Adellade eyed the men and women attending the gala. Naturally, they were all chatting away about Christine's performance. She had done such a wonderful job. There wasn't a single person who didn't applaud after every aria, nor was there a bad remark to be made. A few of them murmured their praise for Adellade's dancing, which she took with grace and continued on. She wasn't one for praise-she never had been…. It always did come with some type of punishment or mocking remark….
"You were absolutely wonderful!" she cheered, finding Christine in the crowd. "You're all anyone can talk about!"
"I think they should talk about you more."
"Let them talk about the great Christine Daae!" She raised her glass in salute. "To the best sopranist in all of Paris! The crown jewel of the Opera Populaire!"
"You're too much!" she giggled.
"It's not every day I can say that my friend is a leading sopranist." She nudged Christine as the managers led two men toward them. "A sopranist catching the eye of a few potential suitors, it would seem."
"Here we are, gentlemen!" Andre announced. "Mademoiselle Christine Daae. These two men happen to be Count Philippe de Chagny and his younger brother Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny."
"A pleasure, mademoiselle." Philippe nodded and kissed the back of Christine's hand. "And whom might you be?" he asked, eyeing Adellade.
"Our principal ballet girl: Mademoiselle Adellade Matthews," Firmin introduced.
"A friend of yours?" Raoul asked.
"A very good friend." Christine smiled at her.
"Well, a friend of Christine's is a friend of mine."
"You know each other?"
"Father once played in a village where Raoul and his family were staying," Christine explained. "Oh, you should've seen it! My scarf blew into the sea and he ran to fetch it, coming back completely soaking wet!"
"A childish thing to do in my opinion," Philippe pointed out.
"I think it was sweet." Adellade smiled.
"It was childish and foolish!" he argued. "Hardly a thing worthy of the son of a wealthy family."
She sighed. "I think I ought to leave you for now. Everyone here does want to talk with Christine Daae, after all. What's the difference in talking with her after a rehearsal rather than here? And Erik will be wondering where I am. Good night, monsieurs." She gave a curtsy and turned to leave them alone.
She walked away, searching for Meg and Madame Giry in the crowd. She ought to at least say something to them. Erik wasn't expecting her for a bit, but she had to say anything to leave them. Especially the Count! He was horrible company….
"You insolent little girl!" a woman screeched as they collided, interrupting her thoughts. "Look what you've done! SPilling your drink all over my dress!"
"I am so sorry, madame!" she apologized, kneeling to pick up the now empty glass. "It was an accident!"
"Do you have any idea who I am?"
She glanced up, seeing the woman fully for the first time. Her eyes widened as her muscles tensed, recognizing the features. It only took a second for her to recover her composure and swallow the fear (a skill she had perfected on her many meetings with the Shah). She gave a tiny shake of the head.
"I am Madeline Destler! I might not be as wealthy as some of the others here, but I certainly have more than enough to know that you should be grateful that I am not demanding your removal right this moment!"
"O-of course, madame." She stammered. "If you'll excuse me."
Adellade sighed, quickly walking away, head spinning. Madeline Destler was here! Here! At this very opera house! She set the glass aside and slipped out of the room, hurrying to one of the tunnels. She had to escape. Anywhere but there.
She leaned against the wall surrounding the lake, taking a few breaths to calm herself, the cool surface of the stone feeling nice on her skin. She was glad that Erik wasn't there-the look of concern on his face if he saw her in such a state! She straightened, composing herself, before she stepped onto the narrow ledge of rock that led to the lair.
It was a small ledge with barely enough room for her foot to fit on-yet she had found it helpful when Erik was too busy to notice that she had returned. It was well hidden, so she had only found it on accident, but it served its purpose.
Safely on the other side, she found the wall, running her hands along the surface, attempting to find the small crack which hid the switch to open the door. She found it and jumped back to avoid falling as it opened before her. She walked inside to find Erik standing there with his hat and cloak in hand, a look of surprise on his face.
"I did not expect you to return so soon," he muttered.
"Well, here I am!" she announced, going to change out of the dress.
"Did something happen?" Erik called through the door.
"No," she lied. "I simply was tired of the whole thing. Too many people…. And all they wanted to talk about was Christine…." She sighed as she slipped into a nightgown. "Though I did hear so many theories about who her tutor could be! A wealthy unknown suitor…. Some man looking to train a young woman and rise her up into fame so that he himself can gain more pupils…."
"And does the mademoiselle have her theory?"
"I do, actually." She sighed and went to open the door, eyeing him. "But first: you need to help me get these pins out of my head."
"Hair," he corrected.
"Really? They feel like they are stabbing my head." She sat on the mattress as Erik's fingers worked to pull the pins out. "I think that Christine found herself a tutor somehow. Obviously he was impressed and taught her to sing, nonetheless!"
"And who might this man be? Do entertain a man's curiosity."
"He must be musically talented. And has intimate knowledge of the performers-how else would he know to have Christine ready for the new managers or that Carlotta would be certain to make a scene upon their arrival? He's a quiet man-he wasn't at the gala, and Christine hardly dared to mention him. He likes his privacy."
"Some men do. So, who might be able to live up to your presumptions of this mysterious tutor?"
"The opera ghost, of course!" She giggled and turned to face him. "Who else would know as much about the opera house as he would?"
"Ah, but he might not be musically gifted!"
"I think he is. Why else would he choose to haunt an opera house?"
"Perhaps there is an angel he cannot help but love."
"Ah, so he tutors Christine because he loves her?"
"I was talking about a ballet girl," he corrected. "Not the sopranist."
"Then he should tutor her instead!"
"A ballet girl who wishes to learn to sing? My dear mademoiselle: I do recall you refusing to have anything to do with singing or anything regarding music!"
"I was seven years old! And she made me hate the violin!"
"And did she make you hate singing all the way in Persia? In Mazenderan?"
"I-I tried singing once-that-that didn't end well."
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him. She leaned her head on his chest.
"Erik did not mean to call up those memories. Memories which frighten his Adellade. Erik is sorry for frightening his Adellade."
"You were always there," she murmured. "Always."
"No one will hurt you again. I promise. Never again."
She was laughing, seeing the happy guests as they danced around to the music. They applauded as a man walked up onto the stage, taking a bow.
"As always: a fine piece by none other than our very own Monsieur Erik Destler!" Firmin announced. "Thankfully he remains as our composer-since none of the others seem to wish to work with him."
Erik smiled and walked over to join the crowd, seeing her.
"All of this for you," she pointed out. "And everyone does love your music."
"If it pleases you, then I am as happy as can be." He bowed and kissed her hand.
"It always pleases me to hear your music. You know that."
"I still enjoy hearing the words from your lips." He led her into a dance. "Though you remain my preferred company to anyone else."
"Erik…." She reached up to touch his face.
"You mustn't," he warned, casting a look over her shoulder.
She paused, seeing a figure watching them from the shadows. "Who-?" She turned, seeing that he had vanished. "Erik? Erik?"
She made her way through the guests, searching for him. She found a door. She climbed the stairs, finding another door. She pulled at the handle, trying to get it to open. She threw her shoulder into it and tumbled out onto the floor, seeing him there before her, chains binding him to the room like a prisoner.
"Erik? What-what happened? What are these?"
"Leave me."
"What? Why would I leave you?"
"Go! Now! Before she finds you here!"
"No. Here. There must be a key someplace…."
"Adellade, please. Go. Just go and leave me here. Pretend you never saw me! Go! Now!"
"Erik…."
"Little girls shouldn't be friends with monsters!" a woman's voice screeched around them.
"Go! Leave!" he begged. "Adellade! Hurry!"
"No! Not without you!"
"Adellade!"
She reached to grab at the chains, finding the metal hot beneath her hands. She yelled and recoiled, staring at the metal, trying to see how he wasn't in pain…. She could see the burn marks on his skin…. The parts where flesh was burned away to mere scars….
"Go. It's no use. You can't free me. Not from her."
"No! I won't leave you!" She reached to undo the chains again.
A hand grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her away.
"No! Let go of me!"
"Little girls shouldn't be friends with monsters! What could you ever know of this thing?"
Another hand grabbed her, dragging her away, pulling her away from him.
"No! Let go of me! Don't you hear me? Let go! Let go!"
"I will once you listen to me and wake up!"
Her eyes opened, seeing Erik kneeling over her, both of his hands tightly gripping her wrists. She looked around at the room, seeing the fireplace, the organ, the couch, the chair…. She came to see his eyes, glaring at her, making her the tiniest bit afraid despite the voice in the back of her mind reminding her that he would never hurt her.
He relaxed a bit, the eyes softening as he sighed, standing to fetch something before returning to her. He tossed the water onto the fireplace, dousing the fire. He then went to fetch something else, returning with a lit candle which he placed on a table far out of her reach.
"Erik?" she asked.
"To prevent any infection," he muttered. "It's not too terrible, but it will still hurt."
"What will-?" She gasped, her hand twitching in his grasp as he poured an ointment onto her palm. "What was that for?" she demanded, twisting herself free of him, getting to her feet.
"I told you: to prevent an infection."
"Infection? From what?"
He stood and held his hand out toward her. "Your hand. Now, Adellade." He rolled his eyes and grabbed her wrist, turning her arm so that her palm was facing her.
She peered at it, seeing the burn markings that were beginning to form…. Erik sighed and retrieved a bandage, wrapping her hand in silence.
"How...did…?"
"Erik is sorry he frightened his Adellade," he murmured in response, slowly moving to gently kiss her head before cleaning up the supplies.
It wasn't the chains I burned myself on, she thought to herself, staring at her hand. It was the fire….
He had attempted to explain it to her once long ago when she still had nightmares about Mazenderan-when she was still afraid of waking up to find that their escape from Persia was only a dream. She had asked him about why he insisted on locking all the doors and windows.
"What do you have nightmares about?" he asked.
"I-I dream that-that the Shah is doing something horrible...to you…. That we are back in Mazenderan."
"Does that frighten you?"
She nodded.
"What else happens?"
"The Shah-he-he tries to hurt me. He-he takes a knife and-" She bit her lip.
He held up a piece of a broken bottle, turning it so that she could see the sharp ends of the broken glass. "This is what becomes your knife. This is why you wake with scratches on your arms-with new scars-with blood on your nightgown." Erik sighed. "It is called 'sleepwalking'. I hardly understand it myself from reading the texts I have found on the subject. However: it would seem that your fear is enough to induce sleepwalking...and causes you to act out your nightmares…."
"I did that to myself?"
"You needn't feel ashamed. You had no knowledge of the event." He wrapped his arms around her. "It was only the fear, Adellade. That's all. You were scared and wanted to run away. But it's alright now: you're safe. No one's going to hurt you-not ever again."
"Does it hurt?" Erik asked, walking over toward her.
"Not too much."
He reached out and gently touched the side of her face, wiping away a tear. "Then why are you crying? You don't need to be afraid of the nightmare. Persia is far behind us, and…."
His voice trailed off as she hugged him, burying her face into his shirt as her shoulders shook, the sobs and tears escaping her. She held onto him, afraid to let him go-afraid that they were going to take him away and chain him up-just like in her nightmare.
"It's alright," he soothed. "Erik is here. It's alright."