Chapter 2

I wake briefly when Mrs. Giry and Meg come home, but fall quickly back asleep, too heavy to want to say hello or dispense the effort to get up. My dreams are filled with owls and bubbles and glitter and shadow and song, and the strange sensation that I am not alone.

When I wake in the morning it is early, only eight. Mrs. Giry is no doubt already up and about but it's a Saturday, so she's likely to let Meg and I sleep in til nine or ten. However, I am well rested and cannot conceive of wasting the day away in bed any longer. I spring up, feeling light and eager, and as if I have not felt this way in a long time, but while the summer's been rather non-eventful, I can't remember why I might have been anything other than perfectly content.

I get dressed in my favorite bell-bottom jeans with lace sewn onto the cuffs, and a flowing, wide-sleeved shirt, debating on another vest today or not. In the end I settle on a dark, faux-leather one, embroidered at the shoulders. I hum a little ditty as I trot down the stairs, smelling waffles.

"Good morning, Mrs. Giry!" I call, singsongy, as I enter the small kitchen. She turns to greet me, but stops. I hesitate in the doorway, unsure of her reaction. She looks me up and down briefly, then turns back to the waffle iron.

"Good morning, dear. You seem rather, ah, cheerful today." She remarks.

"Yes, I slept particularly well last night, and, if you have no objections, I should like to go the library today." Mrs. Giry nods, her back still turned to me. "Are you well, ma'am? You seem a bit tense today." I ask, worried.

"Oh, I'm fine, Christine." She says honestly. "Truth be told, I'm worried about you. I know.. times have been difficult for you, adjusting to such a large change in your life and at such a young age, when you should only be worrying about boys and dances and college… I just want you to know you can always come to me to talk about whatever's bothering you, be it school or… or other things."

"Ma'am?" I ask, confused.

"Please forgive me, but I peeked in your room when we got home last night, and I saw that you finally went through those last boxes… I know that must have been- well, it must have been difficult for you." She finally turns back around, her dark eyes seeming ready to flood.

"Oh, I'm fine! I suppose it was just.. difficult to accept that I'm actually living with you. It's like a dream, and I suppose I was scared to unpack those last boxes only to have the dream end, you know?" I laugh a little at my own folly.

"A dream? Surely you mean it's more like a nightmare." She's smiling, but she seems concerned again.

"Not at all! I'm quite grateful for you taking me in, you know, you're the best family a girl could ask for!" I try to reassure her, but Mrs. Giry only seems to grow more concerned, going so far as to abandon the waffle iron to approach me.

"I- I know we've avoided talking about it for your sake, but you don't have to pretend you don't miss your father, Christine. If- if I somehow made you think you had to try to forget about him, I'm quite sorry, I never meant to-" At this I break away from her gentle, gripping hands, retreating back into the foyer.
"M-my father?" I repeat. I'm so confused- I don't know my birth family at all, how could I miss someone I don't remember?

"Yes, your father." She reiterates, as if that explains everything. Softly tossing her head to the side, she continues. "His loss has been hard on the whole town, but it has been harder on no one than you, my dear, and you've tried to deal with it so stoically, but you don't have to, I hope you know. You can talk about it, with me, with Meg…" She gestures towards the upstairs, where Meg is still sleeping. "Or- or if we're too close or you're not comfortable with that, we can find you a professional to talk to."

"I, I, no, you don't.." I stutter, so wildly unsure of everything. She doesn't seem to notice, charging ahead, gliding closer.

"Oh, I'm only sorry I didn't suggest something sooner, I should have known you needed more than you were asking for, that's just like you to try to deal with everything yourself- Oh, Christine." Her lip curls up in sorrow, those tears that threatened earlier finally making their move. In two long strides she has me wrapped in her arms, sobbing a little. For some reason, I can feel tears daintily pour out of my own eyes, though I can't tell why. Me? I had a father? No!

I mean, of course there was a man and a woman, who, had they kept me, would have been my mother and father, but they didn't, and so any claim to that title is gone! I have no parents, no one to miss, no one to talk about or cry over; and yet here I stand in the arms of the only mother I've ever known crying with her over a man she claims exists but I cannot recall.

"I, I.." I mumble again, my head and heart hurting in a way I can't quite describe. I push away from Mrs. Giry, who's still sobbing. "I don't understand." I say truthfully.

"Death is a hard thing to understand." She nods sagely, but that's not what I mean.

"No, no, I don't- I don't have a father." This only makes her start crying a little harder, tears streaming rather than dropping. "No, wait, I mean, I mean I have no father to have lost, Mrs. Giry. I don't understand who you're talking about." Shaking my head, I try to explain.

She looks at me blankly, and then with a deep, growing concern that I've only seen once, when Meg broke her arm two years ago and had a bad reaction to the painkillers they'd given her.

"Christine?" Her voice is a little hoarse, like she's straining to speak. She seems scared, and it's scaring me. My heart is pounding and I just want to run, run far away and not deal with whatever this is.

"I- I'm just going to go." I manage to say. "I'll be home later." Without waiting for a response or reaction, I turn and dash out the front door, snatching my bike from the side of the house. I head towards the library in a mindless frenzy, wanting nothing more than to put that behind me. I don't understand, I don't understand.

I slow my pedaling down as the sense of urgency finally starts to die within me, and the library is already in sight. Gratefully, I park my bike at the racks, berating myself for forgetting my lock. But it's too late now, and I don't want to go home until there's even half a chance Mrs. Giry may have forgotten our exchange. So I duck into the library as it starts to rain lightly, and try to forget about it.

Inside, there are a number of people already going about their business, most of them librarians. But to my surprise, there are a few others here, kids from my school and people I don't recognize. I thought I'd be the only 'customer' here this early, as it's not even a quarter to nine yet, but it seems I was wrong. After pausing in the entryway, I tip my head down and head to the fantasy section. I hear several people take up whispery, hushed conversations, and I doubt they know I can hear them. Someone once told me I had excellent hearing, and that it helped make me an excellent singer. Strange… I can't seem to remember who told me that.

A face flashes quickly in my mind, but as soon as it's gone I can scarcely remember a detail about it, as if someone burned a photo in my face and the light, rather than the image, is burned into my eyes. I hold a hand to my head as it pulses once, painfully.

I stop at the next aisle, desperate for a distraction. Running my hands over the spines and titles, I start scanning for something I haven't read but also looks interesting. Even as I set myself to this task, I can't help but hear the hushed conversations around me.

"That's Christine Daae, you know."

"The girl who's dad died?"

"Yeah- but don't mention it to her. I think this is the first time she's come out on her own since the funeral." Two girls whisper in awed, if sad, reverence. Disgusted at their tone, confused at their words, I turn my attention to another.

".. She looks so sad." Says an older, perhaps college-aged boy, to someone else.

"Can you blame her? He was a big part of her life, a great dad." The someone else, a boy I think I recognize, says. "Do you suppose you could get on with your life so easily if you lost someone like that?" He scoffs, seeming as irritated at his companion as I am. But why am I agitated, other than the nerve of these people to so openly talk about me? I'm sure there's another reason- but all their talk about a dead dad makes my head hurt, makes the books and the shelves seem blurry. I shut out their words, not wanting to dal with any of it. I focus solely on the books, and it's not until I read the titles of three shelves that I am stopped.

"Pardon me, Christine?" The boy asks, his voice cutting into my concentration.

"I- uh, yes?" I reply, a bit stunned. I was almost lost in the books, and quite glad to be so.

"I'm, uh, I'm Raoul. I go to school with you, but I've never had the courage to talk to you before…" He stops, putting his hands behind his back. Is he… scared of me?

"Yes, I know who you are." I try to smile gently, but I fear I just come off as cold.

"Ah, well, I was just wondering how you're doing?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. Everyone seems worried about me lately, but that's the only thing that seems wrong to me." I shrug. I feel a little sick; this confusion is really messing with me.

"Well, given what you've gone through, I think it would rather impolite, simply wrong, for no one to worry about you." He chuckles awkwardly.

"And what, exactly, have I gone through?" I try my best not to glare at him, but I'm so done with all this. Everyone must be out of their minds with this story about me and a father I don't have. It's not Raoul's fault though, and I relax after he fails to meet my eyes. "I'm sorry. Today started off well enough but there seems to be some town-wide confusion affecting everybody. I'm. I'm not dealing with it well."

"Ho-how do you mean, Christine?" Raoul asks with a light concern, almost more curious than anything.

"Well, I, I suppose it started with Mrs. Giry, my guardian. She- I can hardly remember it already, but she seemed to think that I was distressed about something, and I couldn't figure out what. She went on for a while, and finally said something about my father- ha! I don't have a father, Raoul, but she was under the impression that I was sad about missing him." I laugh, a bit sardonically. "And now I'm here, trying to start my day with something fun, and everyone here is saying the same thing! I thought, maybe Mrs. Giry is tired and a bit dazed from her late night with Meg, and her mind's still wrapped up in a bad dream. But these people have the same story- I wonder if someone with a similar name has had that tragedy fall on them but everyone's confused me for them. I have no father!" I laugh again, forced. How I hate to wish that woe on someone else, but the truth is that it can't possibly be my own. It simply can't.

"Christine?" Raoul interjects. He has that same expression as Mrs. Giry did, eyebrows knitting together, mouth slightly agape in a loss of words.

"Don't tell me you believe it, too?"

"I- I think you need to see something." He offers a hand, which I slowly accept. Perhaps there will be an answer to this madness if I follow him. He walks me through the aisles, through the chairs and tables to the bulletin boards. The first is a library specific one, where you can request books be bought or traded. The second is a community one, where the monthly papers' front page is usually displayed as well as other announcements like events or sales. As I approach, Raoul's hand tight on my own, I see something is wrong already. This paper's date is two months ago already, and this month's is stapled awkwardly to the side, as if the old one is too important to be moved yet.

As I settle in front of this paper, its date perplexing me, I look to Raoul.

"What does this explain?"

"Take a look at the headline, the photo." He says, voice barely a murmur. His eyes are wide and searching. Frowning, I turn to the paper, and let my own eyes settle on the words.

"Beloved Musician and Father Lost: Gustave Daae Dies of Unknown Illness"

I am… taken by surprise to see my last name plastered to the headline, but accompanied by a first name that I could swear I don't know. But my heart leaps at it all the same, aching in protest, as if I really should be sad. I force myself to look at the black and white photos that accompany it. A man stands with a violin and a girl- me!- in the photo on the left. He smiles, and so do I. Who is he? How do I supposedly know him? My head begins to pound angrily, but I sweep my gaze over to the second picture. The man is in a bed, but he's gaunt, eyes dark and skin, even in black and white, so sickly.

Once again I feel everything in me scream that this is wrong, the pulsing of my head trying to force this truth out of my mind. I blink, and tears, displaced by my eyelids, fall down my cheeks.

"I have to go." I say, and walk away, feeling like a ghost. I hear Raoul's feet shuffling behind me, but he doesn't follow.

Blankly, I take my bike and ride away, letting what must be muscle memory lead me down the streets of the town, past parks and under tree boughs and through a quickly strengthening rain, until I arrive at a house that seems strangely familiar.

"What has happened to me?" I say aloud. I tread up the stairs of the front porch, to the large but simple door. It's locked, but when my hand wanders to the top of the frame without my consent, I find a key, and it opens the door. Swallowing hard, I step inside. Half-memories hit me like a wave, and I feel as though my very mind will be crushed, but just as spontaneously as they arrive, they're gone, stolen away.

"I know this house… I know this house." I speak with increasing fervor. "What is happening?" I grit my teeth. I try to turn away, to go back the way I came, but the door slams shut, and through the windows framing it, I see the outside is black. Night? How- it was only midmorning a second ago!

I reel back around, feeling frightened, terribly unsure. I dash up the stairs, searching for, for, for what? For- oh, I know I'm looking for something specific but I can't name it! Frustrated, scared, hurting but for god only knows why, I put my hands in my hair and cry.

"I wish I understood!" I yell, voice cracking. Outside, a thunderclap booms through the house, shaking everything. I fall back, and somehow it seems darker than ever. Gasping from the shock, the fear, I sit up, looking around as though I'm being hunted. I pause when, from out of the shadows, a tall black-cloaked figure walks into view.

"You've been making so many wishes, Christine. If I didn't know any better, I might think you're not happy with the gifts I've been giving you." He speaks, his words seeming crisp and clear in the haze of the darkness. They seem to bring the buzzing noise of reality to a standstill, as if his presence demands quiet and calm. Suddenly I know him; he is the Fairy King, the one from that book I read last night.

"Jareth?" I ask, almost fearing confirmation. He growls at that. I scoot back- I've never heard a sound like that come out of a person.

"No." He looks down at me, and I realize he's wearing a mask, but, oddly enough, it seems to move and emote like a face does. But it's clearly porcelain, the way it shines and reflects, the pure white glinting smoothly.

"Bu- but the book-"

"Was wrong!" He bellows, and I shrink back into the carpeted floor. "You shouldn't be so surprised- after all, you are not named Sarah, and you did not wish away a baby." At this, I start to remember again, only to have the knowledge torn away from me again.

"I- I don't understand. What's happening?" I ask, trying to gain some control of myself. The unnamed Fairy King offers a hand, which I take, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He tips his head to the side, clearly in knowledge of what I am not.

"You drew upon my love for you and made a wish- which I granted to the letter, I might add." His voice purrs, delicate but powerful. I shiver as there is giggling all around us. I whip my head around, but all I'm met with is shuffling and shushing. I turn back to my counterpart.

"Who are you?"

"I have many names, many titles. Which do you prefer, Christine?" I realize, only as he lifts my hand, that he has not let it go, and so I pull away, stepping back.

"I… What is your.. earthly name?" At this he chuckles.

"You may call me Erik." Thunder rolls around the house, distantly. "The King of the Fairie Folk."

"Okay… Erik, what- Can you tell me what I wished for?"

"Only the removal of a nuisance and a source of great pain in your life." He waves his hand in dismissal, but I shake my head.

"No, what exactly did I wish away? Everyone is saying things that I don't remember- even now I'm not quite sure what they were saying but I know it can't be true and yet.." I swallow, suddenly very emotional. I'm not sure what I'm feeling, but it's powerful, almost too powerful. I feel my shoulders start to shake softly.

"Oh, my dear, dear Christine." His eyes focus on mine, their color indescribably warm. "Memories. You wished away memories."
"Of what, of whom?" I beg.

"If I tell you, you shall only feel their sting again! No, I will not tell you!" Erik barks, suddenly harsh. I take another step back, hear another round of giggling. I'm scared.

"But I-"

"Have made your wish and had it granted! Are you so ungrateful of my gift that you would demand a refund?" He sneers.

"No, no, it's not that, I'm grateful for your gift." I press my hands together. "I'm sure you meant only the best, but I think I didn't understand the repercussions of my wish- a fault that is entirely my own, s-sir." I falter at the end.

"Even so, a gift given is a gift gone; why should I undo what I have gone out of my way to accomplish in your name?" He asks. For some reason, while his voice has softened, there is an edge to it, in the way he's standing, the way he's asking. Honestly, I don't know how to answer him. If he really went out of his way to do something that I foolishly, mistakenly asked for, why is that his problem? I sputter for a moment.

"Y-you claim to love me, b-bu-but you are a stranger to me. I- that is, how can you claim that, when I've never known you?" With this, Erik pauses. Redirection is not my strong suite in a conversation, but it's all I can think of to do instead of stalling and fading into silence. He turns, cloak billowing out behind him in an unfelt wind.

"I have watched you, from my kingdom beyond the earthly realm. I have guarded you, you know, since you were very young. You are kind and good, and I love you." He declares this in such a way that it almost seem like a fact- something truly undeniable. The sky is blue, hats are for heads, Erik loves me. And yet..

"If that's true… and I don't doubt it, but, if it's true, you know how much not knowing something upsets me. I.. I made a stupid wish, and it was very good of you to grant it for me, but surely you realize that I have only given myself a new pain in the old one's place. This will torment me, you realize? Please, I… I know it's not your fault I made that wish, but I ask that you help me correct my mistake.." I beg. He seems unconvinced, back turned to me in the darkness.

"What's said is said." He murmurs, almost gently, as if he's consoling me.

"But I didn't mean it."

"Didn't you?" He turns sharply, suddenly very close to me, towering nearly a head higher than me.

"Please." I ask, not moving. I can't give in, not until I learn the truth. He remains, as still as I am, unblinking and unwavering.

"Hmm." His voice is back to purring, and he steps away. "I've brought you a gift, Christine." His fingers dance in a twirl through the air, and there is suddenly a glass orb resting on the tips, the presumably heavy ball held aloft by impossibly thin digits.

"… What is it?" I ask, intrigued. What more can I do?

"Oh, a crystal, nothing more, really, but if you turn it this way," He sets the ball to twist delicately through his fingers, impossibly fluid. ", you can see your dreams. But a precious gift like this is not for a girl who questions me and torments herself with memories she does not need." He hisses, the ball still dancing in his hand. I have to admit, despite the tension of the moment, I am hopelessly entranced with the way he can make it move.

"You like it, don't you? You want it?" I nod, slightly. "Then leave what's forgotten to lie where it shall." The ball stops, resting in the palm of his hand, presented to me. But if I choose it, I forsake my memories, and I know that I can't live with that decision. I shake my head.

"I can't. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I, I just can't. I need to remember." I try to explain, but he grimaces, and with a short clench of his fist around the ball, it turns into a scorpion, which he flings at me harshly. I shriek, stepping back yet again, but it falls off me and skitters away, lost in the shadows.

Stepping close to me again, Erik's voice is low and clear, like his voice is the air itself. "Don't defy me, Christine. As lovely as you are, you're no match for me." I balk at the presumption that I am somehow lesser than him, just because I'm human or a girl or whatever he thinks. I summon a harsh look, doing just what he asked me not to: defying him.

"I need them back." I state. There is no question now. "What can I do to earn them back?" He chuckles, then steps aside, revealing a bedroom, and a window.

"You know what you have to do." Through the window I can see a landscape that's impossibly orange, both dark and gritty but also, somehow, light and airy. I walk toward the window, and I realize this is the setting of the book- this is the labyrinth that guards the city. "In my castle, I have the memories you so eagerly cast away." He places his hands on my shoulders as he comes up behind me. I normally shrink from touch, especially that of strangers, and though he seems determined to be my enemy in this, his hands are, all the same, strangely comforting. But I mustn't grow complacent or allow him to think he can change my mind.

"It doesn't look that far." And it truly doesn't. From here, it seems to be only a couple city blocks in radius. But I want to trick myself that maybe I can do this, for even though the distance doesn't seem that great, it's still more than I've ever even tried to do.

"It's farther than you think." Erik whispers in my ear, his masked face almost buried in my dark hair. He steps away from me, and when I turn to face him, I see that the house that was around usbis now a desert landscape, the wind fierce as it blows through the desolate, dusty plains. "Time is short." He points to a clock, manifested and hung in the very air. "You have thirteen hours to solve the labyrinth and rescue your memories until they become mine, forever. Such a pity." He purrs again, but it's in mocking, not in comfort. His smile is a smirk, his eyes are weighed down on me, challenging me, daring me to give up.

I meet his gaze and raise my head high, trying to make myself the picture of pride and confidence. I am unwilling to give in before I've even had a chance to try. Erik only chuckles, arrogantly, and steps back into nothingness. I look around, certain I'm alone, that he really has left and that I really am about to embark on a literal quest. Suddenly I am nervous, maybe even afraid.

Turning to the labyrinth, I try to summon the courage I had only a moment ago and prepare myself for the adventure at hand. I take in a big breath, softly clenching my fists and flexing my shoulders.

"It doesn't look that hard. Come on, feet." I announce to myself, and take the first step.