Two days earlier.
Christine landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport after a long and uneventful flight. Her excitement at finally arriving in France was growing with every step that brought her closer to Erik. She knew it was pure fantasy, but she already felt closer to him, and was anxious for the day to be over, and for the following evening to arrive. She would be attending the opera tomorrow night, and putting her plan into effect to contact him, if he was as she hoped, somewhere in the opera house. Vive la France! By the way...does anyone know a former assassin named Erik Reauchard?
Collecting her luggage she looked for a taxi to take her to the Best Western near the Avenue de l'Opera. She was nervous about making her way around Paris on her own, but many of the French were fluent in English, and she still retained some of her high school French to squeak by. She was deposited at her hotel in the rue d'Antin, which at first glance looked quiet. She was right in the heart of Paris, and if not for her anxiety over Erik, Christine would have been charmed by her surroundings.
She unpacked her dress for the following evening and shook it out, placing it on a hanger. After a quick shower and change of clothes, she went to the lobby to ask directions to the opera house. Following the concierge's directions to 1, Place de l'Opera, she approached the building, amazed at the sheer size of the edifice. Christine could well understand why it had once been known as the world's largest opera house. She couldn't imagine anything grander, even now.
At the moment, she only wanted to enter the building and look for him. She was close to her objective, but she schooled herself to be patient a little longer and turned away. She ate her evening meal at the Cafe de la Paix, a bowl of their famous onion soup, all the while gazing at the view of the opera house from the restaurant's terrace. She walked back to the hotel in the soft twilight, strolling through drifts of fallen leaves, surrounded by the sights and sounds of an evening in Paris. This would be perfect if I had someone to stroll with. Someone to hold me tight.
She closed her eyes, feeling long thin arms around her, a masked face leaning down closer, and then closer. She raised her face to Erik's, waiting impatiently to feel his lips on hers. It's been so long, and we were just getting started, weren't we?
"Hey! Miss. You okay?"
She opened her eyes with a start to find a heavy-set woman with tightly permed hair, staring at her with concern. "You okay, hon? You looked a little funny there for a minute."
Embarrassed and amused at the same time, she smiled and nodded. Leave it to her to be in the most romantic city in the world, and run into another American. The woman stood beside her equally stout male companion and observed her with worried eyes.
"Thanks, but I'm fine. Just got in today and I guess I'm getting a little tired." With a last smile at the couple, she started walking again. Well, that was interesting. Standing on a street corner in Paris, turned on by a man who only exists at the moment in my horny little mind. Hopefully by tomorrow night that will have changed. I'll be horny for real. So get a grip.
The next day went agonizingly slow for her. Sightseeing in this fascinating city would have been a pleasure for her, but she was too keyed up to gain any enjoyment from it. She promised herself that someday she would do just that, and Erik would be showing her the sights. She hoped and prayed that would be the case.
Finally it was time to get ready for the opera. She showered and put on her best dress-a black, a-line silk with pretty soutache applique on the skirt, and a cropped bolero jacket to complete it. She took her time readying herself. She wanted to look her best for him. She called for a cab and arrived at le Palais Garnier, entering the building with a heady mixture of awe and hope. The Garnier was truly magnificent, the lights giving it a golden glow, the statuary on the roof back-lit and imposing even from a distance.
Christine followed the other patrons to the Grand Staircase, admiring the various colors of the marble and the baroque opulence everywhere she turned. She made her way up the steps and was shown to her seat in the auditorium. It was beautiful by anyone's standards, the reds and golds of the horseshoe shaped theatre lit by the immense crystal chandelier, calling to her love of flamboyant grandeur.
She settled in, waiting for the first sounds of the Orchestre de Paris to begin tuning their instruments. The opera that evening was Capriccio. Christine was familiar with it, but not intimately. It didn't really matter what was performed onstage. She was here for an entirely different reason, and only needed it to get her through the next few hours to discover if her dearest hope would come true. Surrounded by the vibrant color of the theatre, she watched the first act begin.
By 10:30, the opera had concluded and people were making their way to the entrance. She had explored some of the house during intermission, and located the ladies room where she would be hiding after the Garnier closed for the night. As everyone else made their way from the building, she went deeper into it, and hid herself in the restroom. She merely had to wait until the building was entirely deserted, then she could leave her sanctuary.
She learned that a veritable army of scrubbers, polishers and sweepers, would arrive at 5 a.m. It seemed that no one wanted to work the night shift, preferring to start in the early morning hours, and do their job through the more populated daylight. The opera ghost controlled even the cleaning crew, it seemed. Maybe if she could get her hands on a vacuum cleaner, that would get Erik's attention. The time dragged, but soon she heard footsteps approaching the restroom.
The door opened, and after a moment of inspection, the lights were shut off, leaving the room lit only by the security lights. She was standing on the toilet, the partially closed door of the stall blocking her from view as she crouched low on the seat. She slipped a small flashlight out of her handbag and clutched it in one trembling hand. She was nervous about what she was doing. If she was caught trespassing, it would mean quite a bit of trouble for her, and the gendarmes would no doubt be called, but she was committed to finding Erik and that was what she intended to do. I can't believe I'm doing this on the word of a man who kidnapped me, and nearly turned me over to a sadistic piece of crap.
Christine waited until well after midnight, then cautiously stepped out of the ladies room. There were security lights at intervals that allowed her to see fairly well in the corridor as she made her way back to the auditorium. She slowly and quietly approached the proscenium stage with the magnificent painted canvas house curtain. The theatre was eerie. She could well believe in a phantom's presence in these surroundings. I do believe in ghosts! I do, I do, I do believe in ghosts...
She tittered nervously, and a sense of fantasy washed over her. She still couldn't believe she was here and doing this. Her knees shook as she mounted the steps to the stage and stood near the ghost light. It was an immense space, and she felt very small and insignificant standing there. She did a few warm-ups, all the while scanning the deep pools of murkiness. Taking a breath, she began the Jewel Song from Faust. She sang her very best, not really seeing the red plush seats of the darkened auditorium, but the parlor at home and Erik seated at the grand, talented hands moving across the black and white keys with confidence and a vast skill.
Christine reached the last note, registering in the back of her mind, the astounding acoustics of the old theatre. At first she was self-conscious, completely mindful of the absurdity of her situation, and her trespass. Expecting any moment to be found out, and hauled off to jail. And what if Erik wasn't here? What then? How would she get out of the mammoth building on her own? Her apprehension was forgotten though, as she began to sing her aria on that majestic stage, but as the last note swept up and out into the far reaches of the auditorium, her hope began to wither. She stood there, arms at her sides, not quite sure what her next move was to be. She gazed around, and listened closely for any sound proving she was no longer alone. Glancing to stage right, she was disappointed to see and hear nothing, but it was as she stared long and hard stage left that she saw movement, the shadows swirling and writhing in the gloom.
Only this darkness carried within it, two points of glowing light well above the floor. Not quite believing in what she was seeing, she watched as the shade moved toward her, the form coalescing into the shape of a man- her man. Erik.
Time had led them both on a not-so-merry dance over the last few months. For the most part its tempo had been agonizingly slow. To a sick Erik, it still was. She wasn't really there, his confused brain told him. It was only a dream, but a beautiful one, and he would take advantage of it while it lasted. He would awaken soon, grasping at empty air. It would not be the first time his reality turned out to be false. The sweet pressure of her mouth on his would fall away, leaving him missing her with a fierce ache.
He could smell her. This dream was different. Yes. Dazzling. He laughed and felt a wave of dizziness sweep over him, making him sway. He shook his head, eyes burning and riveted on the small figure in front of him. It took hours to get across that stage. In reality it was mere moments. A tiny bud of hope started to spread through him that this was no fever dream; his steadily throbbing leg told him that he was indeed awake. That this was the one he longed for- it was her beautiful voice he heard. Now, to touch her and see.
Christine watched his approach for a few seconds, wondering briefly why she didn't turn and run like hell the other way. He killed people...had lied to her, but these thoughts had no power to stop her forward movement as she walked quickly toward him, then broke into a run. She closed the distance quickly and flung herself into his arms. They closed around her tightly, his head dropping weakly onto her shoulder as he felt the tears on his dead face. His shoulders shook with emotion, and he clutched her even closer, but because of his weakened state and the hasty climb through the opera house, his legs would no longer hold him upright. She felt him starting to fall, and startled, she still managed to keep her arms around his waist, as together, they sank awkwardly to the floor.
He was able to turn at the last minute and cushion her against the hard stage, but he couldn't stop a groan of pain when his bad leg was jostled. He held her close, breathing in her scent, still in a state of disbelief that she was here. She pressed her face into his neck, shock that her plan had actually worked, taking a back seat to her happiness at being with him again.
He murmured her name over and over, still caught in the illusionary quality of having her in his arms once more. He continued to cry, hating his weakness, but helpless to stop. He cupped her face and kissed her, desperate to hold on to her solidness. This is so real...if it isn't, I hope I never wake up.
"I can't believe it." Christine kissed him again, several times in fact, until impatient, he cupped the back of her head, and pressed his mouth tight against hers, the taste of her sweet on his lips. He moaned and wrenched his mouth away as a chill shook him. Nearly blinded by tears, she put her hands on each side of his head. "You're really here! I was so afraid you wouldn't be..." She looked into eyes which were bright with fever, and finally noticed his labored breathing.
Her joy had been such, that it had taken her a few moments to realize that something was wrong. He was shaking, not from excitement as she had first thought, but from illness. "Erik, my God."
What she saw filled her with alarm. He was if possible, thinner and his arms trembled as he held her. You never even wondered why he collapsed to the floor? Your deduction skills suck.
"Erik?"
She put her hand on his neck, feeling the unnatural heat of skin which had always felt cool. "You're feverish. How long..." his mouth covered hers again, rendering her speechless, before moving on to the rest of her face,"h-how long have you been like this?"
He shook his head, and his hands skimmed up and down her arms. "You knew to come here. Who..." His mouth, as though working separate from his brain, continued to plant tiny kisses reverently on her cheeks and forehead.
She hesitated for a moment, then said softly, "Nadir."
He stiffened momentarily at the mention of his old friend, then relaxed back into her arms, trying to control the shaking of his limbs. "Then we owe each other nothing. His son is safe and he has returned you to me."
She stroked his jaw and looked into his tired eyes. "You need to see a doctor. Why haven't you?"
He shook his head and pulled her close again, touching his forehead to hers and sighing. "You are the only medicine I need."
She continued to hold him, and he closed his eyes in bliss, then hurriedly snapped them open, irrationally fearful that he was simply dreaming and he would wake up alone.
"You won't leave again, will you, Christine? Not again..."
You left me! "No. I won't leave again. I promise." She tugged him closer, frightened by the feel of his emaciated frame, wondering how she could feel happy and scared at the same time. Oh, babe, what have you done to yourself?
He moved to stand and bring her with him, but his movements were slow and clumsy. Together though, holding on to one another, they finally made it upright.
"Um, where can we go to get you off your feet?" she said, her arms around him.
"My home is below the Garnier. That is where we will be going."
"Below?"
Erik nodded and turned, leading her back the way he came. He took her backstage, and from there to a series of bewildering corridors, until they came to a door at the end of the hallway. He let them into the room, flicking on the light switch beside the door, and took her hand, limping heavily to a large ornate mirror.
The room was dusty and had a deserted feel to it. At one time it might have been a dressing room; some of the fixtures were nice, but its present use was little more than storage now, for there were props from the different operas littering the space. A shame, thought Christine. The mirror alone, was a thing of beauty. Erik stopped for a moment and leaned tiredly against the wall. Christine took him by the elbow and led him to a chair she spotted.
"Rest a minute," she said gently, squeezing his bony shoulder.
She had noticed him limping and remarked on it.
"It was healing, then it started to bother me again- i-it became swollen and painful." He sat down, thankful to be off of it.
"Then why didn't you see a doctor?"
He merely shrugged. "I-I had every intention of doing so, but I..." He didn't finish, but kissed her hand then leaned his masked cheek against it. "You are truly here? This is not a dream- is it?" he asked her hesitantly, his attitude conveying very clearly to her his state of mind.
On the verge of tears again, she knelt down on the dirty floor and looked into his worried eyes. "No, dear heart. It's not a dream."
His sigh was heartfelt as he leaned forward, taking her face in his hands and covering her mouth briefly with his. He said quietly, "I am glad for that. I could not bear it if you were."
He got to his feet again, concentrating on walking over to the mirror, and pressed the side of it. To her surprise, the tarnished glass slid open soundlessly and Erik beckoned her forward.
"We have some walking to do, ma belle. Are you up for that?" Another chill shook his narrow frame.
Christine, still eyeing the blackness looming beyond the antique mirror, nodded, and moving over beside him, tucked her arm through his. Together they stepped into the darkness.