Chapter 3: No Alternative
As the distant winter sun sank slowly behind the Parisian skyline, a line of finely appointed carriages began to gather in front of the Opera Populaire's main entrance. Elegant men and elaborately dressed women slowly emerged from their coaches and made their way up the front stairs of the building, taking the time despite the frosty chill in the air, to openly glance about at their peers.
The Opera twinkled to life in the gathering gloom, every window of the ten storied building blazing with light, welcoming the approaching patrons. Few dallied long enough to admire the sheer genius of the building itself; winter's cold and disinterest driving all those arriving into the main foyer. Had they paused for a moment, the dramatic baroque style awnings and massive marble statues which they passed would have rendered any sound minded person speechless. But, of course, no one cared to pause, for inside the theater's walls was an altogether different kind of drama waiting to be played out.
It was common knowledge that Parisian high society was notoriously serious about the arts. At least they seemed to be, for any wealthy aristocrat, who was worth mentioning, made it a point not to miss a single opening performance. Many, in fact, had clamored and fought over the limited number of box seats within the two thousand seat theater, craving the exposure such a position provided. In reality none of the Parisian rich cared much for the talent of the singers or the genius of the composer, rather the Opera served as a showcase for the latest styles and prettiest blue blooded women. It was a place to see and be seen.
As they strutted up the front stairs to the entrance, the women eyed each other with calculation, mentally tallying the cut and finery of their social peers; tucking away every bit of information gathered to later recount the juiciest tidbits in the gossip mill. Vicious whispers flew back and forth among the throng as each new carriage arrived. Jealousy and petty disputes ran high between those with the most expensive gowns and jewels all the way down to those who arrived on foot in their Sunday best.
"My Lord, what is that little snipe wearing? Can you believe that, if her bodice were cut any lower Satan himself would be able to peer down it," one young noblewoman whispered cruelly behind the cover of her lace fan to her companion.
The woman she was talking to laughed and shook her head to make the diamonds at her ears sparkle. "Indeed! But I do believe your husband is enjoying the view as well."
At her comment the first woman's malicious grin collapsed into a pinched scowl. Closing her fan with a snap, she marched over to a short balding man and jerked him away from the voluptuous redhead he was talking to. Man and wife swept through the open front doors, subtly rebuking each other between clamped teeth and a fluttering fan.
The men in the crowd proved to be no better than their female companions, though their tactics of examining their peers were far less obvious. Rather than twitter to each other about clothing, they instead blatantly eyed the women or the breeding of the carriage horses. The men with the best show pieces upon their arms or before their coach were both heatedly envied and grudgingly respected. For them status was just another competition to be won and the Opera house served as the perfect battle ground.
For this reason, few of the snobbery which had appeared for that night's performance cared in the least about the new work, its unknown author, or the strange rumors surrounding the Opera. Sensationalized through the Parisian newspapers the stories of odd accidents and kidnapped sopranos only added to the thrill of the moment; and the existence of a ghost merely made for interesting small talk before the show began.
As the shadows lengthened, a simple black carriage pulled up in front of the Opera getting lost among the brightly painted coaches already in line. Without waiting until the carriage had advanced to the proper location, directly in front of the main doors, a distinctly good looking man in his early thirties stepped nimbly from the coach; his boots hitting the stone street with a loud, undignified clapping sound. As he turned to assist the young lady accompanying him, his shoulder length auburn hair flashed red in the last rays of the dying sun light. Many of the young ladies present, shocked by the impatience of his arrival, turned to stare; it did not take long for their disapproving frowns to transform into appreciative glances.
Though the new arrival dressed like a Gentleman he was built like a common day laborer. He was tall and broad shouldered, his chest and back seemingly stretching on forever, the cut of his evening jacket unable to decently hide the movement of well-defined muscles beneath. His jawline was square and strong, his nose slightly crooked, both of which would have given his face a rather severe temperament if not for the perpetual smile curving the corners of his mouth and dancing in his vivid green eyes. But it was his manner more than anything that drew attention. There was an animation and vibrancy to his every movement and expression that set him worlds apart from the jaded, and pudgy noblemen walking into the theater all around him.
The young woman he carefully assisted to the ground was, likewise, striking enough to turn more than just a few heads. Piles of snow white hair crowned a coolly beautiful face, her features as perfectly proportioned as a classical Greek sculpture. Her nose was straight and rather regal looking while her cheeks and chin were softly rounded, imbuing her features with gentleness that her serious expression could not hide. Her wide Cupid's bow lips were unsmiling and tense at the corners. While her companion was dynamic and changeable she was the embodiment of quietness and stillness; her every movement as graceful as snow falling on a winter's night.
She paused to survey the gathered crowd with large luminous eyes the exact color of a storm washed sea. Looking away from the crowd she took a deep breath before shaking out her gray silk skirts and taking her escort's arm. The man smiled at her touch, the green of his eyes lighting up with laughter, but the young lady's face remained impassive save for a slight wrinkle between her brows as she once again eyed the crowd before her. Without missing a beat the man reached across her and relieved her of the unusually large black handbag she was carrying.
The handsome couple stepped away from the carriage and strolled casually towards the Opera's entrance. Raising a hand the white haired woman absently adjusted the plain silver pendant about her neck as she looked up at the Opera's design with appreciative eyes. Several other women snickered at the girl's lack of precious gems and the way she gawked up at the Opera house like a peasant. They also noticed with amusement the girl's charming attempt to wear an old fashioned powered wig; what gall to wear white hair in such modern times. New money was always entertaining. It made them all wonder what the incredibly charming man was doing at her side.
"Brielle relax," the man said warmly, leaning in so no one else could hear. "This was your idea after all." She looked over at him with a glare, the line of worry between her eyes deepening under his gaze.
Smiling at her the man continued. "I must confess I was rather shocked by your request. You always hated these frivolous displays of status. Though I have to say I was enormously happy to cash in a few favors to get these tickets. Nothing is more fun than corrupting my sister's intensely boring social life with just a bit of my social flare."
"Honestly Conner! This is serious. You know perfectly well why I came here tonight," Brielle exclaimed, gripping her brother's arm tightly when they sailed by a group of twittering ladies. Dipping her head Brielle studiously ignored the crawling feeling of judgmental eyes following her up the stairs.
Despite her composed exterior, Brielle had always been uncomfortable in large crowds. Growing up in rural Ireland, where superstition was a part of daily life, her odd coloring had always drawn unwanted attention. There had been rumors that she wasn't a human child at all but a changeling left by the Little People to cause mischief in the villages. And if that wasn't enough she had said many a strange thing to their neighbors, things that later on came true. Farming accidents, bad crops, untimely deaths haunted her dreams and sometimes spilled into her waking hours convincing everyone that she was truly Devil sent.
She had learned early on to never speak of the things she knew. But even her silence didn't prevent the village children from following her to and from the school house in packs of three or more, taunting with both words and occasionally small stones thrown. There had been no defense when outnumbered in such a way. And after she had come home with a gash above her right eye her father had packed up the family once and for all and taken them with him on his assignments permanently.
All of that had happened many years ago, the scar above her eye so small now as to barely be noticeable; and yet, even now crowds made her nervous. More than nervous really. As the number of people increased Brielle became exponentially more awkward and painfully shy. It was a visceral reaction that no amount of logic or self-discipline could seem to cure. At times, when the crush of the crowd grew unbearably intense, she felt almost as if she couldn't breathe, as if the walls of bodies were crushing the air right out of her lungs.
Ducking her head instinctively Brielle tried to avoid notice as they continued up the stairs; ignoring the familiar flutter of panic clutching at her heart and that incessant voice of self-doubt murmuring in her mind. What am I doing here? I shouldn't have said anything. This was a mistake. They are dreams, nothing more. They are just dreams…
Completely ignoring his sister's reprimand and grim expression Conner continued on as if she hadn't spoken. "I had hoped though that you would have worn a bit of color tonight. I cannot express to you how much I hate the colors black and gray. Would it be entirely too much to ask for just a bit of pink or maybe a nice blue? You always looked so pretty in blue Bri. Like a winter's day…"
He trailed off for a moment his eyes taking in the slightly dreary cut and color of her gown and his smile dimmed slightly. "It has been four years Bri. Don't you think it is time to move on?"
Without meeting her brother's gaze Brielle raised a hand to worry the Saint Jude medal about her neck. He was right, it had been four years since John had been killed; the accepted societal grieving period of a year had long since passed. She was no longer required to wear the black of her bereavement, it was considered acceptable for her to wear color and even marry again. More than acceptable really. As a young woman in her mid-twenties with a small child at home she was more like required to seek out a man to run her household. It just wasn't proper for her to struggle through life on her own.
But Brielle couldn't even bear the thought of such a thing. John had been the only man outside of her immediate family who didn't make her feel freakish or insane. He had been patient and kind, her safe harbor even when the dreams came in the night and she woke the house screaming. He had loved her despite everything. And Brielle intended to hold the loss of him close, despite how badly it hurt, rather than have his memories fade away. She didn't want to forget him and the way he used to make her feel. For her there would never be a proper time to move on and leave John behind. There was no end date for her grief and there never would be.
Grief whispered through her mind like an old friend and her eyes darkened with unshed tears. Unable to reply for a moment she merely shook her head weakly. The sadness replacing the panic and everything else as it so often did. "How can I? Oh Conner, I cannot," she murmured.
Panicked by the welling of misery he saw steal over her expression Conner grimaced. They walked in silence for a few moments as Conner floundered for anything to distract her from the melancholy that she never seemed to fully shake. "Er, did I tell you I had to blackmail a Cardinal in order to get our tickets tonight?"
Staring at her brother blankly for a moment Brielle didn't respond. Then slowly the spark in her eyes flickered back to life as incredulity overshadowed her sorrow. "What in the world do you mean?"
Relieved that he had been able to distract her momentarily Conner smiled widely. "It turns out that he often enjoyed giving the sacrament to the girls at Madame Florence's boarding house."
Blowing out a breath Brielle openly frowned at her brother. "I don't see anything wrong with that…"
Laughing Conner slung an arm around her slight shoulders. Leaning his mouth close to her ear he lowered his voice. "And it wouldn't have been a problem at all if everyone involved had kept all their clothes on."
Sucking in a scandalized breath Brielle turned and punched Conner in the arm, color instantly setting her cheeks on fire. "You…are…impossible!" she exclaimed, punctuating each word with another well aimed blow to Conner's midsection. "You should be ashamed of yourself. All the martyred Saints must weep the whole day long when they think on your immortal soul."
Ducking out of reach Conner continued to laugh. "I knew you would like that story."
"Be off with you, you silly heathen. I don't believe a word you are saying."
"Come now Bri, you know I only lie on Sundays."
Ignoring that Brielle tilted up her chin and swept up the Opera House's stair, leaving Conner behind. He hurried to keep up with her, coming alongside her though she continued to ignore him. Flicking a glance his way Brielle pursed her lips in aggravation.
"What I can't understand is why you insisted upon coming with me," she blurted suddenly. "I am perfectly capable on my own. I would have rather you stayed at home with Aria." After a weighted pause she slowed her imperious gait. Sighing, the irritation in her gaze faded and she turned worried eyes up to his face. "This is my problem, Conner."
"Oh it is your problem is it?" he asked arching an amused eyebrow, his green eyes dancing. "You forget how well I know you. Do you honestly think you would want to face this crowd alone?"
She opened her mouth in frustration but he cut her off. "And besides what sort of big brother would I be if I didn't look out for you?"
"One that actually pays attention," she muttered. "I told you I didn't know what would happen tonight. It could be anything. It could be, and most likely will be, nothing. You and Aria are the only family I have left Conner. If something happens to you because of my stupid hallucinations then I don't know what I would…"
At her words Conner's jovial smile disappeared, replaced with a fierce scowl. "Don't speak of yourself like that Bri. You are the smartest person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. I trust your instincts. If you feel something is going to go wrong here, then it will. You have always known about certain things before they actually happen. That can't be explained away by hallucinations now can it? And I want to be here to help just as much as you do. Don't forget you are the only family I have as well!" he reminded her as they stepped through the main doors of the opera house and into the brightly lit interior.
Blinking rapidly as the light assaulted her sensitive eyes Brielle sighed guiltily. "I am sorry Conner. I wasn't thinking of how you felt." Nodding to acknowledge her apology he looked down at her, his forest green eyes softening.
"I am glad you are here," she continued flashing him a rare brilliant smile as he squeezed her hand reassuringly. Leaning into his support Brielle felt the worry ease from her mind. If only for a moment.
Conner sighed and curiously gazed about their opulent surroundings. "One thing you have to credit the French with…," he began seriously.
"They are experts at pushing the limits of decency," he laughed as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively towards the risqué reliefs of nude female forms lining the grand staircases.
For a moment Brielle considered being appalled at her brother's continued indecency, but then she gave up on the idea. What was the point? He constantly pushed the boundaries of becoming a complete and total scoundrel. Besides it was really very funny.
Brielle raised a hand to her mouth to muffle the snicker which escaped her lips at his outrageous comment. Her brother was one of the few people who could break through the veil of grief that forever seemed to separate her from the rest of the world. He made her forget that she was different from everyone else, forget what she had found and lost. Being with him always made her feel young again. Reminding her of a time when they told each other ghost stories in the dark, and made faces at each other across the dinner table. Always reminding her of a time when they had all been happy; before her mother and father died, before she buried her husband and had to raise her daughter alone.
But as always was the case the laughter in her eyes fled leaving her expression somewhat hollow though she continued to smile. "And you are an expert on decency? I believe it was you, dear brother, who ran drunk and naked over the Scottish moors after your 18th birthday party," she replied, hoping to embarrass him over the memory. But instead of showing any proper sign of shame, Conner tilted his head back and roared with laughter, the freckles splattered across his nose standing out sharply in the lamplight.
"I had forgotten about that Bri! Damn if that wasn't the best party I ever threw! Scottish whiskey is the best in the world."
Brielle rolled her expressive eyes skywards before pulling him up the grand staircase. "Come on. Let's get out of this crowd. I am tired of all these rich old biddies glaring at me."
Conner glanced around over the top of his sister's head his eyes hardening. If it were just old rich dowagers staring at her I wouldn't be so worried. She doesn't even realize men never notice her hair. Her face distracts them too much, he thought, baring his teeth for the briefest of moments at a leering French nobleman. The man started at Conner's ungentlemanly behavior before quickly turning away. Brielle continued on pulling her brother's arm, unaware of the exchange happening over her head; nor of the one currently playing out behind the theater's curtains.
Christine sat in front of the large mirror within her room vacantly staring at her pale reflection. The sleeve of her Spanish style peasant costume fell ignored off her creamy shoulder. As if in a trance the young girl was completely unaware of the activity happening all around her. Two young assistants were busily styling her long curls for the imminent performance, but she gave no sign of noticing their presence.
She merely stared into the mirror which now held so many memories, both good and bad. A single tear escaped her large brown eyes and trickled down her cheek. Raising a shaky hand she quickly wiped it away, standing as she did so. Taking a moment Christine sucked in several deep breaths, trying to stop the trembling that was taking over her entire body.
Tonight, she knew, she would destroy the man who had been her guardian and mentor for years. She would break his heart into a thousand pieces and in doing so, a part of her heart would break as well. The affection and respect she had once felt for her angel had shrunk away from the jealous and temperamental man she had come to know. His possessive and impulsive actions had frightened her more than the revelation of his face ever could have. But there was no other alternative that she could see. If she ever wanted to be happy she had to do as Raoul told her. And she desperately wanted to be happy. Happy with her beautiful and gentle Raoul.
Christine turned from the mirror in her room and walked numbly out into the hallway. The assistants followed upon her heels doing last minute touch-ups to her hair and costume before it was her cue to appear on the stage.
She wouldn't lie to herself and claim her Angel's face hadn't repulsed her. The shock of seeing his deformity had left her utterly speechless at the time; terrifying her down to the very depths of her soul. She had never in her life known that a human being could be so ugly, that the normal features of a face could be so distorted and foul. Even now, thinking upon it made her heart race and her stomach churn. What she had seen of the right side of his face had been a horrific contrast to the left. It was a cruel deception for the left half of his face was remarkably good looking. A strong jaw line, a straight aristocratic nose, and intense electric blue eyes all added together to create a picture of male perfection. And yet the right side of his face…
Just as she was beginning to drift off into her thoughts she spotted Raoul striding out from a side corridor, his face drawn. Christine stopped her musings at the sight of him and fell into his arms. The two young assistants scattered, leaving them alone.
"Raoul I am afraid," she sobbed as he shushed her and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
"It will be alright Christine. After this night we can be together." She nodded against his shoulder before stepping reluctantly away from his embrace.
"I will be watching from the audience. There will be guards at every door. He won't be able to hurt anyone anymore." Raoul led her to just off stage right before giving her over to other members of the cast. He gave her one last encouraging glance before turning and hurrying to take his place in the audience.
Christine stood wringing her hands as the house lights dimmed and the footlights flashed brighter. The curtains rose revealing the chorus positioned amongst the hell inspired sets. Wooden flames and puffs of artificial smoke made the audience gasp in awe but when the chorus began to sing, all other sounds disappeared.
Piangi, the lead tenor, took his place on stage singing his piece with the lead baritone. The overweight singer soon disappeared behind a red curtain, signaling Christine's cue. As she stepped forward into the floodlights her trembling stopped and a dreamy expression overtook her anxious features. She was, after all, an extraordinary actress. Heaven forgive me for what I now must do.