Chapter 3

The next thing that I heard was the sound of machines beeping. I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. I was in a hospital room and Monsieur Destler sitting by my bed in a chair, sleeping. I smiled softly, looking at him. I tried to sit up, but winced, whimpering some as I moved. Monsieur Destler's eyes shot open as he looked at me.

"Sophia. Oh, thank God, you're okay," he said, getting up and coming over to me, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Major...pain..." I whispered, trying to move again.

"Don't try to move. The doctor said that you may have a couple cracked ribs. You're lucky to be alive."

I nodded. "I know. I didn't know what else to do."

"You shouldn't have saved...a monster like me."

"I don't think that you're a monster, Monsieur Destler."

He looked at me with a gentle look on his face, stroking my cheek softly. The door flew open and there was Drake, coming in.

"Soph. Sophie, you're okay," he said, coming to my side, taking my hand.

I nodded slightly, entwining our fingers, smiling softly at him. Monsieur Destler got up, running a hand through his hair.

"I better go talk to the doctors," he said softly, leaving the room. As the door shut, Drake kissed me softly, a worried look on his face.

"Don't worry, Drake. I'm okay."

"It's not you I'm worried about," he mumbled, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"What?"

"I don't like you spending so much time with Monsieur Destler. Do you have any idea how lonely that guy must get?"

"Drake, come on. Monsieur Destler is a teacher. What could he want with me?"

"Anything that you have to offer."

"Drake."

"I'm serious, Sophie. I don't like you spending so much time with him."

"You're paranoid. And jealous. You know how important music is to me."

"It's not that. It's..."

"What is it?"

He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his program from the Opera House, flipping through it, folding a page back. "I know it seems weird, but this girl looks like you," he said, showing me a picture of the girl. I looked at it, observed it, then gasped quietly.

"Christine Daae," I said softly, taking the program from him.

"Yeah, she was this opera singer who was taught by this count who lived under the opera house. No one knew that he was a count though except the ballet mistress --"

"Madame Isabelle Giry."

"Yeah...how do you know all this?"

"I don't," I replied. "Keep talking."

"Anyway...this count was in love with Christine, but she was engaged to this vitcome who was her childhood sweetheart. Anyway, during an opera that she was singing in, he made the chandiler crash and he kidnapped her, but...he let her go."

"Did you find out what happened to him?"

"I've heard a couple different things. The first thing I heard was that he just disappeared and married, carried on with his life until he died. The next thing I heard was that he killed himself. The last thing was that he died in the fire."

"Did you get a name?"

"Sophie, this guy used several different names. The Opera Ghost, O.G., The Phantom of the Opera, and his own special name, as if the other names weren't special enough already, for when he was teaching Christine."

"Angel."

He nodded. "Angel of Music."

I put a hand over my mouth, soaking all of this in. I couldn't believe it. I had a past life. I was Christine Daae. It was hard to believe at first, but then I realized it. Maybe the dreams were memories from Christine's life. I did look just like her and Monsieur Destler did look like her Angel, aside from the white mask. Monsieur Destler was never shy about his scarred face, but sometimes I did wonder why he didn't wear a mask.

"What...what about a real name?"

"No, Sophia. I'm not going to tell you that."

"Drake, come on. You've told me everything else. What was the Phantom's real name?"

"No, Sophia," he said, standing up. "I'm not going to tell you."

"Drake," I said, taking the bed controller and adjusting my bed so I could sit up, since I couldn't move very well. "You promised me that you wouldn't keep secrets from me. Tell me."

He sighed, taking a scrap piece of paper out, writing something on it and folding it up, placing it in my lap. After he did so, he left, quitely shutting the door behind him. I looked at the paper, then the door, then back at the paper. I picked it up, looking at it, slowly unfolding it. I read the name, tears coming to my eyes.

Destler.

There was a soft knock at the door. I wiped my tears and threw the paper in the trash bin, pulling my hair back into a ponytail as I said softly, "Come in."

The door slowly opened and Monsieur Destler reappeared, carrying a plate of fruit for me to eat. "I thought that you might be hungry."

I smiled softly at the gesture as he placed the plate on my tray, sitting back down in his chair as I readjusted my bed again. "Thank you, Monsieur Destler," I said, taking a grape and eating it. As I picked up a slice of an apple, I couldn't help but think of his name and the dream that I had. I sighed, putting the apple slice back onto the plate, laying back.

"Everything okay, Sophia?"

I shook my head. "No, Monsieur. Everything isn't all right."

"What's wrong?"

"Drake was here."

"Yes...I saw."

"Well...I know this may sound awkward, but he doesn't like me spending so much time with you."

"Why does he say that?"

"Because of the story of Christine Daae and the Phantom of the Opera."

He looked at me, a gentle look on his face, sighing softly. "He found the name 'Destler,' didn't he?"

I sighed and nodded, looking at him for an explaination.

"I don't know much about my family history, Sophia," he said, getting up from the chair and pacing about the room. "When I was born with this scarred face, my mother gave me away, put me in a foster home. I never met her. I never knew my father. I know that when people looked at me in Paris, before I came to America, I know that they saw a monster. It was only through music that I found my human soul, not this monster that you see before you. When I found out that I could've possibly been related to the Phantom of the Opera, whoever he was, I left Paris and came to America. In America, people would never ask and try not to stare. The first time I walked into the classroom of all of these little freshmen, I knew that teaching probably wasn't my thing, but I had to make money somehow. Then...I saw you."

"Me? What did I have to do with it?

He smiled softly, sitting on the edge of my bed. "You looked at me and couldn't keep your eyes away. When I asked who could sing, you stood up by yourself."

"You asked me who I was and --"

"And you replied --"

"I'm only Sophia, sir, but I probably have the best voice in the room."

He smiled, brushing some hair from my eyes. "And you did have the best voice in the room," he said, placing his hand on my cheek.

I smiled, savoring his touch, closing my eyes. I could see the Phantom of the Opera touching my cheek, ever so gently, just as Monsieur Destler was doing now.

"Fairy tales and ghost stories are not what you need now, Sophia," he said softly, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "What you need now is rest. Go back to sleep."

I nodded softly, breathing deeply. As I drifted off, I could've swore I heard him say, "My Angel of Music."