Death is difficult for everyone.
Whether it's coming to terms with our own mortality or letting go of a loved one, the pain of knowing that the end is coming haunts us all. The Phantom pondered this as he stared at Christine's corpse. Seeing her lifeless body tore at his gut. He took a deep breath, then covered his face.
Meanwhile, the actual Christine came back from the bathroom. She sat beside him.
"Wow, this sequel isn't great. Did I miss anything- Oh."
She swallowed.
"It's funny, I have no memory of this. Not even an inkling. I suppose it's not part of me. Does that make sense?"
He hadn't been listening. She gave him a look of concern.
"Are you okay?"
"Christine, you almost died."
"Yes, but I didn't. And I feel fine now, so what does it matter?"
He hadn't told her about the magic. As far as she was concerned, she had made a miraculous recovery. He hadn't even been sure that he'd had enough magic, and for a moment, he was terrified that he'd failed. Christine- the Jan-Christine at the time- had been knocked out, not breathing, and cold to the touch. He was positive that she'd died. But of course, what did he know? She had shimmered out of nowhere, and she was completely fine after that. Later, she fell asleep, and he sat by her side for a while, silently weeping with relief. He was glad to have saved her, even if it meant-
Well, he just wouldn't think about that.
"What do you want to watch after this?" he asked.
"I'd rather go outside, if it's alright."
"Of course it is."
"It's not that I don't like videos. I'm just tired of everyone dying."
"Are you going to yell at me about Nemo's mom again?"
"I'm emotionally attached to that fish. It was worse than the deer and the dog."
"I told you Old Yeller had a sad ending."
"Of the five dog deaths I've seen on film- which is a very high amount, by the way- that was the worst. If you're going to put a dog out of its misery, you ought to comfort it like Marley and Me. Shooting a dog in the face is horrid."
"That dog was rabid."
"He was scared and confused."
"So am I, but you don't hear me complaining."
She looked sick for a moment.
"Well . . . Nothing lasts forever."
"True. Where do you want to go today?"
"What about Central ParK?"
That was not a typo. She was Patti-Christine again, and she would occasionally enunciate a "K" so loudly that she spat like a camel.
The Phantom wiped his eye surreptitiously.
"Sure, we can go there. But there's a large homeless population."
"So? They're people too."
"Well, I'm not worried about them. I'm concerned that you'll bring more home. You're like a magnet to them."
"Har-har. But on that note, is there room for more people in this building?"
"I haven't exactly asked. The landlord's nearly comatose with all the mind-tampering I've been doing."
"Well, if it helps other people-"
"Right. I did notice that Pierce invited his friends. And I don't seem to recall agreeing to that."
"Don't whine."
"I'm not!" he whined, "I'm just concerned. You understand why I'm concerned, right?"
"It's fine. They're a lovely bunch, and they've started a garden on the roof."
"They what?!"
"They're growing produce and flowers. Don't you like flowers?"
"Not particularly, but I assume you do?"
"Yes, except for the part where I get a stuffy nose and cry around them."
"Allergies?"
"No, it's not allergies. I just have trouble breathing and swell up a bit."
"Christine, that's literally allergies."
"It's not! I-"
She shimmered. But it was different. The Phantom batted his eyes.
"Red?"
"Red what?" she asked woozily.
"You shimmered red. It's usually purple-grey."
"Oh. That's never happened before. Perhaps it's allergies."
"Christine, what do you think allergies are?"
"Hush!"
"I'm just saying-"
She pointed in his face.
"I know what an allergy is, and I'm not allergic to flowers!"
. . .
As they strolled through the park, Christine sniffled.
"Perhaps I'm still a little sick."
"Can I point out that we are literally surrounded by flowers at the moment?"
"IT'S NOT ALLERGIES!"
"Fine."
She looked around with wonder.
"I quite like this place. It's nice to see horses and statues again instead of concrete and circle monsters."
She meant the M and M mascots.
The Phantom nodded.
"I'm glad you're happy. You deserve a good day after being sick for so long."
"Longer than you know."
He looked at her sadly.
"I'm sorry, Christine. If I could fix the shimmers, I would."
"Well, maybe you can use your magic."
He felt his gut twist.
"I don't have enough."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Sensing his discomfort, she gave him a pitiful stare.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't ask for it, since it's not mine to take."
"If I was sure that it would help, I would give you every last bit of magic in me."
"I appreciate the thought, but you don't have to lie to me."
"I'm not."
She twisted her mouth, doubting his sincerity.
"Right . . . Well, at the end of the day, we all have to do what's best for ourselves."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, she spoke without meeting his gaze.
"It's a nice day. I hope my last day is like this."
"Christine, you're okay. You got better."
"I know. I'm just thinking."
She stared at the trees.
"It's beautiful here. It feels like home."
"Paris?"
"No."
"Sweden?"
"No."
"Then where?"
She smiled softly.
"I don't know. It just feels like a place where I can be myself. I see everything so clearly here. Food tastes like it should. And apparently, I can vote now."
"Yeah, that's always nice," he said, failing to come up with something better.
"I wouldn't mind driving, someday. It may take decades, but I'll do it."
"It'll probably take less time than that. I'd teach you if I knew how."
"You don't? How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to know that driving in this city would suck."
She laughed softly.
"Suck is a funny word."
"Yeah."
"I've learned some new words too."
"Like what?"
"Well, for example, if there's something you really enjoy, such as painting figurines or ice cream, you call it 'turnt'."
He laughed.
"Well . . ."
"My time here has been turnt, for what it's worth. You are turnt as well."
"Oh. Thank you. You're-"
"You're not allowed to say it. I'm only allowed to say it sometimes. But you are not."
"I was going to say that you're fun to hang out with."
"Oh. That's okay, then."
She sighed wistfully.
"I don't want this day to end."
"Why not? Tomorrow can be fun too."
"I doubt it."
She rubbed her arm with guilt.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah?"
"What would make you happy? I mean, truly happy."
Honestly, he already was, being with her. But he supposed she was seeking a deeper answer.
"I'd like the show to come back. And not as that shitty truncated version they play everywhere now."
"Don't cuss. And I think you're wrong. You'd be happy if you finally took off your mask."
"Right, I'd be so very happy if people screamed in terror when they saw me."
"I wouldn't scream."
"Historically, that's not true."
"No, I mean it. There are photos of your face on the inter-net, and I do not mind them one bit."
He grumbled.
"I wish you wouldn't look that stuff up."
"I don't think you should be ashamed of the way you look-"
"So you've said."
"And in my opinion-"
"Can we drop this?"
Fifteen minutes later, as they approached the apartment, she hadn't stopped talking.
"-because really, the shimmers are something of a disability too."
"Oh, sure. You change between dozens of extremely attractive women. Truly, society will have trouble accepting you."
"You think I'm extremely attractive?"
"I- Listen, my sarcasm takes precedence over whatever compliments you may infer."
She shrugged.
"Well, anyway, if people knew about the shimmers, they'd do experiments on me, like that sewn-together corpse."
"Frankenstein's Monster?"
"No, the dog in Frankenweenie."
He rolled his eyes.
"Christine, what is this obsession with dead dogs?"
"I may or may not have been responsible for the death of a dog, once."
He snorted with laughter, entering the apartment after her. She glared at him as he started on some Pop-Tarts.
"It's not funny!" she protested.
"Whatever you say, puppy-killer."
Christine trembled with rage, then paced back and forth with an irritated twitch in her eye. When she was done grumbling, she pointed at the Phantom accusatorially.
"You! You have no room to joke about killing, since between the two of us, you're the only one who's managed to do it!"
He shrugged.
"That only means I have more experience, so my opinion holds more weight."
She stared at him with wide eyes, then threw up her arms.
"Horrible! You're absolutely horrible!"
"Yes."
She crossed her arms.
"And you're fine with being a murderer."
"I mean, I'd rather not have been, but I didn't have much choice in the matter."
"Because of your face? I can't imagine that being enough to warrant becoming a murderer."
"No, you can't imagine."
That caught her off guard. She faltered a bit, then looked down with shame.
"I'm sorry. I have no right to judge. I can understand the idea of being backed into a corner. I just don't know how you could bring yourself to actually do it."
"Neither do I, sometimes."
It was dead silent until the toaster sprung. The Phantom looked to the side, staring at the mismatched Pop-Tarts. He had made one for himself and one for Christine. He put hers on a plate, then lowered his into the toaster once more. She frowned softly.
"I don't know why you insist on doing that. It's going to burn."
"I like my Pop-Tarts a bit darker, and besides, you can toast them for up to three minutes without them burning."
"Three minutes is how long it takes to strangle someone. I looked it up on the Google."
He didn't reply. She stared him down.
"How can a person sit there for three full minutes and not consider that they should stop, that whatever they're feeling in the moment isn't worth taking a life?"
He didn't have a good answer for that, but she expected one. He took a deep breath.
"I've been selfish. I know that. I suppose I ignored the humanity of others because it had so often been denied to me. I thought that what I wanted mattered more, that I had the right to take it. I wasn't able to accept that life is unfair, that I'd never be given the happiness I could have had if I wasn't . . . this."
"Wasn't what?"
"Whatever I am."
He saw in her gaze a sincerity that always made him falter. It was a bittersweet feeling. It made him want to be better, but with that desire came the understanding that he never could.
Christine took a step toward him.
"You're a human being, just like anyone else."
"In theory."
"No, I mean it. There is no reason you ought to be treated differently."
He tapped his fingers on the counter irritably.
"See, I understand what you mean, but there's a discrepancy between the way things should be and the way that they are. I admire your optimism, Christine, but even you were afraid of me, once."
"But not anymore."
"Well, I can't be sure of that."
"It's true."
"Hm."
She cocked her head.
"So . . . if you know that people ought to be treating you better, why do you speak so badly about yourself?"
"Well, when everyone calls you a monster, it's hard not to believe them."
"But you understand that it's wrong, yes?"
"I doubt myself a lot, but yes."
"I think that perhaps you ought to learn to love yourself, because it's the right thing to do."
Well, that was an odd way of phrasing it. He didn't want to dwell on the topic, but now he was curious . . .
"How do you figure?"
She shrugged.
"Well, just think about all of the people out there who are just like you. It's not fair to them if you call yourself a monster, because you'd be calling them monsters too."
"I don't know anyone like me."
"Well, just imagine, then. What if I was like you? Would you still say those things about yourself?"
The thought of hurting Christine in any way made him anxious immediately, but it was followed by a twinge of childish pride. She wasn't like him, and never would be. So what did she know? But truthfully, he understood that she was right, and for once, he fought his worst instincts and allowed himself to be vulnerable.
"I . . . I wouldn't say those things if they hurt you too. Or I'd try not to. I think it'd be a hard thing to break away from."
"So let's do it together. From now on, you'll not wear your mask, and you'll see that you're- What?"
He had been cackling.
"Oh. You're serious."
She nodded rapidly.
"I don't see why not. After all, maybe loving yourself will be the culmination of your life, the one bit of closure you get before . . . Well, before anything else happens."
"I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"It runs too deep."
"But-"
"This conversation is going to go in circles if you keep pressing me. The answer is no."
She wrung her hands, humming through a whimper. He didn't understand why she was so fixated on this.
"Suppose you took off your mask, only for a moment."
"No."
"It's just me here. You have nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried."
"Then take off your mask."
"No."
She bit her lip, desperate.
"Please?"
"Why do you want to see my face so badly? Wasn't it bad enough the first time?"
"You said you'd be kinder to yourself . . ."
"I said I'd try."
"So try."
"I am."
"Not hard enough."
He huffed.
"You're asking a lot of me."
"Just take off your mask. That's all I a-"
The sound he made next was something like a rubber chicken. Christine stared at him. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
"Christine, it's not going to happen."
"But why not? I'm not afraid."
He frowned.
"So you can handle the permanent sneer?"
"Permanent smile."
"The gashes?"
"Stripes."
"The giant crater?"
"The moon has craters too, and it's not hard to look at. Besides, the hole would make it easier to Ratatouille you."
He narrowed his eyes.
"To what?"
"To Ratatouille you. Perhaps if someone poked your skull, they could puppeteer you like in Ratatouille, and you'd become a master chef."
He stared at her for a very long time. She waved her hand.
"It's only a suggestion."
He took a deep breath, pressing his fingers against his lips.
"First of all, that's not a real thing."
"Then how did they film it?"
"They animated it on a computer."
She gave a vacant stare.
"Explain."
"Christine, I'm not going to explain computer animation to you."
She pointed angrily.
"Because you can't explain it."
"Nobody can!"
Actually, I can.
Computer animation has a relatively short history compared to most other forms of animation, and while it has changed a lot over the years, the basic principle is that you can move objects along the X, Y, and Z axis, both in relation to the world and to other objects. This means that you can constrain certain objects to others, which makes up the fundamentals of rigging. Now, the animation part requires that you key these rigs from pose to pose. The computer interprets the midway point, but it will average out the poses, so keyframes will be added in these areas to re-time the in-between poses and form more appealing arcs. This can be done either on the timeline or in the graph editor, and- Oh, hang on. While I was explaining this, the argument between the two escalated. Back to the story.
"-DON'T CARE WHAT THE RAT FROM RATATOUILLE DOES. HE'S VERMIN!"
"HIS NAME IS REMY AND HE'S A LITTLE CHEF!"
"HE'S A RAT!"
"WELL, AT LEAST WE KNOW HE APPEALS TO ONE OF THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERAS!"
"THE PLURAL IS PHANTOMS OF THE OPERA, AND THAT'S A LOW BLOW!"
"NO, THIS IS!"
She smacked his middle with a pillow, then pushed him onto the couch. He yowled.
"WHAT THE FUCK?! HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS?!"
"DON'T CUSS! AND THE ELIZABETH WELCH CHRISTINE IS ABNORMALLY STRONG!"
This was true. From an early age, Elizabeth Welch hade made a habit of eating spinach every day, forming unusually dense muscles like the popular cartoon character, Popeye. When she played Christine, she impressed the cast by lifting cars over her head (but only sedans and compact vehicles, nothing bigger, because that would be ridiculous).
All was going well until one rehearsal when she forgot to regulate her strength and accidentally knocked over the elephant set piece by brushing up against it lightly. It fell over and crushed one of the ballerinas flat. Elizabeth served no time, as this was ruled an accident, but it did mean that she was one of five Christine's with a (known) body count, tied with Mary D'Arcy, who once stabbed a man to death with a fork at an all-you-can-eat salad bar when he tried to take the last green olive.
Of course, most Christine's were not murderers. Elizabeth Southard, being a masked vigilante by night, had made a vow never to kill, even in her line of work. Sierra Boggess had never killed anyone either, but stated that she could get away with it if she wanted to, because she was everyone's favourite Christine. And of course most Christine's who killed did so by accident. In fact, Adrienne McEwan had unintentionally killed two thousand six hundred and six people at once, but they let her stay on the show for two more years after that, because it was, in her words, "Just a little oopsie." Everyone agreed that she was simply a charming rapscallion, and the issue was dropped.
Anyway, Christine reached for the Phantom's mask. She had shimmered several times, as you may have deduced, and was still at it. She was thrashing around on top of the Phantom as he pushed both of her wrists away from his face.
"LET- ME- GIVE- YOU- CLOSURE!" she barked.
He finally managed to push her off when she became the Sarah Brightman Christine (known for being feeble- Sarah Brightman was once knocked several feet back by a light breeze). She shimmered again, and spoke as quietly as someone can manage while shouting.
"Stop this nonsense! You'll feel better once the masK is off!"
That was still not a typo.
"I told you, no!"
"But it's for your own good!"
She shimmered red, then chased him around the room. She never quite caught up to him, because she was knocked back by a worsening episode each time. He finally ran to his room and locked the door. She jiggled the handle, then he heard a firm kick.
"Oh, come on!"
"Christine, what in god's name has gotten into you?!"
"I am trying to HELP you!"
"I don't WANT help!"
A silence.
". . . So you're okay with the way you are now?"
"I'm . . . Stop it. This is too far."
"Too far?! You have no idea what I'm- YIP!"
Apparently, that shimmer hurt. He heard her crumple on the other side of the door. Panicked, he fiddled with the lock, then gasped when he saw her passed out. She was the Marie Danvers Christine. Her tongue was sticking out.
"Oh my god . . ."
He crouched down over her.
"Are you alr-"
"HA!"
She sprung up and made a grab for his mask. He batted her away, but then something horrible happened. Her fingers caught the bottom of the mask, lifting it just enough that it slipped from his face a bit. He immediately reached up for it and slammed it back in place, and Christine withdrew, shaking like a leaf.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."
She trembled for a moment longer, expecting the act to be met with rage. She was surprised to see that the Phantom was just as scared as she was, if not more.
When Christine's face softened, the Phantom realized that he must look a wreck, and quickly turned away to retreat to the kitchen. He jumped when he noticed that she'd followed him in silence, looking concerned. When he said nothing, she slowly walked over to the couch and sat down, but peered over the top to look at him. He turned away once more, sorting the cutlery drawer without much purpose. When it became clear that he wasn't going to address it, he heard her shuffle a bit, then turn on the television. She was watching a documentary about sharks. Or, at least, she was pretending to. After a long while, she spoke.
"Wow, I didn't know that sharks could lure their prey in with their tails."
He didn't reply. She swallowed and waited for a moment. The Phantom started on another round of Pop-Tarts.
". . . And it has a beard too."
When he didn't so much as hum, she peeked over the couch.
"I'm sorry."
He swallowed the lump in his throat, but remained silent. Christine's eyes were wet.
"I'm sorry . . ."
It took him a moment to compose himself, but there was still a quaver in his voice.
"I . . . I'd rather drop it."
"O-okay . . ."
They didn't speak after that, but a few minutes later, seemingly out of nowhere, Christine started crying. The Phantom retreated to his room, and did much the same.
. . .
The next morning, the Phantom nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Christine standing in front of his bedroom door.
"Don't be mad."
"Christine, you can't be sneaking up on me like that. It's too early."
He yawned, stretching his arms.
"And I'm not mad. I'd rather not discuss what happened yesterday, though."
"No, it's a new thing."
He blinked.
"What?"
She wrung her hands.
"Well, I felt badly about yesterday, so I scrambled to try to find a way to make it up to you. I noticed that your contacts were on my phone-"
"Shit, I didn't mean to do that."
"Don't cuss. I figured it was an accident, but even so, I decided to see if you have any friends. For advice, you know. I phoned all of the numbers- by the way, why do you have seven separate pizza places in your contacts?"
"None of your business."
"Alright. Well, anyway, I got to Ruth and Gladys-"
"Oh."
"And they're coming over."
His eyes went wide.
"What?!"
"I didn't mean to invite them! They're very sweet. I felt bad."
"Christine, why on earth would you-"
"I thought that you could use the company. And they seem nice."
"Christine, I haven't seen them since-"
"Since it was announced that the show was closing. They told me."
Now, you are most certainly lacking context for all of this. Christine herself had only that day learned how the Phantom had met these women, and he of course remembered the whole thing for himself, but you in particular need to be caught up to speed.
The Phantom had been travelling to New York on and off long before living there. He was able to do so easily with the magic afforded to him by his wings, and he was similarly able to conceal said wings using their own magic. You might be wondering why he didn't simply conceal his face in much the same way, if you haven't been paying attention. More observant readers will already understand, and it's not worth explaining at this juncture. I will, however, tell you about the hit Broadway musical "Mamma Mia!".
Many years ago, the Phantom found his own show sold out unexpectedly, so he instead decided to see something new for a change. He attended a performance of "Mamma Mia!", and happened to sit beside three elderly women who struck up a conversation with him. Long story short, they ended up seeing the show many times after that. They also went to see the movie and its sequel as a group. Irving, the third of these ladies, had been too unwell to attend the latter, and died shortly after. But the first two ladies, Ruth and Gladys, were keen to keep in contact. It hadn't escaped their notice that he was not coping with the closure of the show very well, but after a series of unanswered texts, they decided to give him some space.
Some space that Christine had just erased completely.
The Phantom sighed, waddling over to his Pop-Tarts (which Christine had prepared extra carefully as an apology).
"Alright, when are they coming?" he muttered.
There was a knock at the door. The Phantom grabbed his head.
"Seriously?!"
"You sleep late!"
He sighed and opened the door. Immediately, he was wrapped up in a dual bear hug.
"Oh, honey, we heard about-"
"I'm so sorry to hear about-"
"-closing, this is-"
"-gone the same way as our dear show-"
"-going to miss it."
"-brought you some porridge."
They had a bad tendency of talking over each other, so only about fifteen percent of what they said was distinguishable. But he got the gist.
"I'm sorry I didn't keep in contact with you. I just-"
"Don't worry pumpkin, we-"
"Darling, don't-"
"-sad after poor Irving-"
"-but we brought you-"
"-she'd want you to have it."
"-all of their songs!"
They held up a box of records, all ABBA. From context, the Phantom gathered that he'd inherited these from Irving. He was immediately flattered- and a little bit humbled- but that immediately turned to confusion when the box started playing music.
You're asleep on the couch with Tammy
And she looks straight up at me
The song kept playing after that, of course, but it's illegal to include more than two lines of song lyrics at a time due to copyright law. Which I shouldn't be beholden to, by the way, but I suppose we must all sacrifice the quality of our art at times.
Anyway, the Phantom reached into the box and pulled out a small, white electronic dog: the source of the music. The two women burst into chatter again.
"Golly, I didn't think that thing would ever-"
"Good heavens, I didn't know that was even charged! We-"
"-playing on its own-"
"-never managed to figure the darn thing out-"
"-funny how it dances like that, though."
"-and I saw Kennedy get shot in person."
And the dog, bless her heart, licks my fingers
But she jerks every time you swear
The Phantom looked for an off switch on the dog, but there was none.
"How do you turn this fucker off?"
"Don't cuss!" Christine hissed, "Especially in front of these lovely ladies."
They smiled.
"Thank you, darling-"
"Bless your heart-"
"-very kind to say, and we're so glad that he has a friend-"
"-of course, we always thought he wasn't into women-"
"-sweet girl-"
"-if the gays date women now, that's fine-"
"I'm not gay," the Phantom muttered, interrupting them.
"Well, whatever you want to call it-"
"Don't worry about it, darling, we won't judge-"
"-just surprised to see you with a woman, is all."
"-but don't forget to clean up after the anal and whatnot."
"GLADYS!"
"That's not a judgment. I think it's very progressive, what with-"
"Darling, don't worry-"
The Phantom waved his hands, cutting them off.
"Ladies, ladies! Please, can we not talk about these things? Especially in front of Christine."
She snorted.
"I'm not a child."
"Okay, but I'd rather not discuss this. It's been lovely catching up, but-"
"Darling, don't push us away-"
"Honey, you don't have to be shy-"
"-here to watch the movie with her-"
"-hadn't even heard of ABBA until now-"
"-so you can't get rid of us that easily."
"-looks good, even though she was born in the 50's."
Christine nodded enthusiastically.
"I was born in the late 50's, but I never really listened to the radio."
She was good at lying by omission.
As the two old women kept squawking, the iDog switched songs unexpectedly.
Mamma mia, here I go again
My, my, how can I resist you?
The Phantom sighed.
"Okay, okay. We can watch Mamma Mia. If you insist."
Christine clapped her hands.
"Great! I'll make popcorn."
. . .
The two women continued their chatter over the movie, stopping only to sing along. The Phantom did not. He sat grumpily, all sunk into the couch with his arms crossed. Christine looked at him with worry.
"Are you not having fun?"
"No."
"But they told me you love this movie."
"I LIKE it. But I'm not in the mood."
She bit her lip.
"Why not?"
He exhaled.
"What does it matter?"
She swallowed.
"I just thought that if I could get you to have one really good day, you might be happy for a change."
"Hmph."
"Is this about the mask?"
His frown deepened.
"I just don't know why you're trying to force me to enjoy myself."
"And I don't understand why you're resisting."
"Listen, I-"
He cut himself off when Ruth started sobbing. He looked at her with worry, but Gladys held her tightly.
"It's okay, it's okay. We're going to be okay."
The Phantom paused the movie.
"What's going on?"
For once, Gladys spoke alone, for Ruth was busy crying.
"It's been harder and harder to get by. Ever since Irving passed, we can't afford our current living situation."
Money, money, money-
The Phantom stuffed the iDog under a pillow hurriedly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Ruth sniffled.
"You were so sad about the show, and we didn't want to worry you!"
In that moment, the Phantom saw himself through their eyes, and he didn't like it one bit. Was he really so self-involved that they didn't feel comfortable talking to him about their problems? They were facing actual hardship, and here he was moping about the show's cancellation. They'd been nothing but kind to him, and he'd been so closed off in return. If only there was something he could-
"Live here. You can do it for free. I know the landlord. He'll set you up with the nice suite on the main floor."
Their faces lit up.
"Really?"
"You mean it?"
He nodded.
"Absolutely. I'll go find him right now."
Christine sat up.
"But you'll miss-"
He was already gone. The two women grinned.
"He's such a nice boy-"
"Funny fellow, but-"
"-one of the nicest gays."
"-very gay."
. . .
By the time the Phantom returned, it was late in the day, and the two women had to go home. After checking that Christine was alright on her own, he escorted them across the city. They were surprisingly fit for their age, walking with a chipper attitude the whole way.
At the door to their apartment, they assured him that they'd be back soon to move in, and thanked him again. He wanted to tell them that it was no problem, that they were his closest friends, that despite his closed-off nature, he truly appreciated their presence in his life, but he faltered and shot them friendly finger guns instead.
When they were safe inside, the Phantom quickly called a cab and popped up to the apartment again. Christine was sitting on the couch as the iDog played in front of her. She was very still.
And so I dealt you the blow
One of us had to go
The Phantom laughed.
"Is that thing still going? What's it even hooked up to?"
She didn't reply. He walked to the kitchen.
"You want apple slices? I can cut some up if- Shit, I'm missing a knife. I must have trashed it by accident. That's gonna bug me for a while. You know, I'm so absentminded-"
When he turned, he saw tears in her eyes. His heart sunk.
"Christine, what's wrong?"
"I wanted to make things right."
He approached her hesitantly.
"What do you mean?"
"Those women told me about 'Mamma Mia!', about how you used to go see it with them. They said that at the end, you always got up and danced with them, and even though you're usually so glum, for a moment, you'd be smiling and happy, and everything was okay."
She wiped her eyes.
"But I messed it up."
The Phantom bit his lip.
"No, no. Not at all. Christine, is something going on? First the mask, now this. Is there a reason?"
"I just wanted you to be happy today."
One of us is crying
One of us is lying
After a long silence, he sighed heavily, then gave a lopsided smile.
"Okay. Get up."
She sniffled.
"Why?"
"Trust me."
She stood up. He pointed at the iDog.
"Hey, robot puppy thing. Play 'Dancing Queen'."
The music changed. Christine watched with concern as he started jerking around.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm dancing."
"That's dancing?"
He laughed.
"Listen, you asked for this, so you're gonna have to suffer through it."
She winced as he started rolling his arms one over the other in fists.
". . . Is this how people dance now?"
"Nope. Just me. And you too."
He held her hands.
"Come on."
Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for a place to go
She laughed as he spun her around.
"I can see why you like this so much!"
"That's nothing. Watch this."
He bumped his hip against hers. She did the same.
"Wow, there's a lot of hip motion in modern dance."
"If you count decades-old moves as modern."
You can dance, you can jive
Having the time of your life
She laughed as he dipped her down.
"I like ABBA!" she squeaked, "And are they really from Sweden? You sure have a type."
He smiled.
"We'll listen to every one of their songs, I promise. Even the bad ones."
"The bad ones?"
"Well, they're not all hits. There's Rock Me, King Kong Song, When I Kissed the Teacher-"
"Ah, so you agree that teacher-student relationships are inappropriate."
He laughed awkwardly.
"Well, I learned my lesson the hard way."
After a pause, he swallowed.
"Christine, I really am sorry."
She shrugged.
"I forgive you."
He batted his eyes.
"You do? Just like that?"
She wrapped him in a hug.
"I just want you to be happy," she said quietly.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
"Don't worry about that, Christine. When you're here, I'm happy. Even when you tease me, even when you scold me. I'm so lucky just to have you around. And I'm glad to have danced with you, Christine. I'm not even embarrassed anymore. I feel no shame, no regret . . . And I have to be honest with you, Christine. I did help you, last night. I gave you every last bit of magic I had left. I was so worried, because I thought that I was giving up everything I cared about . . . but I care about you more."
She went stiff.
"You gave up your magic . . ."
"I did. But it was nothing. I'd do it a million times over. Maybe it's the only truly good thing I've done. But it made me happy. So you don't have to do anything in return."
But she did, in fact, do something in return at that very moment.
She dropped the knife that she was about to drive into his back.
Diggin' the Dancing Queen!