The next day, Christine was rather glum. The Phantom yawned and looked around as he stretched his arms in a definitely normal and not at all avoiding anything way.
"Where's César?" he asked.
"Gone. And he doesn't want to come back."
"At all?!"
"Well, he said that if you calm down a bit, he'll consider it."
"Oh. Well, if you need me to go, I can-"
"He invited me to his new home. I was too afraid of the dinosaurs to accept."
"I don't blame you."
"So there goes my only friend here."
She looked up at him with sorrow.
"Was it something about me?"
"No! No, of course not. It's me. He probably told you that things haven't been great between us. Just a theory, of course. I didn't hear any noteworthy discussions between you two. Anyway, you and he seemed to get along splendidly, so I doubt he's gone for good."
She smiled halfheartedly.
"Do you really think he'll visit?"
"I'll make him."
He could tell by her reaction that this was not what she wanted to hear. He gulped.
"Sorry, let me rephrase that. If you want to spend time with him, I'll leave the apartment as needed."
She curled her fingers around the back of the couch.
"I . . . I don't think that's responsible. I shimmered last night, and he was too inebriated to help me."
"Oh. Well, I suppose I wasn't much help, since I fell asleep and all . . ."
"I thought you were just ignoring me."
He shook his head quickly.
"Never! Christine, this is a matter of life and death. I've done a lot of bad things, but I'd never let you die."
She sighed.
"That, I know . . ."
He stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say, then decided to redirect the conversation.
"So . . . are the cookies helping?"
"A little. But it's hard to relax when I'm dreading the possibility of your grandmother being unreachable."
"Don't you worry about that. I'll move heaven and earth to contact her, if I have to. In the meantime, do you need anything else to relax you? A lava lamp? A fidget spinner?"
"You're making those words up."
"I am not. I'll get you one of each. What's your favourite color?"
"Red. I've told you this."
"Oh. Sorry."
She tightened her lips.
"It's funny, as much as you obsessed over me, you really don't seem to remember much about my interests."
"I tried to forget a lot of what happened . . . but I was also not a very good listener."
She shrugged.
"At first, you were."
"Oh?!"
"Yes, that's what I liked about you. No one would listen to me before."
He pointed.
"They should have. Your voice is unmatched."
Seeing that she was clenching her teeth, he wondered why she'd taken the compliment so badly. After a beat, he shrunk.
"Oh. You meant 'listen' as in 'listen to what you had to say'."
"Obviously. That's what we were talking about."
He felt his face get hot.
". . . Sorry."
She sighed.
"You know, you weren't always like this."
"I wasn't?"
"No. Don't you remember how we used to talk for hours on end?"
"Kind of. Yeah."
"That was my favourite part of our nights together. I enjoyed singing, but the talking afterward was what made me stay."
"Probably wasn't a good idea to talk so much right after rehearsing. You could have hurt yourself."
She faltered a bit, looking genuinely wounded. The Phantom swallowed.
"I did it again, didn't I? I'm sorry."
She didn't reply, and got very quiet after that. The Phantom felt sweat beading on his forehead. What was he supposed to say next?
Listen and learn . . .
Well, he'd listened to her, so what was he supposed to learn from this? She'd said that she enjoyed talking to him . . . So that's what he was supposed to do! Oh, it was so obvious now! How had he missed it? Now all he needed to do was say something that interested her and-
"Lions will kill the cubs of their rivals to force the females to go back into heat."
Oh, no.
OH, NO.
Christine frowned.
"What? That's so cruel!"
"I mean, it's just nature," he stuttered.
She sighed.
"First the bugs, now this. It's hard to trust anything that isn't human."
She swallowed dryly.
"But I'm not so sure about that either . . ."
After a beat, her face brightened.
"Do you think that if we took the baby lions away, they'd be alright?"
"I mean, they'd still need parents at that age."
"I didn't have parents for my early years, and I turned out fine. More or less."
"Okay . . . would you like me to fill this apartment with lions?"
"Only the unwanted ones. Can you do that, with your magic?"
"I'm not sure I have enough. It's a limited supply."
"Why's that? Aren't you-"
"Long story. Anyway, if lions interest you, I have a lion-friend who can-"
"Friend, or person who dislikes you in close proximity?"
"The latter. That's where all of my friends sit, to be honest."
"Hm."
"But anyway, he knows a lot about lions. I assume."
Another long silence.
Quick! Say something else about lions. She responds positively to lions!
"Lions walk on four legs."
Are you even trying?!
Christine settled into the couch.
"I think I'm going to take a nap."
"Oh. Okay."
Diminishing returns on lions. Don't mention them again.
The Phantom started pouring cereal as Christine yawned, pulling the blanket tight over her ear. He smiled at the little squeeze she gave it, then realized that he ought not to be watching her so closely, nor fixating on the little things she did that pleased him so. She did not want him to be in love with her, so he wouldn't be. He hoped that it was possible to repress it.
Wait . . . Maybe it was better to handle it some other way. He could, for instance, feel his feelings and just not act on them. That seemed responsible. Still, he couldn't help but feel awful for wanting her at all.
She'd said that they were once friends . . . Was that still on the table? He should very much like to be her friend. Even if nothing romantic happened between them- AND IT WOULDN'T, he had to remind himself- he would be happy for all time, if only they could be friends. He just needed to find a way to work up to that.
Which wouldn't be hard, since he was so very normal and good at socializing.
. . .
By noon, Christine was Rachel-Christine, though the Phantom was not sure which Rachel, for there were two Rachel's near each other on the list he found online. Aside from her telling him who she was at any given time, he didn't have much to go off of. He was hopeless with faces, though there were a few notable exceptions. He knew Sierra, of course, because everyone loved Sierra, and Sarah Brightman was an obvious one . . . and Marni . . .
He swallowed.
"Christine, can I map out your shimmers?"
"They're random."
"Maybe I can find a pattern."
"There is none."
"Well, maybe it's affected by what you eat, how much you sleep-"
"And lunar cycles and menstrual cycles and magnets and all that nonsense? Do you really think I'd have gone this long without figuring it out? Meg and I collected data for decades, and there's NO PATTERN."
"But-"
"The Shimmers are affected by many things. They are impossible to predict with any accuracy. No more of this."
He clenched his fists, fuming. He opened his mouth to say that he was only trying to help, that this was for her own good-
Listen and learn . . .
Wait, she'd said that she'd already figured this out. Who was he to argue? She knew her own experiences firsthand . . . Which meant that it was best to take a step back this time.
He gulped.
"I'm sorry. I have a bad habit of assuming that I'm the smartest person in the room at any given time."
"Provably untrue, by the way, since you're so bad at interpersonal relationships."
OUCH.
". . . Yes, I suppose living alone has had that effect on me . . ."
"You lived alone for, what, thirty years in our old world?"
"No."
"Forty?"
". . . Okay, why did your estimate go up?"
"You just have one of those faces, I'm sorry. Anyway, in your thirty years-"
"Twenty-ish."
"In your twenty-ish years, you were alone, but it's been hundreds of years since then, and unlike me, you've had the freedom to roam. Even I made friends, isolated as I was. Why didn't you?"
He sighed.
"I tried. But every relationship, I destroyed over time. And I never really felt close to anyone, with a few exceptions. I . . . I did have one good friend, who disappeared, then came back . . . We don't talk anymore. I suppose the closest thing I had to a friend was my grandmother."
"Your grandmother."
"Mhm."
"Your grandmother, the dragon, who tormented you for years on end with mind-games and the like."
"Who doesn't love games? . . ."
She sighed.
"I wonder what would have happened if you'd never met her."
"She said that I'd have been arrested, eventually."
"Was that a premonition, or was she just speculating?"
"Unclear. But for all the bad that happened, there was a lot of good too. That's what made it worth staying."
Her face softened.
"I understand the temptation to see the good in everybody. But you can't ignore the bad. Once this whole ordeal is behind us, I don't think you should ever speak to her again."
"Why not?"
"Because she hurt you!"
"She helped me, too."
"But why does that justify-"
"You're here, aren't you? Why didn't you just stay where you were instead of coming to me?"
"I needed a favor! Just like you do from your grandmother!"
"It's the same favor! And besides, if by some stroke of good fortune she decides to take me back, I'm going."
"Good god, why!"
"Because I don't have anyone else to turn to! People don't like me like they like you!"
She blinked, trying to parse the sentence. He realized that she was probably in no state to be thinking about these things.
"I . . . Listen, you know what I am. I'm never going to have a normal life."
"Well, some of us never have the 'normal' lives we were promised, but we can still live happy ones. Certain doors close, yes, but that's the good thing about doors. There are literally hundreds of them."
She sat with her hands splayed majestically, then batted her eyes.
"You know, it might just be the cookies talking."
She seemed to forget what she was talking about and lay down, falling asleep within minutes. The Phantom saw her shimmer in her sleep, then rushed over to help. She fidgeted a bit, but was otherwise calm.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked over to the fridge. It was borderline empty again. But that was okay. If Christine wanted food, he'd get her food. He just had to keep putting food in her until she was happy.
Like a rat.
The Phantom wasn't fond of rats. He'd tried to make friends with one once by feeding it when it showed up in his lair. He hadn't had much food to spare, but he figured it was the right thing to do. But then he ran out of food, and awoke to find the rat gnawing on his foot.
He knew that this situation was different, of course, because he had the resources to feed Christine, and she didn't seem like the foot-gnawing type . . . except Adrienne-Christine, who very much had one of those foot-gnawing faces.
In his opinion, at least.
But anyway, she was a human, so his feet were safe . . . probably . . .
. . .
Three days.
The Phantom lasted three days with his newly-adopted listening and learning protocol.
On the third morning, when he went to grab his Pop-Tarts and found that they were gone, he started to break.
"Christine . . ."
"Yes."
"Where are the Pop-Tarts."
"In my stomach."
He turned to face her slowly.
"I specifically stated that I wanted the Wildlicious ones untouched."
"You mean purple and blue?"
"OF C- . . . Of course purple and blue. It says Wildlicious on the box."
"I'm not interested in reading boxes. Not my vibe."
He tightened his lips.
"Having internet access has had quite the effect on your vernacular."
She gave an absent stare, then settled back into the couch. He frowned.
"Christine, are you ever sober anymore?"
"I dunno, are you ever not judgmental?"
He tightened his fists behind the counter.
"Listen, there are a great many things that I'll allow, but eating my Wildlicious Pop-Tarts, the Pop-Tarts which I specifically set aside for myself, is a step too far. Now, if you had asked, I would have bought more Wildlicious Pop-Tarts, but-"
"Don't bother. They're the worst ones."
He felt himself shaking.
"They are NOT the worst ones. They are the best ones, in fact, which is why I saved them for myself."
"So I'm not good enough for your Pop-Tarts?"
He spoke through clenched teeth.
"You're getting on my nerves."
"Oh, fine! Be difficult. I'm taking a nap."
Listen and learn . . .
But she ate my Pop-Tarts.
Listen and learn . . .
My Pop-Tarts.
LISTEN AND LEARN-
SHE ATE MY POP-TARTS! SCREW LISTENING AND LEARNING! I'M GOING TO IGNORE HER AND DO MY OWN THING!
He marched over to her and pointed.
"YOU . . . You owe me a box of Pop-Tarts."
"Get them yourself."
"Oh, right, I forgot that you never get off the couch."
She sat up, glaring at him.
"Well, maybe if you lived in a suitable space, I'd have more room to wander!"
"This is a temporary living situation!"
"How temporary?"
"It's just until my grandmother comes back!"
"So you're here forever, then."
After a pause, he screamed.
"LISTEN HERE, YOU CHIPMUNK-CHEEKED, BUG-EYED COUCH POTATO-"
"COUCH POTATO?!"
"YES, COUCH POTATO! ALL YOU DO IS EAT, SLEEP, AND SHIMMER! IT'S NO WONDER RAOUL GOT SICK OF YOU!"
He'd wanted that last part to hurt, but he realized that it was too cruel the moment it was uttered. All of it was, actually. It was true that she ate and slept all day, but why was that even an issue? She wasn't bothering him. And the Pop-Tarts . . . Well, the principle of the thing mattered, but he could have talked to her about it reasonably. He hadn't even tried to explain how it made him feel- he'd actually avoided it because he didn't like showing vulnerability. Shit, why didn't he just listen and learn? . . .
He rubbed his forehead.
"Fuck, I'm sorry . . ."
"Don't cuss," she replied weakly.
He felt his gut wrench.
"I . . . I messed up."
She didn't look at him.
"It's fine."
He swallowed.
"It is? . . ."
"Yes. It's fine. I'd like to drop it now."
She rolled over and covered herself in a blanket.
"Are you sure? . . ."
He spoke so softly that he wasn't certain if she'd heard him or not. Either way, he decided to give her some space. He lumbered to his room and shut the door, writing a fifth set of follow-up letters.
He didn't know what else to do.
. . .
He fell asleep at his desk that night, and had a horrible nightmare. Christine was chasing after him in the form of a beast with the body of a rat and every one of her faces atop it. He kept throwing cookies at her to slow her down, but it wasn't working anymore.
"I AM GOING TO GNAW AT YOUR FEET! NUM NUM NUM!"
He stumbled, and she rose above him. In one last attempt to save himself, he took off his mask. She shrieked, bursting into flames.
"Christine!"
He ran over to her and tried to stop the burning, but she was already being drenched by tears, which fell from every one of her faces. He tried to comfort her as she sobbed. He looked around for help, but when he turned back, he was holding a single potato.
"NOOOOOOOOO-"
. . .
He woke in a cold sweat. He could still hear Christine's sobs echoing in his mind . . . Wait, no. That was real.
He rushed to the door and peeked through. Christine was barely visible over the back of the couch, crying into her knees and shimmering every few seconds. He wondered if he should go to her, but decided against it. He had done enough already.
He paced back and forth, feeling his gut twisting in knots. He'd made her cry. He didn't mean to do that. He'd fucked up. Badly.
Everything was a blur around him, and suddenly, he was sitting in the corner of the room, texting. He didn't remember getting there.
I fucked up.
He waited. After a few minutes, he received a reply.
Can't talk right now. Inside mouse, in government facility.
Mouse???
Mouth.
WHAT.
Long story.
The Phantom sighed, then pulled up an internet browser. It was a long shot, but-
How to take care of a rat.
He started taking notes. He already had more than enough food and water, and cleanliness wasn't an issue, since he was doing her laundry- pain in the ass, since she only brought two dresses with her- and of course, she had her phone for enrichment.
He paused, then wrote "Giant Wheel?" on the page. After a beat, he crumpled it up and threw it away.
Christine was not a rat. This problem couldn't be solved with food. He had to give her something more.
Listen and learn . . .
What was he missing?
Pop-Tarts.
No, that wasn't helpful.
Giant Wheel.
That was even less helpful . . . unless she was keen to get a treadmill. Good exercise might help. It'd be so much easier if he could take her on walks. There wasn't much room to move around.
Wait, she was missing space! She's said so. Maybe he needed to designate a new spot as hers. Of course! He could pull that little table out of the storage closet. But what would she do at the table?
Anything she wants.
. . . Wow, how had he missed that?
. . .
The next morning was tense. As he exited his room, the Phantom chose his words carefully.
"I owe you an apology."
"I'm sober."
"Oh . . . Why?"
"The cookies have helped quite a bit, but honestly, they don't stop it entirely. I might need a break. I've been taking more and more, and I've become too acclimated to them. I'll be shimmering a bit more today."
"You're on Sara-Christine now, right?"
"No, Trista-Christine!"
He held up his hands.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not good with faces, and a lot of you look the same."
"Pardon?!"
"I'm not trying to be rude. It's just, aside from outliers like Sarah Brightman, how am I supposed to tell you all apart?"
"Learn."
He nodded.
"Okay. But we need better nomenclature, I think. It's gonna get confusing with just first names. I mean, there's Sarah Brightman, but Sara and Sarah with an 'h' look similar, and their names-"
"I don't care. Learn."
"Well . . . I know most of you."
"I know you know Marni," she sneered.
"Not JUST her! I also know Patti and weird-eyes and-"
"WEIRD-EYES? I don't even want to know who you're referring to."
". . . And there's Adrienne and Julia . . . and Emilie, obviously."
"Why 'obviously'?"
"Because she's . . . uh . . . the last one."
She crossed her arms.
"Uh-huh."
"Listen, only a couple of you aren't white, so-"
She huffed.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe the reason people don't like you very much is because your issues run deeper than just self-loathing?"
". . . All the time, yes."
"And you haven't improved in hundreds of years."
He felt himself flushing a bit.
"Um . . . Well, it probably-"
She rolled over, facing the television.
"Forget it. I don't want to hear your excuses."
He opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. All things considered, she had a point. For once in his life, he took a moment to stop, think about what he was doing, and reconsider. Instead of fighting it, he sat down on the arm of the couch and cleared his throat.
"Hey. Do you by chance have a list of the Christine's?"
She reached into her bodice and pulled out a laminated card, handing it to him unceremoniously.
"Keep it. I have them memorized."
He glanced at the list of names.
"You've been through this a lot, huh?"
She nodded, squeezing her blanket a bit. He sighed and put the paper in his chest pocket.
"I'm sorry for being upset with you. You're not a couch potato. It's my fault for not listening to what you needed. Is there anything you'd like to do while you're here, aside from watching movies? Board games, puzzles, stuff like that?"
She sat up, a little more alive.
"I like arts and crafts."
"What kinds?"
"All kinds. But I especially love to make macramé animals."
He chuckled. She withdrew a bit. He immediately held up his hands.
"No, sorry, I wasn't laughing at you. It's just cute, that's all. I can get you supplies for that. Anything else?"
"I like beads and textiles and such."
"Sounds good. I'll order some now."
He filled up his online shopping cart, then searched for related items. He scrolled down.
"Hey, there are beads that you can iron together to make pictures. Does that interest you?"
"Can you make animals?"
"Of course."
"I'd love to try, then."
He added a few more items to his cart.
"I gather you like elephants. They have figurines that you can paint-"
"YES, YES, YES!"
He smiled.
"Okay, coming right up."
For the first time, her smile seemed one hundred percent genuine.
"When does it all arrive? A month? Oh, I can't wait!"
"You won't have to. It's same-day delivery."
"Same DAY?!"
"Yes."
"How do they manage that?"
". . . By horribly abusing their workers."
"Oh."
He winced.
". . . I'll leave a big tip."
. . .
After waiting at the apartment door with anticipation, Christine nearly screamed when the package arrived, and gave the delivery man a hug. The Phantom tucked a hundred dollar bill in his vest apologetically, then started the process of setting up the table as Christine unpacked the contents of the box. For the next few hours, she was a woman possessed. She started off by weaving, then moved on to painting. She shimmered only once. As she did, her hand slipped, and a jagged scar crossed the face of the elephant she was holding. The Phantom offered her the grey paint to cover it up, but she said that it added character. As he turned away to write more letters, something odd happened. She caught him by the hand and placed a little clay mouse in it.
"Here, paint this."
"Why?"
"For fun."
She pulled a foot stool up to the table. He was a full head shorter than her sitting on it, but he decided that it wasn't a major issue. She went back to her knot-tying. They were silent for a moment, then she laughed.
"What?"
"You make funny faces when you paint."
"I'm focused. It takes a lot of skill, making straight lines."
"It doesn't have to be perfect."
"I'd rather it be."
She rolled her eyes, then lifted her creation.
"Done."
She walked over to the front door, hanging a macramé elephant from the hook.
"The eye is a bit off-center, but I figured you could use some décor. Your old place was nicer."
"It was a sewer."
"Yeah, and this place is somehow worse."
He nodded.
"I'll spruce it up a bit."
And he did. Over the next week, the apartment changed. It took on a more home-y feel, but here and there, he would add the occasional Halloween decoration. They didn't really make his kind of stuff anymore.
Regardless, things were different. Better. Slowly, Christine started changing too. Every now and then, she'd glance down at the traffic from her little table, and eventually, she started standing in front of the window. The Phantom didn't want to hope, but-
"I want to go outside."
He snapped to attention.
"Pardon?"
"I want to explore. You'll come with me, right?"
"Of course."
"Is it okay if we start small and pick one activity?"
"Absolutely. Give me one second. I'll find some travel brochures at the hotel down the street."
He ran.
He RAN.
By the time he came back, his cargo was partly crumpled with sweat and friction, but still usable. He set the brochures on the table.
"I took everything. Pick an activity, and we'll do it."
She started leafing through them. After a few minutes, she nodded.
"This one."
He picked it up.
"Great, let's- OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME."
"What? What's wrong?"
Seeing the worry in her eyes, he clenched his teeth and sucked it up.
"Nothing . . . We can go to Coney Island, I suppose."
"Let's go!"
At first, he thought he must be dreaming, but as they descended in the escalator and made their way to the glass doors, it suddenly dawned on him that this was real. It was probably more significant for Christine by far. As she stood at the precipice, she took a deep breath, then stepped into the sunlight. A smile crossed her face. The Phantom returned it.
And thus, the three of them set out for Coney Island.
That is, the man, the woman, and the dragon watching.