Hey all! I am a terrible person for making you all wait so long for this chapter. But hopefully I made up for it with the length and the content in this one. Thanks to everyone for being so patient…and for those of you who gave me a gentle kick in the behind every once in awhile.
As always I have to say a big, giant, huge thanks to my beta terpsichore314. Her suggestions always help me sort through all my crazy ideas. Hurray for her! (Especially since this chapter was so long!)
Hehe…and surprise! IHeartPoto has done another fun pic for me from the last chapter. This one is of Madame Giry when Conner told her that Andrew wasn't interested in ballet. Haha she looks like she is going to KILL someone. But anyway not IHeartPoto is putting her pics online so everyone can see them.
Go here and you can see the Madame Giry one…
http /i42. photobucket. com/ albums/ e317/ IHeartPOTO/ MadamGiry.jpg
(Just remove the spaces and you will have the link.)
Oh and if you sent me a review last week trying to get the pics and haven't heard back from me it is cause you didn't leave an email with your review. I do need an email address to send the pics along. So just mention it again this week and I will try to get them to you as quick as I can.
Chapter 48: Changes
Brielle sank to her knees next to the gasping older woman, putting an unsteady hand upon Madame Dubois' clammy forehead. What else could go wrong today? Sweet Mary…first Erik and now this? I can hardly think…my head is just stuffed too full. "Hang on Madame…just slow your breathing. Keep calm….just…" Breaking off, Brielle sucked in a horrified gasp as the older woman stilled and stopped breathing. Her heart slamming against her rib cage, the Irishwoman raised an over-wide gaze to where her brother knelt across from her, his fairy green eyes dark with panic. What do I do? God, what do I do! Think…think.
Looking over Brielle's shoulder, Meg caught sight of the blue lips and pinched skin of coming death in the prone woman's face. Jumping back, the blonde let out a high-pitched shriek, drawing several curious onlookers to the end of the hallway. "She is dead! Oh My GOD! Brielle, she is dead!"
Jumping at her friend's frantic screams, Brielle broke eye contact with Conner and glanced back down at the still body in front of her, slowly pulling her hand away from the woman's old, wrinkled forehead. "I upset her…" she murmured slowly through numbed lips, all the color remaining in her face draining away as the guilt pressed the air from her lungs. Think…think. What do I do? This is my fault…I shouldn't have argued with her!
Releasing his hold on Madame Dubois' arm, Conner dropped his hands to the tops of his thighs. Glancing up he frowned at his sister. "What?"
"I killed her…I upset her so badly that her heart stopped. Oh my God! Oh my God!" Raising both hands to cover her mouth; Brielle felt the horror blossom within her chest, battling with her galloping heart for space, her blood freezing within her body. "This is my fault!"
"Hey," Conner cut in harshly. "You didn't cause her to keel over. So stop saying that. She is…was an old lady and it would be natural for her to…"
Startled by the finality of his words Brielle glanced up, lowering her hands to her sides. "That she died?" she finished, her kohl-darkened eyebrows drawing together into a considering frown. The shock and mind-numbing panic began to fade from her features as the wheels in her brain stuttered back into motion. No…wait a second. You know better…once you knew better. Think Brielle…Think…
As several stagehands and chorus members began to gather at the end of the hallway, Meg stopped her hysterical shrieks, her large brown eyes staring with a terrible fascination at Madame Dubois' unmoving body. Bursting into tears, the blonde covered her face, turning her head away from the disturbing sight at her feet. "W-We should go get a priest…so she can have last rites…" she muttered through her fingers.
Her expression clearing, Brielle stared down at her hands. It has been a long time since I have thought about it…but…I used to know…no…I know how to help. I can do it. Just stay calm…just stay calm. "No…wait," she whispered to herself as she leaned forward and pressed two fingers against the side of Madame Dubois' neck.
Not hearing his sister's quiet statement, Conner turned his head to look uneasily up at Meg. A glittering flash of pained longing pasted over his expression as he watched the tears leak out from under the blonde's tiny hands. Climbing to his feet, the redhead took a step toward the whimpering girl and touched her gently on the arm. "Here now, don't cry, lass. Don't cry…" he murmured with a careful gentleness.
Without a word Meg turned and buried her face against Conner's chest, her hands coming up to take hold of his lapels in a white-knuckled grip. "I hate that…the way people look when they die…I don't ever want to see someone else die. Dead…staring eyes…it is like a nightmare," she sobbed brokenly.
Wrapping stunned arms around Meg's trembling waist, Conner brushed a hand over the soft curls hanging down her back, confusion darkening his expression. "Hush, lass. Hush…you are safe…don't worry, I got you."
Missing the tender exchange between her friend and brother, Brielle let out an excited little yelp. "She isn't dead!" she exclaimed after pressing her ear against Madame Dubois' chest. Sitting back, a disbelieving smile pulled up one corner of her mouth as the full extent of her realization sank in. I heard a slight murmuring…not a pulse…but there is still life. An excited trembling worked its way out from her body, making her hands shake as she hastily rolled up her sleeves.
A moment passed before Conner snapped his head up to stare at his sister. "What?" Jerked slightly by the redhead's sudden movement, Meg raised her face to look up at his astonished expression. Blinking through her tears, she followed his gaze to gape down at Brielle.
Waving a hand wildly toward the pair, Brielle leaned forward and placed her hands, one over the other, squarely in the middle of Madame Dubois' chest. "She isn't dead yet! I know how to help her…I don't know why I didn't think of it right off…I was stupid and panicked…but I know how to help her!" she stammered, her words falling over each other in her excitement as she stiffened her elbows and pressed down firmly upon the woman's chest.
Both Conner and Meg stood gaping down at Brielle as if she had lost her mind. Slowly Meg tilted her head back to look worriedly up at Conner. A subtle uncertain look passed between the pair before Meg turned her wide brown eyes to stare at where her hands still clung to Conner's clothing. Immediately releasing his collar, a light blush began to work its way up Meg's cheeks. Seeing her growing discomfort Conner reluctantly released her. "Um, Bri…I know you want to help, but…don't you think that it is a little late to…well…"
Not pausing at all as she continued to press rhythmically against the older woman's chest, Brielle shook her head. "No…even if the heart stops…the brain can survive for several minutes. But if the heart is artificially stimulated by an outside source it is possible for it to recover and start again. She isn't dead…not yet…I just have to…get her heart back into its rhythm…" she said a little breathlessly, determinedly blocking out the crowd of people slowly inching their way up the hallway.
Glancing over his shoulder at the small group of men and women whispering a few yards behind him, Conner worried his bottom lip through his teeth. "I am not sure I understand…but if you think you can do some good…go ahead."
Merely nodding her head absently, Brielle stopped the pumping motion with her hands and leaned forward to pinch the older woman nose and cover the madame's mouth with her own. A shocked murmuring erupted in the gathered crowd as Brielle pushed a breath of air into Madame Dubois' lungs. Just as the Irishwoman sat back to resume the pumping motion, a robed man came careening around the corner, nearly tripping over the hem of his clothing as he raced down the hallway.
"Um…Bri…if you are going to do something miraculous I would suggest you do it fast…it seems someone went to get a priest," Conner stated from behind a concealing hand.
Coming to a stop, the priest bent double for a moment, his cheeks puffing out as he tried to catch his breath. Conner stepped forward then to head the man off but before the redhead could even open his mouth the holy man held up a staying hand, the authority of his gesture not diminished by the series of hacking coughs that followed it. Finally catching his breath the priest straightened, pulling uncomfortably at his collar as he looked over at Conner. With large sky blue eyes behind a pair of spectacles, a mop of curly blonde hair, and a round babyish face, the thirty-something man was not the classic image of a Catholic priest; even in his severe black robes and white collar he looked more like a country lad than anything else. And yet, despite his unorthodox appearance the man had a certain conviction in his presence. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, the blonde man gave a funny little shrug, trying to compose himself properly. Unable to see past Conner's looming body, the priest had yet to catch sight of the odd scene happening behind him.
Meg shifted uncomfortably behind Conner as the redhead crossed his arms and addressed the newcomer. "Hello, Father. Is there something I can do for you?"
Blinking owlishly through his spectacles, the young priest cleared his throat. "Yes, well…I am Father James Thomas the priest assigned to the Opera House. I was informed that someone was in need of the last rites. I came as fast as I could in these inconvenient robes and…er…no…I didn't mean to say that…they aren't inconvenient…just…" Taking a deep breath, the blue-eyed man started over. "Where is the poor soul in need of my services?"
"Ah well, that is up for some debate," Conner replied calmly, shifting his weight to the side when Father Thomas attempted to see around him.
Frowning slightly the priest pulled a small Bible out of his pocket, and opening the book he removed a folded piece of purple ribbon out of its well-used pages. Shaking a finger in Conner's direction, the ribbon waving about in his hand, Father Thomas puffed up his chest indignantly. "Now see here, you! I will not put up with the usual sort of silliness that people treat me with around here. I have a job to do and I will not allow you to disrupt the hallowed duties of my office!" he exclaimed, the severity of his words offset slightly by the blonde curls falling in front of his eyes.
Raising a hand to brush through his hair, Conner uncomfortably glanced over his shoulder at where Brielle continued to work on Madame Dubois. Father Thomas leaned to the side to follow Conner's gaze. With a disgruntled yelp the robed man pushed past the taller redhead and fell to his knees next to the prone woman. Grabbing hold of Brielle's elbow, Father Thomas tried to stop her from continuing to pump the woman's chest.
"What are you doing!" he gasped. "Leave the poor woman in peace!"
"Sorry, Father. I can't do that," Brielle muttered in response as she leaned forward and quickly pushed two breaths of air into Madame Dubois' empty lungs.
Staring at Brielle like she was possessed with the devil, Father Thomas released her arm, his mouth hanging open in shock as she continued to ignore him. "But…I have to give the madame last rites…" he said slowly, pronouncing each word with great care as if he were speaking to a wild animal.
"Do what you feel you must, Father," Brielle replied breathlessly, her slate gray eyes never looking up from her task.
Sputtering at this, the young priest looked back at where Conner and Meg stood hovering nearby. "Have you all gone mad?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Conner flashed an inappropriately wide grin. "Oh, you have no idea Father," he said evenly. "But go ahead with your work. It doesn't appear as if it will bother the lady there."
"Won't bother the lady?" the priest repeated, his expressive face bunching up into a disgruntled glare. Turning the heat of his stare back to Brielle with a sharp irritated motion, Father Thomas let out an oath. "Fine…I will continue despite the lunacy which seems to have suddenly overtaken this blasted place!"
Sitting back on his haunches, his blue eyes shooting a distinctly murderous glare at all those present, Father Thomas raised the purple ribbon in his hands. Kissing the long length of silk in the middle he raised it over his head and laid it out along the back of his neck so that it hung down over his shoulders like a stole. Quickly making the sign of the cross over the prone woman, the priest began reciting the last rites in Latin. Waiting impatiently for Brielle to sit back from blowing air into Madame Dubois' lungs, Father Thomas pulled a small bottle out of his robes. Tilting the bottle upside down he wetted his finger with holy water, then, leaning forward, he traced a small cross over the older woman's forehead.
Removing his hand, the priest continued on with the ritual, his gaze never once leaving Brielle's odd actions. Coming to the end of the ceremony, Father Thomas lowered his hands to his lap. "Are you happy now? Desecrating the last rites of a deceased…surely that is…"
Continuing to ignore the man as he tried to admonish her for her actions, Brielle leaned forward to once again breathe air into the still woman's lungs. "Come on…come on!" she chanted quietly. "I know you are still in there…come on!"
Opening his mouth to continue his upbraiding, Father Thomas puffed up his cheeks in righteous anger at the exact same moment that Madame Dubois loudly sucked in a pained gasp of air. Every sound in the hallway immediately ceased as all eyes turned in disbelief to the woman lying upon the floor. A moment passed, as everyone held their breath, before Madame Dubois' chest rose again of its own volition, drawing in another lungful of air.
All signs of irritation vanishing from his face, Father Thomas gawked first at the now breathing Madame Dubois, then up to Brielle. "Holy shit…" he blurted out before clapping a hand over his mouth in embarrassment.
Sitting back, a light sheen of sweat glowing across her forehead, Brielle carefully checked Madame Dubois' vital signs. With a smile splitting her face in two, she tilted her head back to grin up at Meg and Conner, a slight look of astonishment widening her eyes. "It worked…" she breathed. Then clapping her hands together in glee she let out a shout. "It worked! It worked!"
"Lord a' mighty…" Conner said on a laugh. "One of your harebrained ideas actually worked!" A stir went through the gathered crowd as several of the stagehands took off, shouting the news about how Madame Dubois came back from the dead.
Climbing to her feet, Brielle snagged one of the retreating men by the arm. "Hey, go and get a doctor. Someone should be called to monitor her until she wakes up." Releasing the man, she stabbed a finger at two others standing nearby. "And you two…go and get a litter. She should be moved to somewhere more comfortable and warm."
"What is your name?" Father Thomas asked quietly, as he knelt, flabbergasted, next to Madame Dubois, his fingers shaking as he gently laid a hand across her forehead.
Her smile fading slightly, Brielle quickly glanced to Conner and Meg. Whoops…I forgot for a moment. Damn…I am supposed to be keeping out of sight. Great move, Brielle! "Well…I…"
Hearing the hesitation in her voice, the priest glanced up at her. "Please…I have to know your name. How did you do that? She wasn't breathing…but…" Blinking through the magnification of his glasses, he took a breath, raising one hand to finger the cross hanging around his neck.
"Well…I…"
Stepping forward, Meg pushed past Conner and latched onto Brielle's arm. "I think it is time we got back to work. You are going to be way behind," the blonde said in a low voice as she tugged on Brielle's arm.
Picking up on Meg's line of thinking, Conner cleared his throat. "Oh…yes…work…we should all get back to work." Hurrying forward, he smiled toward Father Thomas as he ushered both Brielle and Meg off down the hall. "See you later Tommy. No doubt I'll come around to confession one of these days."
Protesting, Brielle tried to shrug out of Conner and Meg's grasps. "No, wait…I can't just leave Madame Dubois lying there like that. I have to…"
"You have to keep quiet and keep walking," Conner muttered to her under his breath. "You saved her life, Bri. Damn near brought the bloody woman back from the dead. Now, as far as I can see, you have done enough for today. It is bad enough that everyone is going to be talking about the cleaning lady who can raise the dead…so just keep walking."
"He is right, Brielle. Don't worry about it. They will watch out for her," Meg intoned. Behind the trio they could hear Father Thomas calling out after them but thankfully he did not follow. Picking up the pace, Meg and Conner dragged Brielle down the hall and around a corner.
"That was the craziest thing I have ever seen in my life!" Meg said after several moments of walking along in silence. "How did you learn to do that, Brielle?"
Feeling the glowing effects of the adrenaline rushing through her blood start to fade, Brielle took a shaky breath. She was beginning to feel the weight of the day's events press in on her. Raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, she leaned into her brother's embrace. "Um…before I came here I used to do medical research. On my own, of course…so I never really knew if my ideas worked…I am sorry but…I…suddenly I feel sort of tired."
"Of course you are. You have had a full day and it isn't even lunch yet. First Andrew shows up…then you disappear and Meg and I run all over this stupid place to find you…then Madame Dubois nearly falls over dead at your feet. Lord, I would be unconscious by now if I were you," Conner chatted easily, his glittering eyes turning every once in a while to glance over his shoulder. "I don't think Madame Dubois would mind if you took the rest of the day off."
"Oh my gosh!" Meg piped up then. "Who do you think they will get to replace Madame Dubois' position. Surely she won't be able to work after taking so suddenly ill. Maybe they will ask you to run the place, Brielle!"
Laughing at that, the Irishwoman shook her head; glad to have something to distract her churning mind. "I hope not. Most likely they will choose someone with more experience than me. I know of one woman who has been here for over twenty years."
"Do you mean that old gypsy lady, Marie? She has been here forever! Yes…I suppose that makes sense. She has been here the longest. Though it is a running joke that she knows black magic," Meg said thoughtfully.
"I highly doubt that that poor old woman actually knows black magic. I have met her before…she was sort of crotchety but nothing menacing," Brielle replied vaguely, her mind turning unwittingly away from the current conversation to worry over everything that had happened that day. I think I need some time to think everything over. Lord, Erik is enough to drive me crazy. It might take the rest of my life to figure that man out. I was so shocked by what he was saying that I don't think I truly realized what was going on. I should be furious…and I am…but I don't think it has really hit me yet. He broke my heart…broke my family's heart…yet…though logic fights against him…I feel almost as if…as if deep down that all this while that my soul has been longing for his return. God…what is wrong with me!
"By the way, Bri, where did you go after you left the stage earlier? We had the devil of a time trying to find you," Conner asked lightly, his eyes trailing pointedly down to the oversized black cloak she had around her shoulders.
Following his gaze, Brielle glanced down at herself, shock rippling through her system. I forgot to give it back to him…God with everything that was happening I even forgot I had it on! "Um…"
"AH! I should have known!" Meg exclaimed suddenly as she leaned over to run the hem of Erik's cloak between her fingers. "You were hiding in the costume department, weren't you? That would be the perfect place to disappear into. The woman who runs it practically has every inch of it stuffed full of extra cloth and finished projects. Good thinking, Brielle!"
Not wanting to admit to what had actually happened, Brielle merely nodded her head. "Yes, the costume department…I grabbed hold of this in case I ended up needing a disguise. Fortunately, though, I didn't. By the way…whatever happened to Andrew? Is he still in the building?" she asked, effectively changing the subject.
Eyeing Brielle with one raised eyebrow, obviously not believing her story about her hiding place, Conner cut in. "No, I think he has left by now. He left a contract for the managers to sign, so I don't think he planned to stay very long after they had finished their tour."
"Good…though if he is planning on being the patron, it is going to present a whole mess of problems. I will have to always be watching for when he is coming around…" Brielle began as she worried her bottom lip through her teeth. As if I don't have enough on my mind already!
"No, I don't think that is going to be a problem," Conner said evenly.
"Hmm? Why not?"
"Well, before I stormed off, he said that he wouldn't be here for the reopening. He has business in England or something, and will be away most of the time. Which is a small miracle. I don't think we will have worry too much about him. At first I was afraid that he suspected something, but now I am pretty sure he doesn't. You have the best blasted luck of anyone I have ever met, Bri!"
Rolling her eyes, Brielle shook her head. If you only knew… "I think I am going to go lie down for a little while. Everything that has happened has worn me out."
"All right, you deserve a little rest. Don't worry about anything…just get some rest," Conner said, patting his sister on the shoulder gently.
"Aria is taking a nap in the kitchen. Just make sure she doesn't run off and get into some sort of trouble. If you need me I will be in the dormitories," Brielle said as she stepped away from Conner's support. Walking slowly down the hall, leaving Conner and Meg behind her, she raised a hand to press against the side of her head.
A thousand conflicting thoughts jumbled for space within her mind, making it nearly impossible to separate them into any sort of order. At least Andrew will not be around…that is one less thing to worry about. I can't believe I forgot to give Erik his cloak back…now I will definitely have to see him again…everything is just happening too fast. I don't know if I can keep up…I find out that Erik used to be the Phantom of the Opera…that he killed people…that he dropped the chandelier onto all those poor people last year.
Her heart shrank from the thought that her former friend was in fact a murderer. Pausing to lean tiredly against a nearby wall, Brielle closed her eyes. A murderer…The reality of this concept sent chills down her spine but she found a part of herself rise up to defend him.
He did say it was all in self-defense. And that he had rigged the chandelier to fall away from the audience, she reminded herself avidly, trying all the while not to dwell on why it comforted her so much to think thus. Am I letting my anger at him cloud my judgment? Am I judging him too harshly? Maybe…but I can't shake the feeling that he isn't telling me everything. There was something he was leaving out…I just can't put my finger on what it was. Maybe it had to do with that girl he spoke of. Christine…he said he had loved her…perhaps he still does.
An unexpected spike of jealousy shot violently through her system as Brielle recalled just how pretty the young singer had been the few times she had seen her. "Blast!" she breathed as she jerked open the door to her room. "All right…that is enough. Obviously I am overwrought. Don't think about it anymore…think about it tomorrow…"
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A few days later Brielle still found herself no closer to a definite answer. Thankfully Erik had not made another appearance; apparently he was either avoiding her or giving her some space, some time to think. Too bad I am too stupid to make up my own mind, she thought bitterly as she attacked the tarnished silver serving tray in her hands with a polishing rag. No amount of time will fix that. Setting the tray down before she dented the stupid thing, Brielle rose from her seat and tossed the rag to the floor. Leaving her half-finished job behind, she strode out the door to wander down the hall.
At least no one as noticed my lack of focus. The cleaning department still doesn't have a new supervisor since Andre and Firmin can't make up their minds. And of course Madame Dubois is still recovering at the hospital. Aimlessly making her way down several empty corridors, Brielle came to a stop when she heard a telltale shriek which no doubt meant Carlotta was somewhere in the vicinity. Tilting her head to the side, Brielle listened carefully to the god-awful sound, not wanting to run into the diva unawares. After several minutes ticked by, the argument came to a stop; petering off into silence.
Satisfied that the Italian singer had taken off to go and pout in her dressing room, Brielle turned the corner to continue on in her vague roaming. I don't want to believe him…because I know if I believe him I will eventually forgive him… and right now I don't want to ever forgive him. The only thing that bothers me about Erik's story is that he seemed so sincere. Of course, sincerity can be fabricated…but…the look in his eyes, a terror like he was balancing on the edge of a precipice, and I was about to push him over…and the way he spoke had none of his usual articulation. He wasn't himself…and it is that over all other things that makes me want to believe him. She came to an abrupt stop when she nearly ran face first into a taller black-haired woman. Carlotta let out a startled squeak as she raised a hand to steady the garish hat balancing precariously atop her head.
"What do you-a tink you are doin!" the diva huffed in outrage, as her dark eyes focused in on Brielle's face. Slowly the temper faded from her imperial features as she stared down at the Irishwoman. "It is you! You are-a de one who pushed me dat day de sandbags fell."
Frozen like a deer in a hunter's sights, Brielle found her mind going completely blank. She had been caught. "Um…no, you must have me confused with someone else." Ducking her head, Brielle turned away quickly, trying to escape Carlotta's sharp dark eyes.
Reaching out, the diva took hold of Brielle's arm in an iron grip, spinning the Irishwoman around so that they were face-to-face again. "No! You are de one! I do not-a forget faces. I recognize your eyes. Dey are dat strange light color. How do you say…eh…gray?"
Realizing she couldn't get out of this situation, Brielle squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up in an attempt at bravado. "Fine…I admit it. It was me that day. What of it? Surely you cannot blame me for being too rough. I was trying to get you out of the way so that…"
Waving a hand in Brielle's face, Carlotta motioned for her to be quiet. "I am not-a stupid. I know you saved me. I 'ave been-a looking for you. I 'ave asked many for your name but no one knew."
"No, no one would know the name of a cleaning lady," Brielle snapped, jerking her arm out of Carlotta's grip. Confused by the diva's statement, she rubbed absently at her stinging arm. "What did you want so badly that you have been asking around for me?" she asked warily.
Frowning over Brielle's impertinence, Carlotta pursed her lips into a thin line. "I do not-a like your tone."
"Then be off with you! I have work to do and not enough time to do it in," she lied as she turned to leave. Stopped once again by a hand on her arm, Brielle sighed.
"No, do not go," Carlotta exclaimed with none of the normal whine in her tone; an odd desperation had leaked into her words, causing Brielle to turn back around. "Pl…Please…" the singer continued, stumbling over the rarely used word. "I must-a speak to you. It is very important! I 'ave a job for you…to work for me."
Shocked into silence, Brielle could only stare at Carlotta with her mouth hanging open. Scanning the taller woman's face for any sign of duplicity she found none; only a frantic sort of fear glittered in Carlotta's dark eyes, pulling the corners of her mouth down into a grimace. Gathering her composure, Brielle cautiously looked about at their surroundings, hoping no one else was around to see this odd exchange. "What do you mean, a job?" she finally asked slowly.
Leaning in close so that she was almost eye level with Brielle, Carlotta cleared her throat. "I know what you-a are," she whispered shakily. "You knew about-a de bags before dey fell. You 'ave de sight…I know you do."
A sharp spike of fear drove itself through Brielle's mind at Carlotta's words. She had been called a witch before by others on the cleaning staff but this was different, this wasn't an accusation or an insult. The Italian singer thoroughly believed in what she said, and that conviction was frightening. "I don't know what you could…"
"You 'elped me dat day because you saw de danger. I must 'ave you work for me. I 'ate dis place. Too many memories, too many dangers…" she continued, her eyes flickering away from Brielle's face to glance fearfully into a shadowed corner. "I 'ate dis place…"
The initial sliver of fear faded as pity bloomed within her heart. This isn't at all what I expected. Perhaps she isn't as one-dimensional as I thought. "I am not a fortune teller…" Brielle began gently. "I don't think that I can help you…I…"
"Don't be modest, child…" a wizened old voice admonished from behind the two women. Jumping at the unexpected sound, both Brielle and Carlotta let out twin squeaks of surprise. Turning toward the voice, Brielle let out a relieved sigh when she recognized the birdlike figure of the woman standing there.
"Marie, by God, you startled me. What are you doing here?" Brielle asked nervously.
Ignoring Brielle's question, the old woman came forward, sidling up to the Irishwoman's side, her eyes bright as she smiled up at Carlotta. "She is just being modest. It is always best for those with her gifts to be so…for their own protection, you understand." When Marie paused expectantly Carlotta relaxed slightly, and nodded her head in understanding.
Flabbergasted, Brielle shot an irritated glare in Marie's direction. "Marie, I don't think that…"
Waving a wrinkled hand under Brielle's nose, the older woman shook her iron gray head, indicating that she should be quiet. "But since you are offering her a position, she would be glad to take it."
"What!" Brielle burst out angrily. "No…I don't think…"
"Of course there will be some rules," Marie continued, patting Brielle's hand as the Irishwoman puffed up indignantly. "She will require her own quarters for herself and her daughter. It takes a great deal of concentration to peer into the future and she will need a room of her own for the quiet."
Believing every word, Carlotta nodded enthusiastically, apparently happy now that she sensed she would soon have her own personal fortune teller in her employ. Continuing on without much of a pause, Marie raised up a knotted finger for emphasis. "Her current salary is also unacceptable…you will pay her…er…five times what she is earning as a cleaning lady."
"Five times?" Carlotta asked, her accepting nod coming to an abrupt stop. "Dat is more than I pay everyone else dat works for me!"
"Yes, and she will be doing far more than everyone else who works for you," Marie shot back quickly. "And that is another thing. She will not be your servant…you will not have the power to ask whatever you want of her. She will have one job and one only."
"Fine…Fine. Do we a have a deal?" Carlotta snapped, wringing her hands nervously in front of her stomach.
Instead of answering, Marie turned to look at Brielle. "What do you say? Will you accept a job where you will have your own room and better pay?"
"Well, I…" Looking back and forth between the old woman at her side and Carlotta, Brielle opened and closed her mouth uncertainly. I don't know what game Marie is playing. I can't look into a crystal ball or anything. But…maybe that doesn't matter…for five times my salary now I could tell a little lie. Then I would have enough money to set aside for emergencies…this could be a blessing in disguise. "Yes, I will accept the job…if you honor all of the guidelines Marie pointed out," Brielle finally said, finding it much easier than she had thought to fall into the lie.
A relieved smile flickered across Carlotta's face before being hidden behind her usual arrogant sneer. "All right den…I know what room you can 'ave since it is empty right now. Pack up your things and take them to de room at de end of de dressing room hallway. You will know it is de right room because ov de mirror. I will come by in a few days. Be ready by den to begin your work." Turning sharply, Carlotta swept out of the hallway, nearly losing her hat as she disappeared around a corner.
Rounding on Marie, Brielle fisted her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with the annoyance she had been holding in until that moment. "What were you thinking! I am not a fortune teller! Why would you set me up like that? I hardly had any choice but to accept her offer!"
Unaffected by Brielle's temper, Marie raised a handkerchief to her face and gave a little cough. "I was returning the kindness you showed me a while ago, when you helped me carry my bucket up the stairs. I didn't want you to give up this opportunity. Use this all to your advantage. Chances like this do not come very often to people like us. Second chances are rare for anyone, really."
Her anger fading slightly, Brielle relaxed her battle stance. "This may create a whole new set of problems…" she said slowly.
"Then you can deal with them as they come to you," Marie replied as she laid a hand on Brielle's arm, leading her down the hall. "Don't worry…there are two things I plan on teaching you. First, you have to learn to lie better. And second, you have to learn how to put on a show…maybe I will teach you how to read the cards."
Not sure she had heard correctly, Brielle turned to look down at the woman leading her along. "What cards?"
"Why Tarot cards, you silly girl. I am going to turn you into a Gypsy fortune teller just as sure if you were born one. Have you ever been to a Gypsy show before?"
Opening her mouth to respond in the negative, Brielle stopped suddenly. A vague, half-formed image flickered to life within her head, giving her pause. Concentrating, she could make out the insides of a ragged yellow tent and the looming shadows of a large crowd. Shaking off the strange memory, and the feeling of anxiety that came with it, she gathered her wits enough to respond.
"No, I have never been to a Gypsy show before." Then, remembering what sort of things that were displayed in that type of show, Brielle hardened her features. "Nor do I ever care to," she snapped.
Carefully eyeing her from under her steel gray eyebrows Marie merely shook her head. "Don't you get all uppity with me, young lady. Never mind about your feelings on their practices, girl. They know how to make money…that is all you need care about. So get over it for the sake of your future."
Pursing her lips together, Brielle bit down on whatever else it was she was going to say. "Fine…consider it forgotten."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Late that same night Brielle turned over in her bed, finding it difficult to go to sleep in her new surroundings. In the weeks since she had come to the Opera she had grown used to the loud snoring of the other women on the cleaning staff. Now only Aria's soft breathing a few feet away and the rhythmic beating of her own heartbeat in her ears filled the still air. The quiet of her new room was a little disquieting but it was the illusion of isolation that the silence provided which bothered her. Though the room was set in between two others, the thick stone of its walls kept out any intruding sounds. It made her almost miss the noises of other living people. At least then she knew that she wasn't completely on her own.
Giving up her attempt at rest, Brielle finally sat up. Throwing her legs over the edge of the bed, she tapped her toes against the floor in frustration. Reaching up she brushed a wayward piece of snow white hair behind one ear. Smiling slightly, she pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisting its length absently between her fingers. It had been a long time since she had felt free enough to be without the disguising protection of her dark wig. She was enjoying every minute she had alone now, for it meant that she could be free of the thing's constant itching.
Sighing, Brielle glanced absently at the mammoth mirror hanging directly across from her bed. Her own reflection stared back at her, standing out like a white beacon against the dark background. Finding the life-sized image of herself slightly unsettling, Brielle hunched her shoulders, straightening the neckline of her nightgown self-consciously. Biting her bottom lip, she stood quietly and went to the wardrobe and pulled out a satin dressing gown and a large scarf to wrap over her hair. Pausing for a moment, she ran her hand along the line of plain, but well cut, dresses hanging within. Earlier that day while she had been moving her things into her room, a young girl had dropped off several boxes of pre-made clothing with a note that stated her current style of dressing was not acceptable for one in the employ of an international diva. Laughing silently to herself over the arrogance of the gesture, Brielle turned and sneaked out the door.
Walking along the dark corridors, she skirted around several groups of the cleaning staff, having no interest in meeting up with the ladies or their sharp-tongued insults. Not really knowing where exactly she was heading, just that she needed to walk, Brielle found herself moving out of the backstage area and into the large front rooms of the Opera. Feeling a little out of place in the echoing marble halls she purposely quieted her steps as she gazed about at her surroundings. Funny, I haven't really had the time to notice before now…but this place is really very beautiful.
Humming to herself, she passed a set of double doors with a small, discreet plaque hanging over them. Doing a double take, Brielle stopped her wandering and leaned in to squint through the darkness at the small bronze sign. Library…Lord, I didn't even know there was a library here. Pursing her lips in thought, she shrugged her shoulders. Well, most likely it will be packed full of boring music books or something…but maybe I will find something to help me sleep. Reaching out she opened the door and stepped inside.
Feeling more than seeing the massive size of the room around her, Brielle paused just inside the doors. This room was far darker than the rest of the Opera as the drapes over the windows were all tightly shut, each one allowing only a sliver of moonlight to filter through. Stepping further into the library, Brielle held her hands out before her to help guide her way. Running into the edge of a table, she let out an expressive Irish curse as she rubbed her offended hip. Hesitantly running a hand over the cool surface of the table she stumbled across a matchbook and kerosene lamp. Smiling at her luck, she was on the verge of lighting the lamp when a large gloved hand slid over her mouth.
Jumping at the touch, she screamed against the muffling hand as another hand came out and gently wrapped around her upper arm. "Shh, it is me," Erik's familiar baritone hissed through the darkness as he removed his hand from her mouth.
Sagging in relief, Brielle turned in his grip and punched him in the ribs. "You scared the breath right out of me! Make some noise when you move, you blasted man!"
"Ow…I didn't mean to startle you…sorry," he grunted as he reached up to rub at the spot where she had hit him.
Not liking the intimacy the darkness provided, Brielle quickly turned and struck a match, lighting the lamp on the table. Glancing back at the man still half cloaked in shadows behind her, she tried to hold onto the anger that her fear had sparked. "How did you know that was me and not some other person? You can't just go around grabbing people in the dark!"
One corner of his mouth tilted up into the shadow of a smirk. "I knew it was you before I touched you…I am not stupid. I wouldn't have shown myself to just anyone."
Feeling that he was somehow laughing at her, Brielle drew herself up to her full height, pulling the edges of her dressing gown tighter about her waist as she did so. "Oh, and how did you know?" she snapped haughtily.
Erik took a step forward, into the light of the lamp. A smile flickered across his face briefly before being purposely squashed. "How many people in this place would say something like 'May six horse-loads of graveyard clay fall upon the shit-brained fool who put this table here'?" he asked with the shrug of one shoulder, the smile fighting its way back onto his face.
"Well…I…" she stumbled as a blush worked its way up to stain her cheeks pink.
"After I heard you speak I didn't want to startle you by simply saying something out of nowhere."
"I think you failed in the whole not scaring me part."
"Yes, I suppose so," he agreed, his eyes momentarily leaving her face to travel down along informal state of her dress. Clearing his throat, he glanced away, looking lightly embarrassed for a moment before schooling his features into impassive lines. "What are you doing wandering around the Opera this late at night? Could you not sleep?"
"No," she said on a sigh, feeling herself relax in his presence despite her want to remain alert.
"You should not worry so much," Erik said after a moment of hesitation. "It will make you ill, brooding over everything."
"Yeah, you are one to lecture about brooding," Brielle snorted. "But that isn't why I couldn't sleep. My new room is just so quiet…I suppose it will take a while for me to get used to it."
His one visible eyebrow drew down into a frown over her words. "New room?" he asked lightly, trying to cover up the fact of his ignorance.
"What, don't you know?" she responded. "Oh sweet heavens…you aren't omnipresent then? Thank God!" Sniffing over her sarcasm, Erik crossed his arms. "Fine, don't get all huffy," she said after a moment. "Today I was hired for another job. A stipulation made before I took it was that Aria and I would get our own room."
"Ah…" he said simply, looking highly irritated that he was ignorant of this development.
Feeling slightly uncomfortable in the silence that fell after his one syllable reply, Brielle opened her mouth and barreled on. "Not that I wanted the change or anything. But I was sort of forced into it…"
Looking up at that, a dark glitter flashed behind his eyes. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to…I'll make sure of that…" he bit out harshly.
Startled by this sudden change in his mood, Brielle crossed her arms across her stomach. So the Phantom shows his face once again… "No…I didn't mean to say forced against my will. It is just that I am not sure that I am qualified."
The shadows guttered out in his eyes as he shifted his weight to his other foot. "I am sure you can do whatever you put your mind to," he said stiffly, making a monumental effort to choose his words carefully.
"Yes, but that isn't the problem. You see, Carlotta expects me to be some sort of fortune teller and…"
"Carlotta? Carlotta hired you!" he blurted out, interrupting her.
Nodding she continued. "Yes, I think she is afraid the Phantom has it out for her. She felt the need to secure a person with the second sight into her employ in order to stay safe…she doesn't have a reason to be afraid, does she?" Brielle added after watching some nameless emotion dance across his normally guarded face.
Letting out an expletive, Erik shot her a furious glare over her insinuation before turning on his heel and stalking off; throwing himself into a chair a few yards away he raised a hand to rub at his temple, making an obvious effort to control his ire. "No…that puffed up peacock has no need to fear me. I don't hold any sort of deep hatred for her simply because she cannot sing properly."
Grabbing up the lantern, Brielle followed him across the room, sitting down in a chair set across from his. The knot of her head scarf loosened slightly at her hasty movement, allowing a lock of her white hair to pull free. "Can you blame me for finding a need to ask that question?" she demanded, feeling as if she had to defend herself for asking it. The expression of hopelessness now tightening his features made her suddenly feel the villain.
"Yes," he snapped before tightening the leash on his temper. "No…I didn't mean that. I suppose it just caught me off guard."
"What did?"
"You being afraid of me," he growled, looking up at her from between his fingers, his eyes gleaming like cut glass in the lamplight.
Guilt threatened to spring to life within her breast as she gaped across the few feet between them. Damn it…don't feel guilty…if he suffers some mild bout of emotional turmoil then it serves him right! Sitting up straighter in her chair, Brielle physically bristled. "And don't I have the right to ask a simple question! You act like you expect everything to go back to the way things were."
"And what is wrong with that?"
Raising both hands to her head she pulled off her head scarf in frustration, her loose braid falling down over one shoulder. "You are impossible! You have no idea how hard it is for me just to talk to you without going insane. Every time I see you it feels as if someone has plunged a knife into my heart…as if I am being torn apart from the inside out. I don't know what to think when it comes to you…you damned bastard!" she exploded, nearly coming out of her chair from the riotous force of her emotions.
Dropping his hand down to the arm of his chair, Erik stared at her limply in shock. "Well…I…"
"As far as I am concerned," Brielle continued. "You are lucky that I am as civil as I am. I waited for three months for you to come back…sat by the bleeding window like an idiot. And then for six months now I have prayed to God to make me forget you…" she continued, the horror over what she was revealing to him slowly clenching the air from her lungs, but she couldn't seem to make herself stop.
Sitting silent for what seemed like eons, staring at her all the while with his soul-piercing eyes, Erik finally shifted in his chair. "Forgive me…" he said softly. "I forget sometimes to take into consideration the feelings of others. After being alone for so long…I suppose I am impatient for human contact…or maybe it is…" Looking suddenly aghast over what he had been about to say, the masked man clenched his mouth shut.
Annoyed that he had more control over himself than she did, Brielle let out a gusty sigh and sat back in her seat. "What…for God's sake just say it. It isn't like we have any more secrets to keep from each other anymore."
"I simply thought it inappropriate to say to you considering the way this conversation is going."
Stabbing a finger across the room at him, Brielle narrowed her gray eyes to twin steely slits. "Say it!" she hissed dangerously.
Wincing at the tone of her voice, Erik eyed her warily. "I was only going to add that maybe I am just impatient to have you around all the time. I didn't realize how much I missed talking to you until after I had left. It sounds stupid…but I had grown accustomed to you being there. It felt…empty without you there."
Not expecting him to say anything so personal, Brielle lowered her hand to her side. Her temper settling down into the background of her mind, she once again questioned her sanity. What is wrong with me? Why can't I just shake him off…forget him? God…I felt it just the way he described…like he had become a part of me…and after he left it felt…empty. I am losing my mind…remember, Brielle…he can be dangerous…he could hurt you…he…has the saddest eyes I have ever seen in my life.
Turning her face away from the sight of him, hoping that in doing so she would find some semblance of control painted across the floorboards. "What were you doing in here in the first place," she asked, changing the subject quickly away from the dangerous road down which it had been going. Given another minute talking like that…and who knows what I might have said!
Blinking at her for a moment as if he was having difficulty following the conversation, Erik opened his jacket and pulled out two leather-bound books. "I had just come to return these when you wandered in," he said, likewise looking relieved at the change in conversation.
Standing, Brielle crossed the small space between them to take the two books out of his grip. Glancing at the titles she felt confused surprise flashed over her expressions. "A Gaelic dictionary? And…'Modern Innovations in Medicine'? What in the world did you want with these? I half expected you to be reading something about music…or architecture…"
Clearing his throat, Erik stood, stuffing his hands casually into his pockets. "I have many interests…" he stated vaguely, the tone of his voice beginning to relax.
Poking him with the corner of one of the books, Brielle rolled her eyes. "A dictionary of Gaelic is interesting? Is this what you have been doing the last few days? Reading strange books?"
Looking irritated at her disbelief, Erik snatched the book back from her. "I wanted to have several subjects that I could discuss with you. Seeing as your native language is Gaelic I thought it would be appropriate. And I happen to have a renewed interest the medical field."
Finding his guarded answer highly revealing, Brielle felt a smile pull up on the corners of her mouth. He was studying so as to have something safe to say…something that wouldn't be strained…a common interest. Something about his quiet concern to guard her against any awkwardness was touching. It gently ate away at the ice she so desperately wanted to keep her heart shrouded in. I forgot how shy he could be…it is…adorable. Shocked at her wayward thoughts, Brielle realized she had been staring up at him dreamily for far too long.
"Why a renewed interest in medicine?"
"Because of what you did to Madame Dubois…" he said enthusiastically, genuine excitement making his eyes flash bright in the shadowed room. "I have never seen anything like it. She had stopped breathing…and I heard you say that that she had no pulse. But in just eight minutes she was breathing again!"
Somehow knowing he had been watching made her extremely self conscious. "You saw that?"
"Yes, it was like watching something out of a play rather than real life. I remember you explained how such a thing would work…but it was a completely different matter to see it played out before my very eyes."
His excitement was contagious, for Brielle found herself clapping her hands together and unconsciously leaning closer to him, the hem of her dressing gown brushing against the tops of his highly polished shoes. "I was so scared…I didn't know if it would work!"
"Don't lie…" he said with a smile. "You are the bravest person I know. After all, you put up with me…"
"Yes, and I am applying for sainthood next week…" she shot back with a laugh.
Smiling over her barb, Erik's eyes flickered to her hair. Something in his expression changed, the smile slid from his face as he reached up and ran his fingers lightly over the length of one lock of hair. "What were you doing to your hair?"
"I was wearing a wig…" she breathed, caught up for a moment in the stormy blue of his eyes. "I thought it was better to cover up the white…"
"Good, I am glad it wasn't permanent…I like the white."
Her breath froze in her chest as she waited for him to take the one step it would take to close the distance between them. Every cell in her body waited…and waited, but he never moved, and Brielle sucked in a terrified breath. I want him to kiss me…oh my god…oh my god…I am going insane. Turning her face away from him, she felt rather than saw his hand fall back to his side.
"I should go…" she said shakily. "I will have to get up early tomorrow and learn how to be a fortune teller from Marie. So I should….go…"
"Brielle…" Erik said hastily as she turned and fled across the room towards the doors. "What did I say?"
"Nothing…" she said with a wave of her hand. I have to get out of here! she thought, the panic now clouding her mind to the point where she had to struggle for several moments to throw the doors open. "I will see you later! Good night…"
She heard him make a small sound of protest as she ran out the library doors, but he did not follow. Racing blindly down the massive stone corridors of the Opera's front rooms, Brielle came to a breathless stop near the grand staircase. Falling against the cool marble of one of the many columns, she pressed her burning face against the smooth, wit-saving stone. Oh my god…oh my god…this can't be happening…it can't be happening…
Raising her flushed face to look unseeing down at the floor Brielle felt weak as a terrible realization washed over her senses; leaving her reeling and panicky in its wake. Covering her mouth with one hand, she bit down hard upon her bottom lip to keep a dismayed gasp from slipping out of her mouth. This is the worst thing that could happen! NO…NO…
I still love him.