The cab turns into the small street behind the Palais, an alleyway wide enough for two wagons going in opposite directions to pass one another without difficulty. When the opera house was completed and all the scaffolding and construction debris removed, the narrow brick street was all that remained.
A plain wall, the only reminder of the labor going into creating the beauty, the only reminder of the labor still needed to support both the glory within and without the grand building. Wide heavy metal doors allow delivery and removal of scenes, props and other large items are left open during the day to allow easy access to the crews for deliveries and the artists making their way back and forth to their dressing rooms. A single narrow door – the stage door – tends to be utilized only when the other entries are locked for the night.
Since the opera house is closed for repairs and the grounds not entirely secure, Nadir hired a pair of watchmen to monitor the alley and prevent any thievery of supplies in the wagons as well as keeping anyone from entering the building without proper credentials.
"Your plan was ingenious," Erik comments as they pull up to the stage door. "I could enter and exit at my leisure far more easily than when I was the Phantom."
"Had I known you were the so-called Opera Ghost, I would have hired you immediately to rebuild the mess that was made…at no pay, of course, since you were the cause of the upset."
"Had I intended to do real damage, I would have blown up the entire building. Shame on you for not knowing there is stockpile of munitions left over from the communes," Erik says, mildly. "Never would I wish for any damage be done – Charles was a most gracious employer, allowing me to design much of substructure."
"Munitions?" Christine asks, mouth agape. "Under the building? Why does no one know about this? What if the mob had found them when searching for us…you?"
"They are well hidden and protected. Taken care of during construction."
"You?" Nadir asks.
Erik shrugs. "Paris hides much of her history underground," Erik says. "The catacombs. Sewers that run throughout the city, offering ways to travel from one place to another without going above ground. Where better to hide barrel upon barrel of gunpowder?"
"I never thought of that," she says, her eyes wide. "Pappa and I knew very little about Paris before arriving here – except for the Conservatory, of course."
"And why should you? You are a creature of the light," he says softly, smiling gently at her. "I am surprised, however, that the daroga, here, with his background, especially overseeing the maintenance of this particular palace was unaware of the dangers hidden here."
"You would blow the building up?" Nadir asks.
"Had I wished to do so, I would have done already performed the act…dying along with all Charles and my hard work," Erik says. "I would no more destroy this place any more than I would have taken the steps to level the palace in Teheran. Sometimes it is enough to know you can do something without doing the deed."
Nadir chuckles. "Is there any chance an accident might occur?"
Erik shakes his head. "You like the idea of the palace being destroyed?"
"I suppose I do," the Persian says. "But only if the people there would not be harmed."
"Alas, that is always the rub," Erik says. "No, the place will stand and the beauty of the structure will be commented on for the ages."
Nadir snaps his fingers. "The double walls? I should have known you were involved here in some way."
"Those, yes. Common sense, actually, insulation, but also allowing workers to go from one room to another without having to deal with the corridors inside."
"Is that how you were able to come to my dressing room?" Christine asks. "Actually walking through walls?"
"Yes, my dear, in a manner of speaking. The double walls also allowed me to build my house – using some larger spaces…corners and the like…than those for simply walking."
"Much like you did for the Shah."
Turning to Christine he explains, "The Shah wanted secret passages where he could move from room to room, as well as entering those rooms, without anyone seeing him or knowing he was there. I simply adapted the idea here. Charles was most enthusiastic. So much so, I was granted a place to live."
"Why? Why would he do that? Not wanting to reward you, but thinking it was alright for someone to live below the ground," Christine asks.
"Gratitude…as I said, much of the design – the structural element – was my idea. I took no credit even though it was offered. Living in the world was difficult for me. People did not even wish to live close by in the lodgings I found here in the city. Charles was aware of the problem, so when I asked for a home, he agreed."
"I had no idea," she says. "How terrible for you."
"I often wondered why you thought me an angel, since your angel lived in a place that might be more associated with hell than heaven."
"Pappa was not a keen observer of the particulars of angels – he was fascinated by myths and stories of darkness. He would have believed it quite logical for an angel of music to live beneath an opera house."
Nadir snorts.
Christine's face flushes. "I know that sounds strange. I am not well schooled. Living here was quite lonely – believing in the Angel of Music gave me comfort when Pappa died. Perhaps I was a little naive."
"For which I am most grateful," Erik glares at Nadir before chucking Christine's chin, smiling at her.
"I apologize, mademoiselle, your meeting with my friend here was actually quite romantic – you got to know him first. Thus, probably the only person here who would be unlikely to turn on him."
"Until I did," she says, shifting in her seat to look at Erik directly. "You deserved better from me."
"Enough," Erik says. "That is the past."
The cab pulls up to the door of the service entrance. "This is your stop, Monsieur."
Pulling a small notebook from his pocket, Nadir quickly scribbles a note, folding it over, hands it to Erik with a key.
"What is this?" Erik asks.
"A note for my houseman, Darius…introducing you – although he is likely to remember you," he says, opening the door of the cab.
"Where are you going?" Christine asks.
"There has been too much activity here tonight and I am concerned our friend Samuel might be still circling looking for his master," Nadir says, stepping down. "It is best I handle this by myself."
"So we are going where?" Erik asks, fingering the note and key.
"My apartment."
"The dressing room might be safer," Erik replies. "I am familiar with this building – Christine is as well."
"The vicomte seems determined to find both of you…once the driver speaks with him, he will be even more convinced of his correctness."
"He is right," Christine says, taking his arm. "But, perhaps I should go to the dressing room so Raoul does not suspect anything."
"No! No. It is too late for that," Nadir says. "You will both go to the apartment. I will make certain the vicomte is rescued and will return shortly. I have no interest in confronting him myself."
"Very well," Erik says. "I am too weary to argue and Christine must be protected at all costs."
"That was easier than I expected," Nadir chuckles as he closes the carriage door. "Darius will be more than happy to attend to your needs." Calling up to the coach driver he says, "Rue Rivoli – here is your fare."
Neither Erik nor Christine's speaks as the carriage rolls through the streets, the only sound that of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones.
Breaking the silence, Christine says, "I am sorry."
Erik frowns, turning to her with a puzzled look on his face. "I thought I asked you to stop saying that," he says with an effort of humor in his voice.
"You are not angry?"
"At what? It was my idea to go back…in any event, he did not know we were there. It was pure chance his driver saw us."
"Angry that you are still being pursued," she says. "If it was not for me, you would be free."
"But that would mean you would not be with me here now," Erik says, taking her hand, holding it to his lips.
"But the police…"
"Believe I am dead."
"But Raoul… The driver…"
"We shall cross that particular bridge when we come to it," he says.
"So many bridges." Resting her head against his shoulder, she toys with the buttons of his coat. "I am not sorry, then. If you are not angry."
"Every moment I have spent with you has been pure bliss," Erik says. "If they found me now, I would die happy for those moments."
"No, do not even suggest such things…"
"Nadir is a bit of magician, but there is only so much he can do."
"What about his plan?"
"Later…we will talk later," he says, "for now, I should just like to enjoy being with you, riding through the streets of Paris as any ordinary couple might do."
Despite his words, Erik finds this new situation – depending on Nadir and Christine to protect him - irritating – stifling even. When he conceived the idea of his death, he felt free, even more than when he escaped from Persia. Now he had the time and means to plan for his future – albeit alone, for the most part, but not running. Not being hated. That person was gone. He could control his destiny.
Speaking tonight about his agreement with Charles Garnier about living in the Opera House reminded him how the simple act of renting a room brought scorn and derision. In truth, had Charles not been so gracious, he really had no idea where he was to go. Christine's return changed everything. She must be considered. No longer was his destiny alone at stake, but theirs.
Without even being completely aware of them, tears form in his eyes. Why had god forsaken him. Surprising himself, he realizes he does believe in a god. Too many nights listening to his mother recite the rosary – then later, the Punjabi. The Chinese. All had faith. Nadir with his Allah. Even with all their suffering they believed in some sort of deity.
The idea of karma made the most sense to him – not so much a god – but a universal law that the Bible called an eye for an eye. Somewhere in time he committed a sin so horrid, he must suffer in the same way he harmed someone else.
Why now was this lovely woman, sitting so serene next to him, holding his arm with complete trust, wanting his love? What could he offer her?
"Are you crying?" Christine asks, using her thumb to wipe away the tears just beginning to flow. Quickly removing a fine linen handkerchief trimmed in tatting, he is certain she created for herself, she dabs his cheeks. "Why are you crying?"
"I do not understand my good fortune. I do not deserve this."
"Of course you do. Why do you believe you must continue through life without love and care?"
"Past deeds. I must repay past deeds."
"My Pappa used to speak about such things," she says. "He would always caution me about my thoughts, when I became angry. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."
"In this life alone?"
"Pappa was a bit of a heretic – Mamma cautioned him about straying from the teaching of the church, but he was fascinated by mysticism. It did not make sense to him that one person should be born in poverty and another with wealth and that was the only chance either of them had to get to heaven. He also loved the idea of creatures who were not of the earth. When I first met Raoul, Pappa would tell us myths about the gods and goddesses of the north."
"Reincarnation…he believed in that?"
"Is that the word for having many lives?"
"Yes."
"Then, yes, he did."
"Do you think it is possible I may be forgiven for acts I committed in the past?"
"It seems to me, Erik…Saint-Rien if that is your true name? You need to forgive yourself."
The coach comes to a halt and the cabby calls out, "We have arrived," as he jumps down from his seat and removes their luggage from the boot.
Erik exits the carriage, removes several coins and offers them to the driver.
"The fare has been taken care of."
"Wait for me – around the corner. I will see the young lady up to her apartment, then I shall meet you there," he says, inclining his head toward the street they just came from.
"Very good," the young man says with a shrug, flipping one of the coins in the air before hopping back onto his rig.
Darius picks up their bags and carries them down the hallway, leaving Erik and Christine in the sitting room. The tall thin man, similar to him in build and coloring, did indeed remember Erik from his years in Persia.
Accepting the note from Nadir, he welcomed them into the apartment from first appearances decorated in the fashion of Mazandaran than Paris – wide pillows in brilliant shades of red, green, blue and gold…a large pounded metal table dominating the front room. The air is filled with the fragrance of turmeric and fried onion suggesting they were interrupting dinner preparations.
"I often wondered if we would meet again."
"Did you?"
"When the daroga spoke of his plan for your escape, I asked if I could go with you."
"Indeed?"
"As you may suspect, once you left, life was not very pleasant for him. As your servant, I was also suspect," Darius said. "It was fortunate we were allowed to live. I give thanks to Allah every day he was allowed a servant and he chose me. Now here we are."
"This is Mlle. Daae…"
"Christine," she says, offering her hand. "You must tell me some tales about Erik."
The two men exchanged looks.
"Only if he wishes – I fear life at the palace was not a pleasant time for him…for most of us in service, but him in particular."
"Oh, I am sorry. I only meant…"
"I am certain Darius can find some amusing tales to share once he recovers from the shock of seeing me again."
"Of course. I will search my memory – of the happier times when Reza was still with us," he said. "In the meantime, I shall take your bags to the guest room. Please make yourselves at home."
Leading her to a low couch next to a tall window overlooking the street, Erik kisses her hand as she takes a seat. "Enjoy the tea and almost cookies I am certain Darius will bring you shortly. The day has been long and trying."
"What about you?" Christine tugs on his sleeve, as he turns away.
"I need some time to think…without distractions."
"You are leaving me?" Rising from the sofa, she follows him to the door.
"For just a short while."
"I can go with you. I will not talk. I promise."
"You, my dearest, are the main distraction."
"I am sor…"
Pressing a finger against her lips, he says, "No sorrys."
"Erik."
"You will be safe here. You need to rest."
"How am I to rest if I do not know where you are going or if I will ever see you again."
"I must see to my friend who is putting himself in jeopardy for me," Erik replies. "I want to be certain the vicomte is retrieved safely and is not aware of my friendship with the daroga."
"How?"
"Not to worry," Erik says. "I know the opera house better than anyone. I suspect our friend Raoul may have bribed the watchmen and now Nadir will be caught up in trying to maneuver the passages – no one knowing where they are going."
"No one will get hurt?"
"No one will get hurt, I promise."
"You will come back?" Taking hold of his lapels, pulling him toward her.
"I will come back," he says. "You have possession of all my worldly goods – is that not one of those commitments made when one marries?"
"When the ring is given," she says. "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."
"Well, then, I did that wrong – here, give me your hand." Taking the ring holding the black oval diamond from his little finger, he places it on her ring finger. "With this ring I thee wed. Now I must go."
"Not yet." Taking his face in her hands, caressing the mottled skin, she stands on tiptoe and kisses him as she had only a few nights ago but seeming like a lifetime.
"Christine, I…"
Holding him close, she kisses him again until he responds with his own passion, pressing his lips to hers. The intensity of his deep emotion cannot be denied. How wonderful to be treated with such tenderness and love. His heart feels as if it might burst.
Breaking away, smiling in satisfaction, she says, "Now you may leave. Return soon."
"Very soon, I assure you. Very soon."