The sunlight was bright on Christine's face. She was one of the Sarah-Christine's at the moment. Not Sarah Brightman, but the one whose last name the Phantom couldn't spell. It ended with a bunch of e's and r's, but he never knew how many. He'd figure it out soon, he decided. It was the right thing to do. As she looked around, she took a serene breath, then gagged suddenly.
"Oh . . . What is that smell?"
"It's New York. Nobody knows what that smell is."
"I see . . . Well, I can get used to it. It's a lovely day, and- That man has no pants."
He gently led her away by the shoulders.
"It's okay. That's just Pierce. He comes here sometimes."
Behind them, footsteps.
"Hey'd you make a friend? She dresses weird!" the man laughed.
The Phantom whipped around.
"I'M BUSY, PIERCE."
He shuffled around the corner with Christine.
"He's fine, really. Doesn't bother anyone."
"He looks like he needs help."
"Yeah."
"Should we help him?"
"I- uh- maybe. Later."
"But he-"
"Let's focus on one thing at a time."
As they walked among a small crowd, Christine gulped.
"I feel like they're staring at us."
"Well, I'm wearing a mask and you look like you just came from the last century, so-"
"What's the point of wearing a mask if they just stare anyway?"
"The reasoning."
"The reasoning?" she echoed.
"I'd rather they stare at me for being The Phantom of the Opera than because of my face."
"Aren't you the Phantom regardless? . . ."
"I- Yes. No. It's complicated. Anyway, we-"
Christine shrieked as a man in an Elmo costume approached them. The Phantom quickly wrapped her in his cape as she started to shimmer. He peeked into the cloth.
"You okay?"
"It's a monster."
"It's just a costume. You're safe."
She tensed up as Elmo approached them. A deep voice came from inside the suit.
"Hey, asshole! This is my corner!"
The Phantom held up his hands.
"We're not here for photos. We're on our way to an event."
"Oh. You want a picture?"
The Phantom gestured.
"Christine, do you want a picture with Elmo?"
". . . Yes," she said quietly.
"Christine, you don't have to."
"I'm going to take a photograph with Elmo," she said, almost crying.
He handed Elmo a wad of cash. Christine stood in front of him, and the Phantom pulled out his phone. She gave a forced smile. He took a photo. She sighed with relief as Elmo walked away, waving. Christine let out the breath she had been holding, then gave a lopsided smile.
". . . I did it."
"You sure did. I'll send you the photo later, if you want."
"Can we have it developed?"
"Uh, sure."
She looked around.
"Aside from these costumed people, are there any actual monsters here?"
"Not outside of Wall Street."
She stared at him. He shrugged.
"You don't get it, but I promise it was a really funny joke."
She laughed awkwardly, then followed behind him.
"It's very crowded here."
"Yeah, it's Times Square."
"Isn't there an easier way?"
"Almost through. There's a place nearby where we can catch a cab. It's not far, don't worry."
She swallowed.
"I think I might shimmer again."
He started walking faster.
"Just follow me."
Internally, he was panicking. He had anticipated that this would be a gamble, but he was so desperate to get her outside . . .
"Christine?"
"Yes?"
"Maybe we should go back."
"No!"
"Not all day. Just for a moment, to plan this out more thoroughly."
"But I'm already out! I-"
She ducked under his cape again, then emerged as a different Christine. He nodded.
"Alright, that settles it. We're going back."
"NO!"
He flinched at her tone, then looked around, hoping that no one had noticed.
"Christine, it's okay. We can try again tomorrow."
"Please. I want to go."
"Christine . . ."
Listen and learn . . .
He sighed.
"Christine, this could be dangerous. People around here aren't the same as in Fiction. They've never seen magic, just like in our old world. It could cause a ruckus."
She bit her lip.
"Just keep covering me with your cape."
"Someone is going to suspect us."
"I'll calm down, I promise."
"But you said that you can't control it."
"Please."
Seeing the sincerity in her pleading look, he sighed.
"Okay, how about this. If you calm yourself down, we can keep going, but if you shimmer again, we'll head back. Deal?"
She nodded rapidly.
"Absolutely. I'll-"
She shimmered again. Quickly, he pretended to be hugging her with both arms in his cape. When he released her, he saw tears brimming in her eyes. He cleared his throat.
"Okay. Starting . . . now. If you shimmer-"
She did again. He repeated the hug, then nodded firmly.
"As I was saying, we're starting now."
She smiled weakly.
. . .
Getting a cab was a hassle, but that was to be expected. Luckily, one of the drivers recognized the Phantom and swerved to get him, honking at passing cars.
"He knows that I have money," he explained to Christine.
"Where did you get it all?"
"I, uh . . . I take a portion of my landlord's money."
"Like at the opera? . . ."
"Um, no. I'm just really good at hypnosis."
"Oh. So you don't pay rent?"
"No."
He expected her to be angry with him, but she fiddled with her dress nervously.
"Would it be possible to get that naked man we met an apartment of his own?"
"Uh . . . Yeah, I guess."
"Could you do it tonight?"
"Sure. But, uh, he might have a substance abuse problem."
"So? He needs a roof over his head. Besides, if we're going to judge people based on that, you may as well kick me out too."
"Oh. Well, I suppose you have a point. I'll see if I can find him after this."
"Thank you."
Meanwhile, the cab had pulled up to them. Christine waved.
"Hello! Nice to meet you."
The cab driver smiled.
"Oh, you finally found someone to dress up with you!"
"I'm not dressed up," Christine said.
"Cute! She plays pretend just like you. A match made in heaven."
"We're not together," the Phantom said quickly, "Christine is just my . . . Well, Christine is just Christine."
She looked a little hurt by this statement, and he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, so he decided to risk adding onto it.
"She's my roommate."
Her mouth twitched a bit, and he feared he'd dug the hole deeper. He cleared his throat.
"It's complicated, I guess."
"Oh, so like friends with benefits?" the driver asked.
"All friends have benefits," Christine remarked, "That's what makes them friends."
The cab driver snorted.
"She's wise, for being so clueless."
The Phantom snapped his fingers.
"Hey! Watch it!"
Christine smiled shyly.
"It's alright. I still have a lot to learn about this place. What's your name?"
"Julian."
"Nice to meet you, Julian. Do you know a lot about New York City?"
"Yeah."
"Perhaps you could tell me about it on the way to Coney Island."
"Coney Island? You ain't going to the Majestic?"
The Phantom laughed awkwardly.
"Uh, no. Not this time."
"Ah, right. Shame about that. Never did get to see the show. But I saw the movie."
"Not the same thing."
Christine batted her eyes.
"What are you two talking about?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me."
He swallowed, then leaned close to whisper.
"How much do you understand about what it means to be a fictional character?"
"It's a little confusing."
"Okay. Long story short, there are lots of books, shows, and movies about us. And a video game and- Well, anyway, the point is, he's seen a movie that featured another version of us, so he knows a bit about our . . . history. But he thinks that it's not real. Because it isn't. Not here."
She bit her lip.
"That worries me. How much does he know?"
"Whatever's in the movie."
"What's in the movie? Can I see it?"
"NO!"
He shouted so loudly that even Julian jumped.
". . . Sorry. What I mean to say is, it's not very flattering, and besides, that Christine isn't one of you."
"I deserve to know what the world has been told about us."
"That's fair. But don't start with the movie. I can just buy us tickets to-"
His heart sunk.
"Oh . . . I guess I can't anymore . . . Well, I'll find you a bootleg, when you're ready."
She didn't seem to understand his meaning, but recognized his sadness. She put her hand on his.
"Maybe we can watch it together. Just to clear the air."
He took a deep breath.
"I . . . I don't like watching it. I mean, I went to the show a lot, but I didn't pay attention to the performance, per se. I liked watching the audience. I'm going to miss seeing their smiles, hearing their applause . . . It was nice to know that millions of people cared."
"But they didn't know you."
"What?"
"They didn't know you. When I sang onstage, I watched the audience too, expecting to feel something. I enjoyed myself, but ultimately, they were all strangers to me. It's nice to be admired, but it's even better to be loved."
"I wouldn't know."
She looked at him sadly for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"Truth be told, I-"
She shimmered. The Phantom quickly grabbed a paper bag from the back seat as she threw up. When she was done, she looked at him with worry. He cleared his throat.
"Well, at least you won't throw up on the rides now."
"We're still going?"
"Of course."
The cab driver, meanwhile, was staring at them in the rearview mirror, terrified. The Phantom glared at him.
"Fifty dollars if you forget this happened."
"Forget what happened?"
"The magic."
"I know. I was playing along- WAIT, MAGIC EXISTS?!"
"A hundred dollars, and fifty more every time she does it."
He leaned close to her.
"Try to get as much of it out of your system as you can."
"That's not how it works."
"Oh. In that case, just enjoy the ride, I suppose."
She fiddled with her dress.
"Does this mean we won't have to go back at all? . . ."
"It wouldn't be fair to you when we've come this far. I'll do my best to keep you safe."
Breathing a sigh of relief, she nodded calmly.
"Thank you. And perhaps you were right. We should make a plan, in case it happens in a crowd."
He hummed.
"Well, it just so happens that dragons have excellent camouflage skills. If I change quickly and wrap you in my wings, you'll disappear in an instant."
She swallowed.
"I . . . I don't know if I'm ready for a dragon yet. Some of the Christine's are braver than others, but . . . Well, I'm afraid of dragons in particular."
She bit her lip, waiting for his reaction. The Phantom nodded.
"Okay, we'll figure something else out. Can you feel them coming on, generally?"
"Not always."
"Hm. I suppose the best we can do is try to keep you calm . . . at an amusement park . . ."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"What happens if someone sees me?"
"Well, it depends. Maybe they'll forget about it, or maybe it will reveal us to the world, forever changing the way normal people live."
". . . Oh."
"To be honest, I'm not even sure why we have to hide. I think the world would be better off if they knew about Fiction and Asterpara and the like."
"Asterpara?"
"The place where dragons come from. It's one layer above where we are now. Fiction is below us. There are a few sideways places too, but those don't matter as much."
"Oh."
"In any case, I don't think now is the time for a disruption to the status quo. My grandmother will never speak to me again if I mess this up."
"Mess what up?"
"Everything."
". . . Oh. That must be a lot of pressure."
"Yep. But when she returns, she'll probably take me with her, and I won't have to live a normal life anymore."
A normal life. Which was what he'd always wanted, in theory. The cognitive dissonance of his own words hit him briefly, but Christine's next question made him forget all about it.
"Once again, I must ask, are you sure that she's coming back?"
"Positive. More or less. I have something that she values. It just depends on if I'm worth the trouble."
Christine put her hand on his. He almost recoiled in terror, but steadied himself.
"Maybe she's the one who's not worth the trouble."
He stared down at her hand.
"She . . . Anyway, you wanted to know about New York, right?"
They continued their conversation, but her words remained in the back of his mind, creeping over him like ice.
. . .
By the time they arrived at Luna Park on Coney Island, Christine was Patti-Christine. This was good, for she was often able to stay in that shape a little longer, being so gentle and even-tempered, even for a Christine. She smiled wistfully as they entered the park, extending her arms with longing.
"It's beautiful . . . I love this place."
He pulled out a map.
"So, where do you wanna go first? Maybe something easy, like the carousel?"
"Yes!"
They headed in that direction. Along the way, Christine shrunk a bit at the crowd.
"They're staring at us."
"My fault. People don't often wear masks."
"Maybe you could remove it? . . ."
"No. That wouldn't solve the staring problem anyway."
"Is there a Phantom among you who doesn't wear a mask?"
"Yeah, the rat-fucker Phantom."
"Don't cuss!- Wait, what did you say?"
"Nothing. Just let it be understood that you don't want to meet the one good-looking guy among us."
She distanced herself from him, just a bit. As the carousel came into view, she forgot all about the eyes on them, and took no notice of the people snapping photos.
"Oh, it's beautiful!"
The line wasn't too long, and once they were on, Christine selected a charming white horse, saying that it looked like César if he had no wings.
"A Pegasus without wings is just a horse," the Phantom muttered.
"And an angel without wings is just a man."
She noticed his reaction.
"Oh . . . I'm sorry. Did I-"
"That's okay. Would you like your picture taken?"
"Sure."
He took a photo, struck by how well she fit into the ride. Although her dress was simple, its old-fashioned look and her similarly antiquated hairstyle placed her in another time. She was not unlike the carousel; a relic from another age, which despite many changes, kept the core of what it was. It was beautiful, in a way.
"Shall we do the teacups next?" he asked as the horses slowed.
"Absolutely."
They started walking, but she suddenly let out a horrible shriek. That was one thing he didn't like about Patti-Christine. Some Phantom within him knew exactly what it took to make her shriek like that. He covered her with his cape, thinking that she was about to shimmer, but she pushed him away and ran toward a garbage can. A small, stuffed elephant was lying on the ground. It had a massive hole in its head. Christine knelt beside it.
"Poor thing . . ."
The Phantom gagged.
"Christine, it's probably infested with bugs!"
"He needs our help!"
"It's lying in a puddle of- Oh god, I hope that's just water."
She pouted, cradling the toy.
"Please? . . ."
Listen and learn . . .
He swallowed.
"Okay, but we're wrapping it in a bag. I don't want to catch something from it."
She gave him a hug. Not expecting it, he almost fell over, but she was already admiring her new treasure.
"I shall name him Pieds."
"Why?"
"Because he has them. I'll fix him up when we get home."
Home. She'd never called it that before. He smiled.
"I'm glad you found him, Christine. He's going to a good . . . Well, you know."
They rode the teacups. Christine was excited to spin the wheel, the Phantom less so. When he was done throwing up, they went from ride to ride. Christine shimmered a few times, but always felt it coming and hid from view. She was overly-excited, but in a good way. That made it hurt less, she said.
Finally, after a good many rides, Christine stared wistfully at a tall roller coaster. The Phantom shook his head.
"No way. You'll shimmer onboard for sure, and I won't be able to hide you."
"No one will see. It moves fast."
"And what if you panic afterward?"
"I won't."
"How do you know? You've never been on a ride like this. It's going to melt your Victorian brain."
He saw the look on her face.
". . . no offense."
She crossed her arms.
"I'm an adult. I can do what I want."
"Not if it reveals us to the world!"
"For the love of god, when are you going to learn to listen to me?!"
He opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked up at the near-vertical hill, then at Christine.
". . . You understand why I'm worried, right?"
"Yes."
"And you think that you can do this?"
"I know it."
He sighed.
"Okay . . . We'll sit near the back."
"Great! That's where you feel the drops, because you're going the fastest by the time you reach the top."
". . . Wonderful . . ."
He stood with her in line, absolutely silent. He hoped that she would change her mind during the long wait, but her eyes were fixed on the dips and curves above them. As they reached the carts, he turned to her and spoke calmly.
"Last chance to back out."
"I'm fine, thanks."
And just like that, they were strapped in. He sighed.
"Oh, boy."
They moved forward, then chugged up the first hill. She was bouncing in her seat with excitement.
"Don't get too worked up."
"I'm not."
"Okay. But just so you know, this might be too much for you to handle."
"So you've said."
"And I'm not being sexist, it's just that you come from a different time, and you don't have any experience with this sort of thing."
"Uh-huh."
"So it's really no big deal if you . . . get . . . scared."
They were at the top of the slope. He had realized just how high it was. As they rolled over the edge, he-
"AAAAAAAAAH! OH MY GOD, WE'RE GONNA DIE! WE'RE GONNA DIE! THERE'S A LOOP, AH, AH, AH!"
Christine, meanwhile, was laughing her head off between whoops and cheers. She raised her arms, grinning the whole time. The Phantom, on the other hand, was white-knuckled. Eventually, they came to a stop, and she tapped his shoulder.
"I think I feel one coming. We should get to shelter."
He nodded, unclenching his teeth, then followed her to an isolated corner of the park with rubbery legs. She looked around, then did a joyful spin, shimmering through at least a dozen Christine's one right after the other. She was smiling the whole time, and fell into his arms with a giddy dizziness.
"That was amazing! But I'm sorry that I shimmered."
"I don't blame you. That was terrifying- for you. Terrifying for you, is what I meant."
She smiled, then gave him a hug.
"Thank you."
He felt his heart flutter, but quickly cleared his throat.
"You're welcome. Anything else you wanna do? . . . Maybe something a little less intense . . . just putting that out there . . ."
She fiddled with her dress.
"Well, I don't know if you knew this, but the cameras on our phones flip the other way."
"Uh-huh."
"Using this technique, I have invented a new kind of photograph, kind of like a self-portrait. I call it a self-er."
"How innovative."
"I'd like to do one in front of the roller coaster."
"You sure you don't want me to take a picture of you, since I'm here?"
"Well, I want you in it."
He blinked.
"In the picture?"
"Yes."
"With you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She smiled.
"This has been one of the best days of my life. I want to remember everything."
He laced his fingers together.
". . . Okay, but I'm not really into taking photos, for obvious reasons."
"You can keep your mask on, though in my opinion-"
"Okay, let's get this over with."
She lifted her phone. He shuffled into frame awkwardly. She nudged him.
"Smile."
"I'm trying."
"Smile!"
"I'm trying!"
Without warning, she put her arm around him and pulled him close to her. She took a photo, then laughed.
"I did it! I got a smile out of you!"
He wanted to argue, but he was too busy covering his mouth as he grinned.
". . . Well, maybe."
She admired the photo, then raised her eyebrows.
"Huh."
"What?"
"I didn't even realize."
"Realize what?"
"I'm Marni right now."
He smiled.
"Well, that's not true. You're Christine."
For a moment, something stirred in her.
"Really? . . ."
"Well, who else would you be, if not yourself?"
She laughed, backhanding his chest, then nodded to the fairground rides.
"Shall we explore?"
He nodded quickly.
As they walked through the crowd, Christine checked over her shoulder to make sure that he was still following. Every time she did, he smiled. They purchased corn dogs, then moved away from the clusters of people, heading toward a quieter place to eat. It was starting to get dark. The lights on the rides switched on around them. The Phantom tried not to stare at Christine, but she was quite remarkable, even in glimpses. As she was highlighted with the nighttime rainbow, he was struck by just how beautiful she was. He couldn't fathom how incredibly lucky he was to be here, with her, right now, despite everything that had happened. As she turned to face him, she was further illuminated by the glow of fireworks. They sparkled in her eyes, but she was looking directly at him. She reached out and gave him a hug, burying her face in his chest. He didn't quite know what to do with his arms, which were splayed like a dead bird's, but he eventually gave in and put them around her as gently as he could manage. She sighed with contentment.
"Thank you. Truly. I couldn't have done this without you."
"No, that's not true. I didn't even do anything, really. I mean, I rode the roller coaster, which was perhaps a bit scarier than I let on, but-"
She put her finger over his lips, and he froze.
"You talk too much."
"Yeah, a little."
"But that's okay. I like listening to you. Most of the time."
"Really."
"Yes. Despite your rudeness and your social incompetence and your obvious insecurities and your constant cussing and-"
"How long is this list, exactly? . . ."
"-and everything else," she finished, "You're improving. It doesn't erase what you've done, but I see in you the man I once knew, before everything went wrong. And this time, it feels real."
"Oh . . . I'm glad . . ."
"And as long as things keep heading in this direction . . . I don't know . . . Maybe . . ."
She looked down, closing her eyes a bit.
"Anyway, I'm glad that I came here."
As the fireworks crackled above them, she smiled and elbowed him, nodding to the sky. They watched in silence for a moment, then she started holding his hand-
WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK-
He might have squeaked a bit. If she'd noticed, she gave no indication. And then he was following her, through the lights, through the crowds . . . it was all a blur. All he felt was her hand in his, and for a moment, everything was right in the world.
She led him across the grounds, heading into the darkness. When the fireworks died down, she stood in front of him and held both of his hands.
"I have something for you."
"What?"
She reached into her bodice and pulled out a foil package. His jaw dropped.
"Pop-Tarts! Where did you even get these?"
"Well, they were kind of yours to begin with. I never finished them. Wildlicious truly is the most awful flavour."
He shrugged.
"Agree to disagree."
She smiled and leaned her forehead against his chest. By all accounts, this was more than he'd expected at all, nevermind on their first day out. As her eyes met his, he thought that his legs would buckle beneath him. Granted, they were still weak from the roller coaster . . .
"Can I ask you something?" Christine whispered.
". . . Yes? . . ."
"Do you-"
She was cut off by a final firework, shimmering a sickly golden color against the sky. It crackled loudly. A bit embarrassed at jumping, Christine shrugged, but her gaze soon focused on something in the distance. Among a sea of mist was a strange building with a sign that read "House of Mirrors". The Phantom cocked his head.
"Weird. I don't remember seeing that on the map. It looks kind of ominous and creepy . . ."
"Let's go inside!" she said, running toward it.
"To the mysterious funhouse? This is how people die in movies."
She walked up to the doors.
"I wouldn't know. And anyway, we're at a theme park. It's perfectly normal for there to be funhouses."
"Unattended? Unlit?"
The doors opened in front of them. He pointed.
"Okay, you saw that, right?"
"Do doors not open on their own here, even with your vast technology?"
"I- Well, okay, yes, but a cheap funhouse shouldn't have an automatic door."
"Come on. It'll be fun."
"It's highly suspicious."
"According to the internet, the youths nowadays say sus."
"Okay, then it's highly sus."
She crossed her arms.
"Have I yet led you astray?"
". . . No."
"Then let's go."
He sighed loudly.
"Fine, but I'm going to be highly judgmental, because I know a good mirror maze when I see one, and this is in all likelihood going to be cheap and bad."
"Alright. Let's go."
He followed her in. As they entered, he scoffed.
"Look at this, they clearly didn't plan the route ahead of time. It's obvious where we're supposed to-"
BANG.
"Oh. There's glass. I thought it was just mirrors."
She giggled, then moved in deeper.
"This is amazing. I've never been in one of these before . . ."
"Well, despite the highly polished glass, this is . . . Christine?"
He had turned away only for a moment, and she had disappeared. He did a full spin, but only saw his own reflection.
"Christine!"
She didn't answer. He felt his heart sink.
"Okay, okay, there must be a trick somewhere in here. Let me-"
A trap door opened at his feet, revealing a staircase. He gulped.
"Christine? . . ."
Slowly, he edged down the stairs. At the base, he found himself in a room with mirrors all along the walls. He shrunk a bit, surrounded by his own reflection. One of the mirrors slid into the floor, revealing a hallway. He shuffled forward.
The mirrors lining the hall were unlike the others. They were twisted, warbled, and distorted in every way imaginable. He felt his heart race as his own reflection loomed over him. His mask overtook most of his shape before he moved on. The further he got, the more he was shattered among the mirrors. With each step, it seemed to him that he less and less recognized himself. And then, as if by magic, he saw reflected back at him every Phantom within his self. Each one of them stared at him with a deep sorrow, and as he turned, he realized that it was in truth his own expression. He swallowed, then looked around. The many Phantoms were gone. Perhaps he'd just imagined it.
He perked up as he heard voices through the walls. He pressed his ear to a mirror, then frowned with confusion. Someone was having a conversation a few rooms away.
Then, the voices stopped. Slowly, he backed away from the wall, then continued down the hallway.
Suddenly, there was a flash of yellow. He wheeled around to follow it, but found Christine standing behind him. He shrieked. She didn't move. As he caught his breath, he smoothed out his wig.
"Oh . . . It's just you. What happened?"
"I got lost."
Her face was solemn. She had trouble meeting his gaze. Clearly, something had shaken her quite badly.
"Hey . . . are you-"
"I'd like to go now."
"Oh."
"Please."
He nodded, still worried.
"Sure . . ."
She walked past him. He'd only ever seen her move like this in a cemetery. Something was wrong. So very wrong.
And it was YOU! You messed up again!
But how?
. . . That's a good question.
He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, but then again, he rarely knew. He tried thinking back, but couldn't remember if he'd said something particularly upsetting before they'd become separated. God, why couldn't he just be normal?
He spent the entire trip back trying to figure out what had happened. He just kept circling back to the fact that he'd messed up, and this time, he wasn't even sure how.
As his thoughts raced, Christine was absolutely silent.
. . .
When they got back, Christine went to work washing the little stuffed elephant. She scrubbed him down with a furious tenderness, which unless you saw it in person was difficult to explain. The Phantom was enraptured by these small moments, where she introduced him to something new and strange about regular life-
"Please stop staring at me."
He jumped silently, then shuffled away from the bathroom door. He was grateful to have his own bathroom, truth be told. Hers was slowly being overtaken by a dozen skin and hair care routines. He hated to admit it, but he was starting to understand why Raoul had had such a hard time with her. But she had nowhere left to go, so . . . Well, it was his job to tolerate this.
He had only denied her one thing in all of this- rather, he'd avoided it entirely. She'd asked for a mirror to hang over the sink, and he sidestepped the question every time. As previously mentioned, he had limited reflective surfaces in the apartment. As time went on, he'd gone so far as to replace every reflective metal with duller materials, down to the faucets. Of course, he knew that it was impossible to eliminate all reflections, but on his worst days, he would sometimes have episodes where he'd catch a glimpse of himself and adjust the surface accordingly. That was why he kept the television on whenever he could, though annoyingly, it would shut off every now and then to preserve the screen. He'd even scratched up the microwave with his house keys, once. He knew that he had been getting worse about this- and about wearing the mask- but he didn't want to think about it any deeper than that. Things would get better when his grandmother returned.
When Christine was done scrubbing the elephant, she rinsed it off and squeezed the water out a few times before wrapping it in a towel and placing it on the shower floor to dry. She patted his head gently before standing up, and there was a brief moment when the Phantom wished that anyone at all might love him as much as Christine loved that elephant.
She sighed and sat down on the couch, which she had partly conceded when he got her an air mattress on the floor near the closet. The couch was their shared space now, though they were never on it at the same time. The Phantom smiled weakly.
"You sure love elephants . . ."
He eyed the elephant figurine with the crooked lip, which had somehow ended up with more scars on its face.
". . . Are you sure that you wouldn't rather get a normal one at some point?"
"No. I am content with my elephants. Though I'll be needing something to patch up Pieds' wound."
"Wound?"
"Yes, wound. What else would you call a gaping hole in someone's head? I imagine it must hurt quite a bit."
Soon, she would not have to imagine, but I'm getting ahead of myself.
The Phantom shrugged.
"Okay. Well, I guess you can enjoy your funny little duo-"
"Trio."
". . . Since when?"
She pulled a charm out of her bodice. Though he was too far to see any details, the Phantom deduced that it was a silver elephant. She hid it again.
"It was the last thing my father gave me."
"And that's why you like elephants?"
"No! I already liked elephants! That's why he got it for me! He said that it was special because they put one of the eyes in its socket the wrong way. He said that . . . He said that it would always have one eye turned toward the heavens, so that it could watch both of us at once. He was only starting to get sick then. But he knew."
"I didn't realize you had it."
"You don't realize a lot of things."
He swallowed.
"Has something been bothering you lately? . . ."
"Yes. And he can't take a hint."
Ouch.
Now, that was harsh, even for Christine. And he was fairly certain that it was because of whatever he'd done to upset her, so it must have been really bad. That, or she'd finally come to her senses and realized that she ought not to be hanging around with the likes of him. But how to fix this . . .
Hm. Well, he didn't have any ideas for that, but there was one promise he had yet to keep. He cleared his throat.
"Do you think you'll be okay if I pop out for a second?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Keep your phone handy in case-"
"Just go."
"Going."
He didn't like it when she was upset with him. Hopefully this next part would help with that, even a little. About fifteen minutes later, he entered the apartment with Pierce, who was still not wearing pants.
"Hey, Christine! Meet our new neighbour!" the Phantom said in an overly-bright tone.
She sat up, smiling.
"Oh, you did it! I didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"I'm a man of my word . . . Most of the time. Anyway, I didn't bring any abandoned baby lions, but Pierce has a cat. That's kind of like a small lion, I guess."
Pierce held up a scraggly-looking feline.
"His name is Shitblaster and he's infected."
"Hello, Shitblaster!" Christine chirped.
The Phantom frowned.
"I thought you didn't like cussing."
"It's his name. It would be rude not to use it."
"Ah."
The cat meowed and ran up to Christine, jumping in her lap. She cooed and scratched its chin. The Phantom felt a twinge of bitterness that this cat- which must be at least twice as stinky as he- was still treated with more kindness than he was. It soon returned to its owner, however, and Pierce pulled a package out of his pocket.
"Hey, lady. I have some quality stuff."
He tossed her the bag.
"Consider this a tip. Thanks for getting me into this place."
"I told him that it was your idea," the Phantom said, "And I explained your . . . medical condition. To an extent. He brought you some gummies."
She smiled.
"Oh, it comes in candy too! Wonderful!"
Pierce shot her finger-guns, winking as he backed into the hall, then opened his own apartment door. His cat followed at his feet. The Phantom smiled.
"Wow. I think we might have actually done some good."
"I'm surprised you didn't do it sooner."
"Why?"
"Well, I grew up poor and knew to do the right thing. You grew up poorer than poor, yet you didn't."
"I guess it never occurred to me."
"Perhaps you should pay attention to the world around you."
"Yeah . . ."
She opened the bag of gummies.
"Anyway, do you want some of these?"
This, he did not expect. He batted his eyes.
"Me? . . . Wait, why?"
"You seem stressed. Perhaps you could take some, and we'll get to talking."
"Talking about what?"
"Things."
Well, he didn't much like her vagueness, but he really wanted to talk to her on better terms . . .
"What happens if you shimmer?"
"I'll be okay."
"But don't you need me to be fully aware?"
"No. I'll be okay."
She held up a gummy for him. When he didn't accept it, she quirked a brow.
"Too scared?"
"I'm not scared!"
"Like how you weren't scared on the roller coaster?"
He grabbed it and swallowed it whole. After a beat, he clutched his throat.
"Oh, god. My heart is racing. I THINK IT'S HAPPENING-"
"It takes a few minutes. You're just nervous."
"Oh."
He stood up straight, clearing his throat.
"Hey, are you gonna take any? . . ."
"Oh. Yes."
She swallowed three.
"I'm fairly used to them by now. It's been a while, but I'm sure they won't hit very hard."
Notice, reader, that they did not check the dosage, nor determine exactly what kind of gummy they were dealing with.
The Phantom wrung his hands.
"I . . . I suppose I should be making us some food."
"That's okay, I'll get it all ready."
"Oh. Can I steal the couch?"
"Mhm."
She rolled off of it, and he sat down with trembling hands. After a while, he realized that it was all in his head. He sighed and leaned back on the arm of the couch.
"You know, Christine, I don't think this stuff actually works."
"Maybe not."
"Well, at least it was free."
The ceiling looked more interesting than usual.
"Wow. Did you ever notice all of the colors up there? . . ."
She walked over to him, looking down into his eyes. She seemed to be a shifting blob of several Christine's, so he wasn't sure which one she was supposed to be at the moment. She cocked her head.
"Are you . . ."
She suddenly fell over. He stared down at her.
"You okay?"
She crawled in front of the couch.
"Yes, and there's something I need to ask you. A favor."
"What favor?"
"I . . . forget. But it was important. I need to think. What was it? . . ."
Christine crawled across the room.
"Oh, no . . . Oh, no . . ."
She froze, noticing something.
"Dear God in Heaven!"
The Phantom peeked over the couch.
"What?"
"It's the Time Cube."
"The Time Cube?" he echoed.
She pointed at a stain on the floor. He narrowed his eyes.
"Christine, that's just where you threw up earlier."
"But how do you know? How can you be certain?"
"I . . . Oh my god."
Dread crept through his body. He swallowed.
"You're right. What if it's the Time Cube?"
She covered her ears, leaning against the wall as she shook.
"We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die!"
He leaned forward.
"No, we're not. We just have to-"
He fell off the couch.
". . . We just have to kill the Time Cube."
"How? With fire?"
That made perfect sense. Christine was so smart! He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it himself.
"Yes! Let's kill the Time Cube with fire! But where do we get fire?"
She pointed at his face.
"Breathe fire on it."
"I can't breathe fire."
"Maybe it's just stuck inside of you. Lie on your stomach."
He did. She immediately stood up and body-slammed him.
"OW!"
"I thought it would come out like toothpaste . . ." she groaned.
He coughed as she climbed on top of him, then looked up at her.
"Maybe . . . Maybe we can just spit on it."
She spat. It landed on his head.
"No, on the Time Cube!"
She spat again. He rubbed his eye.
"ON THE TIME CUBE!"
She stared ahead vacantly.
"What's a Time Cube?"
"I dunno! You said it first!"
"Did I? Huh . . ."
She stood up, nodding loosely, then looked around. She focused on the refrigerator for a moment, then looked down at the stain again. After a pause, she jumped.
"OH MY GOD, THE TIME CUBE!"
Slowly, a thought dawned on the Phantom. He grabbed his face.
"Oh, fuck."
"Don't cuss. What's going on?"
"That wasn't a microdose, Christine."
She squeaked.
"Oh, no! What do we do?!"
"Just ride it out, Christine. Ride it out."
He stared at the carpet.
"Oh my god, every second is an eternity. This is going to take forever."
"Perhaps we should opukai- copuguy- occupy ourselves."
"Yes! With what, though?"
"The walls! They need painting!"
"What color?"
"BLURPLE!"
She reached for a tube of orange paint and started smearing it all over the walls, staring at her creation wistfully.
"Blurple, the color of Cheetos," she said to no one in particular.
The Phantom stumbled across the room.
"I am going to write an aria of the highest calibre! Watch me gooooooooo!"
He started scribbling on a page. Christine grabbed some milk from the fridge and started pouring it down the sink.
"Mooooooooo! Mooooooooo!"
Meanwhile, the Phantom had finished his composition. Note for note, it was Smash Mouth's "All Star". He handed it to Christine.
"Do y'think the managers'll let us perform this?"
She giggled, then whispered very loudly.
"I think . . . they might . . . be GAAAAAAAAAY!"
"Congratulations!"
"For what?"
"Gay!"
"Oh! Am I gay?"
"I dunno, are you gay?"
"No."
"Then which one of us is gay?"
"Neither?"
She counted to five on her fingers, mouthing something indistinguishable.
"No, that doesn't make sense. We need to figure this out."
She grabbed a piece of paper, then drew a triangle.
"Each point is one of the poles. There's the North, the South, and Paris."
"What's going on?"
"MAGNETS. PAY ATTENTION."
"Oh, okay."
She drew an elephant in the middle, then pointed at it firmly.
"Atomic radiation."
"Atomic radiation? . . ."
"Atomic. Radiation."
"That's quite terrifying."
She narrowed her eyes as she examined the triangle.
"Wait, I forgot a direction. There's North, South, Paris, and Up."
"Up?"
"Like the sky. But that's another plane of existence."
Her eyes turned into butterflies.
"Wait, how's is up if in sky but not North?"
"North is longitudinal up. It's the inverse."
She clapped, making rainbows.
"Oh, like balloons."
"How is balloons on Up if we created them?"
"Self-awareness."
"The robots will outlast us all."
"Yikes."
He lifted his arms, and found that he had six of them.
"Woah."
Christine's face was an upside-down lamp. It communicated to him with waves of light.
"I thththink we'rrrrrrrrre UP UP UP."
He tried to catch her as she fell, but landed on top of her. She was about as long as a snake. He melted over her like butter.
"WHERE ARE MY BONES?"
"BONES?! AH!" she shrieked.
He grabbed his head.
"SKETELONS?!"
"WE NEED TO HIDE FROM THE SKETELONS!" she agreed.
She ran over to the door, pushing it closed.
"THE COUCH! THE COUCH!"
He ran over, falling, then got up and pushed it across the room, barricading the door. Christine started crying.
"I don't like bones . . ."
He held her tight as they sunk to the floor.
"It's okay, it's okay. I'll protect you from the bones."
She froze, then squeezed his arm fearfully. After a pause, she smacked him across the face.
"YOU'RE FULL OF BONES, YOU LIAR!"
"I'M SORRY!"
They both started crying. Holding each other for a bit, they calmed down. Christine sighed, catching her breath.
"It's okay to have bones."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Liesel and lurb . . .
"Okay. I believe you," he conceded.
"Good."
A beat.
"I missed you."
"Me? . . ."
"Yeah."
That made him feel good. He wanted her to say more, so he stuck his finger in her mouth. She gagged.
"Ow! What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to find more words."
"What words?"
"Nice ones."
"Elephant. Elephant is a nice word."
"No, I mean, about me."
He pulled her cheek open.
"I think they're all gone."
"MY TEETH?!"
"No, the nice words."
"Oh."
She stood up slowly.
"I'll find them."
"What? The words?"
"The bejesuses."
She teetered, then froze as she noticed something. Where the couch had been was a massive bloodstain. She put her hand up to her chest, then looked at him, suddenly alert.
"Did you kill someone? . . ."
"No, that's mine."
"Yours . . ."
"I'd rather not talk about it."
"I think I'm entitled to know about a massive bloodstain on the carpet!"
"I . . ."
He hugged his knees.
"It was my fault. But it's mine, I promise."
"Did you hurt yourself?"
"It was my fault," he repeated.
He swallowed, shaking.
"I don't know why I wasn't good enough. And now I don't even have a show. I'm nothing."
He sobbed into his hands.
"You see other shows get cancelled, but you never think it'll happen to you! And now it's gone! There is no Phantom in New York! This is the worst thing to ever happen to this city! . . . Okay, second worst. But still! I'm so . . . SAD . . . WAAAHAHAAAH!"
He curled up in a foetal position. Christine stumbled over to him and kicked his leg gently.
"Hey."
He peeked through his arm.
"What?"
"It's okay."
"Huh?"
"It's okay," she repeated.
"No, it's not. The show is gone."
"Nothing lasts forever."
"Then what's the point?"
"To have fun."
He squeaked.
"I'm not having fun . . ."
She sat next to him.
"Well, that's the hardest part of life. You can't fix everything. As I was catching up to this century, I saw a lot of things that scared me. World wars, nuclear bombs, climate change . . . a billion terrifying things that are out of our control. But today, I rode a roller coaster, and that was fun. I guess what I'm trying to say is that when the world crumbles around you, you control what you can, even if it's step by step. That way, when you die, you'll at least have lived a little."
"I guess . . ."
"So what's your first step?"
"CRYING!"
She nodded.
"Okay, then you cry. It's sad when things end, and it's okay to cry. Come here."
She cradled his head in her lap. The tears wouldn't stop coming. He closed his eyes and shook. She rubbed his shoulder.
"It's okay . . . It's okay . . . Do you think you've done everything in life that you can possibly do? Would you be able to accept dying?"
"What?!"
"Nothing."
She continued to stroke his arm.
"But suppose . . . suppose things came to an end. Are you satisfied with what you've done here, on Earth?"
He whined.
"I . . . I've always thought that I was immortal- and I am- but I'm not invincible. If I were to be killed . . ."
He shrunk.
"Oh god, I've been alive for almost a thousand years, and I've done nothing in all that time!"
"Not nothing. You kidnapped me and threatened to kill Raoul. You dropped a chandelier on a crowd of innocent people. And murder. You did a lot of murder."
". . . Well I haven't done GOOD things. If I died now . . ."
He gulped.
"The show is gone. I could be gone someday too, and no one would care."
He tensed up as he hiccoughed.
"I have no friends! I'm all alone!"
Christine stared ahead vacantly.
"Dying isn't so bad . . . Maybe it'd be a mercy, at this point."
He shook his head pointedly, suddenly resolute.
"No. I promised myself that I'd stay alive, as long as I had at least one thing to keep me going."
". . . What's the 'thing'?"
"Well, I thought it was the show, but ever since you got here . . . Christine, I want to make sure that you have a happy life. I'll send you off if I must, and perhaps I'll never see you again after that . . . but before then, I need to know that you'll be okay, that I've undone as much damage as I can."
She lifted his chin with her finger, looking at him with pity.
"Would you be willing to die, to give me a happy ending? . . ."
"I want to give you a happy ending. Then I will allow myself to die . . . or to move on. Maybe there's something else out there for me. Something good."
"Maybe. But sometimes, you just die."
"That's bleak."
"But it's true. That's what happened to me."
He swallowed.
"Right . . . you died . . ."
She hugged her knees beside him, nodding. He bit his lip, unsure of what to say next.
"Wanna talk about it? . . ."
She closed her eyes.
"There's not much to talk about. I got sick. It was hard to breathe. I was coughing up blood . . . I guess there were too many holes in me."
"Oh . . ."
"I kept choking. I guess that's what did it, though I don't remember the dying itself. I don't even remember what came after. Not until I reached the world of Fiction, and we both know how that went . . ."
"It's not your fault. Fiction is a lot to take in."
Her lip quivered.
"It seemed fine at first, but then that awful woman deceived me and made me into . . . this. The shimmers ruined my life. I felt like a monster, but I thought that I would at least have Raoul-"
She started shimmering. It hit her a few times. The Phantom helped her sit up straight against the door. She started sobbing into his shoulder. He cleared his throat.
"Christine, it'll be okay. You'll find your way back to him eventually."
"No, I won't!"
"But what about everything you two promised each other? You were supposed to have one love, one lifetime. Shit like that."
"Don't cuss! And for your information, he kept that promise. He stayed by my side for precisely one lifetime, short though it was."
"How short?"
"I died at thirty-two."
He did the math, and immediately worried that perhaps there was such a thing as fate, that Christine was meant to, at least more often than not, die at a specific moment in time. And what did that mean for him? If fate was real and every Phantom ended up miserable . . . Well, that would kind of suck ass. He preferred to believe that he had some control over his own destiny . . . but what had he even been doing to shape his future? Perhaps it was time to do something bold, finally.
"Christine, I am going to get Raoul to take you back!"
NOT THAT, NOT THAT, NOT TH-
She shook her head.
"He'd never take me in this state."
She wiped her eyes, then sniffled.
"I don't blame him. I don't. It was hard, putting up with me. He never asked for that burden."
"You're not a burden, Christine."
"I am. I know it. You can't possibly tell me that things have improved for you since I got here."
He sighed.
"Well . . . I mean, there are hard things about it, but really, this is the happiest I've been in a while. I like having you around. You're worth having around, Christine."
She sniffled.
"Just Marni."
"No, not just Marni. Marni didn't take a picture with Elmo. Marni didn't ride a roller coaster. Most of today, I spent with you, every one of you, and I never once wished that you were Marni instead. It really doesn't matter to me which one you are, Christine."
"Because you can't tell them apart?"
"No, because you're all the same person at the core. And I like that person very much."
She stared down at the carpet, thinking hard. After a moment, she sighed.
"No, you like the idea of me. That's all it is. Just like before."
"Christine, I promise, that's not it."
"But I can never be sure. I can never allow myself to believe. Not again. And I know that you like Marni best."
He twisted his mouth.
"It's not quite that. I just gravitate toward what's familiar. It reminds me of a time before I lost everything."
"Like with Raoul and I."
He batted his eyes.
"I don't follow."
"I loved Raoul because he reminded me of better times, when things were stable, when I had my father. Raoul was stable too. A bit too stable. I never had the opportunity to do anything before I died. Maybe this new life was supposed to be my second chance. And I spent hundreds of years being afraid . . . Because of you."
He swallowed.
"Oh . . . I didn't realize that it was because of me."
"I used to want a world full of magic. I used to want adventure. But then I realized that with all of that comes danger and hurt. If I couldn't trust an angel, how could I trust anyone?"
She swallowed.
"And now here I am, back with you, because you're all that's familiar to me."
She burst into tears again. He didn't quite know what to do, so he stood up and- Nope, he wasn't quite sober enough to do that yet- so he fell forward and crawled across the room, picking up Pieds the elephant and handing him to Christine. She hugged him so hard that a wad of stuffing poked out of his head.
"How awful it is, to live one life and suffer through most of it. How cruel it is that we in particular have more than one life to suffer through. Meg was right. Living is hell."
That last part, he didn't have context for, and he once again tuned out anything not to do with Christine herself (Notice that he did this with Meg once before. This will be important later, but suffice to say, if there was one truthful element to Love Never Dies, it was that the Phantom rarely thought of Meg.). He instead thought about the philosophy of it all, about how his own miserable life was mostly suffering. Usually, he'd be inclined to agree with a more pessimistic outlook on his place in the universe, but seeing Christine weep like that . . . No, this couldn't be all there was. Not for Christine, anyway.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He showed her the pictures of Elmo and the carousel horse. She smiled and opened the roller coaster selfie on her own phone, laughing a bit through her tears. The Phantom nudged her gently.
"You rode a roller coaster today, remember? Step by step, just like you said."
"Step by step."
"Step by step, and someday, things will get better. For you, at least. I'll make sure of it."
She laced her fingers through his.
"Perhaps you could share those images with me? . . ."
"Why don't I make a shared folder?"
He did, though it was difficult due to his (admittedly lessening) inebriation. When it was done, Christine swiped through the images, smiling.
"How beautiful it is, to be able to share photographs instantly. This world is strange, but it amazes me every day."
She yawned.
"Shame about the crocodiles, though."
"Crocodiles?"
"Well, you said that deliverymen are treated badly here. Is it not because the crocodiles snatch them up as they sail down the Amazon?"
He laughed.
"Not quite."
"Perhaps you ought to help them like you helped Pierce."
"For you, Christine, I'd do anything. I've never met someone so kind and patient. I . . . I feel like I can trust you . . . Granted, you did once engage in a plot to murder me-"
She jolted. He held up his hands.
"Sorry, sorry, I was trying to make a point. What I mean to say is, despite everything we went through, back in Paris-"
"Oh, right, Don Juan Triumphant."
"Yes, that. Anyway, despite all that, I feel . . . Well, in any case, I don't hold any of that against you. I feel safe with you now."
She stared into his eyes.
"I am so sorry."
He wasn't sure what she was sorry for in particular, but he didn't need to know.
"Don't be. The past is in the past."
"I am so, so sorry . . ."
She rested her head on his shoulder, then fell asleep. He told himself that he'd stay awake all night to watch over her, but realized that the sun had already come up, and figured that that was a reasonable out.
Before he went to sleep, however, he changed his home screen to the roller coaster selfie. He thought about cropping himself out, but decided that it would be weird to have another person as his lock screen. Furthermore, if Christine saw it, she'd assume that it was because she had been Marni at the time of the photo, which he knew she was insecure about. So instead, he let himself be in the photo. His first real photo.
As he locked his phone, the black screen reflected his face, and for once, he didn't flinch. He smiled and put it in his pocket, then squeezed Christine gently.
He liked himself more when they were together.
. . .
The Phantom awoke at noon, with no pants. Christine was using them to beat the carpet.
"What are you doing?" he groaned.
"Scattering the roaches."
"Roaches?! . . . Wait, there aren't any roaches."
Christine blinked.
"Oh."
"Aren't you sober yet?" he asked, "I'm a bit hungover, but-"
"I took more. I'm under a lot of pressure."
"Oh. Maybe don't take off my pants, though?"
"I didn't. You said they itched and kicked them off in your sleep."
"Oh."
He sat up, and feeling a jolt in his neck, sighed.
"Fuck."
"Don't cuss."
"I fell asleep against the door. My neck hurts."
He moaned.
"Correction: everything hurts."
He grabbed his pants as Christine dropped them. She waddled over to her bed.
"I'm going to sleep."
"Cool," he said, still drowsy.
"Can you stay by my side?"
"On the floor?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm scared."
He held his pounding head, then nodded.
"Okay."
Stiffly, he crawled across the floor. He plopped himself down with a grunt. Christine reached out and held his hand, squeezing Pieds in her other arm against her chest. She stared into the Phantom's eyes.
"Can you forgive me?"
"Huh?"
"Can you forgive me."
"What for?"
"Something big."
". . . Did you eat my Pop-Tarts again?"
"No. It's worse. Unimaginable. But it hasn't happened yet. I haven't done it yet."
He blinked.
"Christine, are you wasted?"
"Yes . . . Yes, only I need to know. Would you forgive me, if you could?"
He yawned.
"If I could?"
"If you could."
He stretched his arms.
"Christine, you are by far more reasonable than I, and I know that you make your decisions carefully. So yes, I forgive you."
She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes.
"I thought that would make me feel better, but it doesn't."
He pulled the blanket up over her ear, then covered Pieds as well.
"It's okay, Christine. This has been a lot to deal with, but we'll make it through."
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll miss you when this is over."
She'd miss him? Well, he didn't want to think about her eventual departure, but that thought alone made him reel with joy.
"I'll miss you too, Christine."
Without warning, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
The Phantom stared ahead with wide eyes, and didn't realize that she'd fallen asleep until a few minutes later, when he was finally able to move. Her fingers were still laced through his. He blinked away tears, then whispered softly.
"I forgive you."
. . .
The next time he awoke, it was night, and Christine was staring down at him, holding a knife. He scrambled into a seated position.
"CHRISTINE!"
"Did you want strawberries?"
"What?"
"I'm making strawberries. I cut off the tops."
"Oh."
"There is sugar to dip them in. The strawberries."
He looked to the counter. His heart flipped when he saw a box of rat poison.
"Christine, that's not sugar . . . Did you eat any?"
"No."
Slowly, he took the knife from her hand. She looked down, but let him do it. He swallowed.
"Christine, maybe you should sleep some more."
There were bags under her eyes. She was the Sarah Brightman Christine, but behind her gaze was something more than her usual vacant stare. Her hands were shaking.
"Perhaps I'll sleep," she said.
And she laid down.
The Phantom slowly placed the knife on the coffee table, then settled beside her again. After a beat, he picked up the gummy package, now empty. Reading it over, he saw three terrible letters on the front that confirmed his suspicion that this was something more intense than the cookies. He covered his mouth.
"Oh no . . ."
He stood up quickly and filled a trash bag with everything dangerous or toxic in the apartment. Running into the hallway, he banged on Pierce's door. When it opened, he handed him the bag.
"Don't let Christine touch any of this. It's dangerous."
"Is she tripping balls?"
"YES, AND IT'S YOUR FAULT!"
He slowly calmed his breathing.
"No, sorry, it's not your fault. I let it happen. This is my fault."
He swallowed, wringing his hands.
"Pierce, do you think that I'm bad for Christine? I think she's good for me, but- Oh, but last time I got worse when she was around. I think the problem is me. But I don't want to be a problem. I want- Well, I don't know what I want for myself, but I want Christine to be happy."
"Then make her happy."
"I can't do that when I'm . . . me."
He fell forward, weeping into Pierce's shoulder. He patted his back.
"There, there. It's okay, Batman."
"I'm not Batman."
"Then why do you wear a mask and cape?"
"Nevermind that! I'm scared that Christine is going to get hurt! I'm scared that I'm going to hurt her!"
"Batman, I think you need to worry less."
"Again, I'm not Batman."
"Well, whoever you are, you just gotta be you, and everything will be okay."
". . . No. The person I am isn't good enough."
Pierce poked his chest.
"Yet. Not good enough yet. Don't give up, Batman."
"I'm trying not to, but . . . God, I love her so much!"
He wept against Pierce, who tensed up as he slipped down his front.
"Don't tell her! Don't tell her that I love her!"
"I won't?"
He fell to the floor, hands frozen in claws.
"Agony upon agony, even after all this time, I can't ignore the way I feel about her! And now it's love proper, not some horrible obsession! I thought I knew heartache before, but this is so much worse! And it's too late! Too late for me! Not that I ever had a chance . . . But Christine, she's different. She kissed me. No one's ever kissed me before. If she can look past my face, then the problem was always something within me, fundamentally broken from years of trauma. And I don't know if it can be fixed. What if I'm wasting my time? What if I can't be fixed? What if every second of every day, I slowly suck the life out of Christine until I ruin her too? She deserves the world, and I can give her nothing!"
He was sobbing hard enough to shriek.
"I wish I could go back. Knowing what I know now, I would choose to never meet her. Being near me is a poison. From my kiss, she will someday die!"
Pierce looked down at him.
"Wow, Batman, you're really sad."
"I'M NOT BATMAN!"
He wiped his nose, then got to his feet stiffly, almost falling over. As he leaned against the wall, he swallowed.
"I want to make things better. But what if I can't? What if it's too late for me?"
Pierce grinned.
"Hey, buddy, wanna know a secret?"
"What? . . ."
"Giving up is your choice. You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take."
"But what if I'm wrong? What if I'm supposed to walk out of Christine's life and never return?"
"Nah. She talks nice about you."
"You two haven't even spoken."
"Yes, we did. Right when I tried to steal yer pants."
"Christine told me that I took them off on my own!"
"You did, and I tried to nab 'em."
"She didn't mention that part."
"She was prolly scared that you'd kick me out. She says that yer highly judgmental."
"I'm allowed to judge people for stealing my pants!"
"She also said that you have a sharp wit, and that you care more than you let on."
The Phantom swallowed.
"And? . . ."
"She says that yer makeup is cute and quirky and that yer music is amazing."
"Oh . . ."
"And that she wishes you were less grouchy. She also wants you to realize that yer grandmother doesn't love you."
He clenched his teeth, face shifting suddenly.
"Enough! What does Christine know, anyway? She has no right to judge my grandmother like that. No right!"
He huffed, then after a pause, his face softened.
"Although . . . I'm flattered that she's worried about me, and I suppose from a certain point of view, it might look like I'm in trouble."
He shuddered.
"Oh, what a mess I've gotten myself into."
Pierce nodded.
"It's hard. But Gotham needs saving."
The Phantom nodded, looking back at his own apartment door.
"Gotham needs saving . . ." he echoed.
He sighed.
"Thank you, Pierce. This has been helpful. And don't worry. I'll get you some pants."
"With pockets?"
"With all the pockets you could ever hope for."
"Gee! Thanks!"
He slunk back to the apartment, watching as Christine slept. She shimmered in her sleep. He pushed the hair out of her eyes as she shifted uncomfortably, muttering to herself. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but it was apologetic.
He exhaled, then resumed his post.
. . .
The next morning, both he and Christine were completely sober, though not fully recovered. They shuffled across the apartment like zombies, struggling to make their breakfasts. Christine seemed worse off by far. She rubbed her forehead, wincing with pain.
"It shouldn't be lasting this long, should it?"
"Not sure. When did you take the rest of them?"
"I wasn't exactly looking at the clock."
She coughed into her arm hoarsely.
"But I suppose I can soldier through this. I might need a fan on me, though; I'm burning up."
"Sure thing. Would you like a Pop-Tart?"
"The terrible Wildlicious ones?"
"No, Cherry. I noticed that you ate those ones the most."
"That, I did, because-"
She coughed again.
"Because they're the best ones," she croaked.
"Well, we're all entitled to our opinions, even if they're wrong."
She rolled her eyes, then took a bite of her Pop-Tart. She frowned with confusion.
"Maybe you're right. These barely taste like anything. I must have gotten lucky, last time."
He checked the box.
"Not expired. Weird."
She waddled over to the bed and coughed into her arm again.
"Whatever I took, I would prefer never to try again. These side effects aren't worth it. The cookies never made me cough."
The Phantom hummed.
"I'm surprised that the gummies did."
A thought occurred. He froze in place.
"Unless they didn't."
After a beat, he started rummaging around the apartment. She watched him as he opened drawer after drawer.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
"Don't cuss! Don't cuss! Don't cuss!"
"Why did I take you out unprotected?! We were supposed to be wearing masks!"
"You were."
"Not that kind!"
He found a small box. Quick as lightning, he bolted into his bathroom and grabbed something. He almost dropped it as he ran over to Christine. She leaned back as he held a cotton swab on a stick in front of her face.
"Stick this up your nose."
"What for?"
"You might be sick. I need to find out."
She did. He took the sample, then got to work on the kit. When he'd poured the liquid, he started pacing.
"Christine, how many vaccinations have you had?"
"Are vaccines available to the public here? I heard they were working on one for Consumption, which would have been very useful back in Paris . . ."
". . . So none at all?"
"No, but I'd like to get them all, if I can. And I'd like to vote and learn to drive. After all, if I'm going to live in this modern world, I ought to be a modern woman."
She coughed again.
"I will live, won't I? There can't be any disease too serious in this day and age . . ."
The line between life and death is thinner than we like to imagine, at least on one side. It is very hard to keep something alive, to follow a hundred rules that temporarily delay the arrival of Death, which is swift and permanent. The Phantom had failed yet again to take care of Christine, and that thin line between life and death became apparent, both metaphorically and literally. A strip of pink faded into the device as he hunched over it, and he turned to Christine, eyes wild. She gulped.
". . . What?"
"Christine . . . You have Covid."
