could even scream, she fell into darkness as the ground swallowed her.