The next morning I arose from bed before the other ballerinas. I had barely slept and was tired of tossing, trying to return to sleep. Quickly I got dressed and crept downstairs. It was very early and even most of the crew was still sleeping.
I could have started my janitorial duties, but I did not feel like it. I just wanted time alone before everyone was bustling about. Padding quietly through the back rooms and the stage wing, I was back on the platform again. The emptiness of the auditorium called to me, though it should have been the last place I wanted to visit.
Indeed, as soon as I passed through the stage door onto the smooth maple-wood flooring, an image of Monsieur Buquet's corpse flashed across my vision. Halting, I took a half-step back before I caught myself. There was nothing and no one here now; no reason to run. Still, my breathing hitched and I gulped. The heavy red curtains were pulled shut so the view of the auditorium was not visible to me. Moving quietly onto the stage I scanned the bridges and catwalks above me for signs of movement in the dark. Seeing nothing suspicious, I shored up my courage and wiggled my way to the forestage.
Standing alone in the darkness I wondered what horrors the next opera might hold. Or if Monsieur Firmin and Monsieur André would finally give in to the demands made by the madman in the labyrinth below.
The envy I felt for Christine was equally matched by the joy I would find in her becoming, and staying, the new diva. We would all fare much better listening to her sweet voice than Carlotta's astringent one. In this, the Phantom was not wrong. Struck by a sudden inspiration, I started singing. Low at first, getting louder as my confidence that I was alone grew. Imagining I was the diva singing for my audience, my voice carried far and wide into the auditorium, making me smile. Eventually, I heard people moving about and decided it was time for me to get on with the day's duties and pulled myself from my false limelight.
In spite of everything that had happened to me over the last few weeks, Madame Giry insisted that I join the lessons that day. I had very little interest in dance practice and certainly little interest in seeing Giselle and her friends today, but I did not have a choice. My interest piqued when Madame Giry told me that she had something exciting to tell me, but only if I turned in a good performance during practice.
And so we met at the barre for warm-ups and afterward the curtain was raised, and we were allowed to practice on the great stage.
I had to wait longer yet before she could tell me, because as soon as she finished practice with the newest dancers, she moved on to teach the more seasoned ballerinas. Wondering what the news could be, I changed out of my leotard and tights and into my everyday skirt and top of midnight blue. The morning seemed to drag on and as I helped to sweep the auditorium, my mind wandered to less menial thoughts.
Usually the only person to talk to me was Madame Giry, so I nearly jumped out of my skin when a masculine voice called out my name. The familiarity of it registered even as I turned to see who had spoken. I blinked in shock.
Oh no. How did he find me? I wondered.
Filled with a peculiar dread, I stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the man hurrying down the aisle toward me, hasty preparations to leave the house this morning evidenced by his tousled, greying, light brown hair.
My father. Somehow he had finally found me. But how?
He came at me, grinning from ear to ear, as if it was the most wonderful chance meeting he'd ever had. A part of me wanted to run to him; throw my arms around his neck and hug him as I once did; become his little girl again. Another part wanted to shy away from him as his betrayal of decency loomed over me.
Completely oblivious to my stupefied countenance, he threw his arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug as he said, "Jacqueline! Oh, my Jacqueline!" The relief that filled his speech seemed genuine enough and my guard dropped. I threw it back up instantly. Just because he was happy to see me did not mean that I should be happy to see him. He stepped back, his hands still grasping my shoulders as he smiled down at me.
I could not hide my surprise enough to mince words. With a touch of awe I asked, "How did you find me?"
"The performance. Last night," he said. Seeing my bewildered expression, he elaborated. "I came to the performance of Il Muto last night. When that… horrible…" he trailed off searching for the right word, "—accident occurred I saw you fall. It drew my attention and I realized that I recognized you. Even with that outlandish hair style." He chuckled. I did not.
As I remained staring at him, his smile faded away and he dropped his hands to his sides.
"I've missed you, Jacqueline," he said, glancing away from me, suddenly serious. "It has been awfully lonely in the house since you left. Though Benoit comes every day to make sure I'm all right… and to see if there has been any progress in finding you." He turned his spectacled piercing grey eyes on me. This time it was my turn to look away, uncomfortable under that familiar gaze. I swallowed hard and awaited the scolding that usually accompanied that particular look.
"You are a missing person now, Jacqueline. Do you know that? Hm?"
Demurely, I shook my head.
"Yes, well, you are. That night I came home and found Benoit cleaning blood off his face. He had a horrible gash below his eye and his skin was starting to turn purple." My father's face screwed up in distaste. "It was quite awful to look at. But it healed nicely."
What a shame, I thought. His scars faded, while mine remained. When I made no inquiry about Benoit's well-being, my father plowed on.
"He was worried about you. He admitted that you two had been dancing and that he tripped on your dress, fell, and hit his head. Said that when he fell to the floor, you ran away screaming. He thought you must have seen the blood and panicked and he assumed at first that you had run for a doctor. But when you did not return we began to worry."
My mind was reeling with anger. I felt my chest rising and falling faster as my breathing quickened. But I heard myself ask with chilling calm, "Dancing?"
"Yes," my father replied. "There's no harm in that, Jacqueline. Certainly nothing inappropriate enough to warrant you running off the way you did."
I was too angry to say anything. Was too stunned that Benoit's lies held such sway over my father. After a silence that stretched on for too long, he spoke again.
"He misses you, too, Lina."
"I don't!" I choked out. My father's brow furrowed, confused. I swallowed and tried again. When I spoke my voice was aggravatingly choked by tears, but my words were clear enough. "I don't miss him. And he does not miss me! He only wants you to think that, because it is his fault that I ran."
"Whatever are you talking about? Always so theatrical! This seems to be the perfect place for you." He gestured broadly to encompass the whole auditorium.
"Good. Then here I shall stay."
This rejoinder seemed to baffle him and he stared at me, nonplussed, before saying more. "Don't be ridiculous, Jacqueline. You have a home and a family that loves you, why on earth stay here? When have you ever been interested in dancing? Do you know what is required of you if you stay? You would let men violate you rather than return to the purity of a Godly relationship! Or do you have an abonné already? Is that why you won't come with me?" His lip curled back in disgust.
His pernicious questions burned me to the core. This was the man who had raised me since my mother died, sixteen years ago. How could he not know me? Again, I shook my head at him. Though the worst might have been insinuated, I only said, "I won't go back with you."
"Please, Jacqueline, be rational!" he replied, starting to lose his temper. "I have a daughter who has run away from her fiancé! It is disgraceful!"
"Is it not disgraceful to have a daughter that is beaten and bruised?" I shouted back at him. Furious tears stung my eyes. The dress I wore was modest and I could not pull up my sleeve to show him the scars there or I would have. And showing him any other scar was out of the question. "Is it not disgraceful to want her to go back to a cruel man who will only continue to treat her as refuse?"
"You said yes!" Now he was yelling, incredulous. "He asked you to marry him and you agreed! Did you not consider the ramifications when you said yes?"
Leave it to my father to take a situation in which I was the victim and make it my fault. Benoit had his manipulative hand in this, too, I reminded myself, but it did not lessen the hurt.
"I didn't know!" My temper matched his now.
"Well, you know now, but it's too late. Come back to the life you promised yourself to."
"He hurts me, Papa!"
"Just come back with me, Jacqueline."
I drew back staring wide-eyed in perplexity at him. How had I lived with this man all my life and not seen the beast that he was? The monster that he was.
"There is a man here," I began slowly, "who is a murderer. He is here to hide from the world. But it should be you hiding, because you are more of a monster than he."
A throat was cleared behind me and I glanced over my shoulder to see Madame Giry approaching. Beyond her, crowded in the auditorium doorway, were Meg and Christine and a few other girls, all watching me and my father with wide curious eyes. How long had they been listening? Wiping the tears from my face I turned away and brought my breathing and temper back under control.
"What is the trouble, Lina?" The sobriquet got my attention. While the girls had quickly latched onto calling me 'Lina', Madame Giry had remained politely professional in calling me by my given name Jacqueline. By calling me 'Lina' she was deliberately placing herself in a more familiar standing with me. She was making a point, I think, to my father. As if to say, 'Look here, we are good friends and I will take her side.'
"Nothing, Madame Giry," I lied, sniffing, resisting the urge to wipe my nose on my sleeve. I needed a handkerchief. Frequently, it seemed. I made a mental note to procure one as soon as was possible.
Madame Giry raised a thin eyebrow. "It certainly sounded like trouble."
"Ah, Lina and I were just discussing her current living situation," my father put in. Feigning politeness with a forced smile he said, "She has no business being here and I'm sorry if she imposed upon you, madame."
"It is not an imposition at all, monsieur," she replied. "Jacqueline has been a valuable asset to the company and with a fantastic voice she will go far if she remains here. Especially since she now has a gentleman to sponsor her."
My father and I exchanged glances, emotionally on opposite ends of the spectrum. Elated, I took Madame Giry's hand in both of mine. "Truly?" I asked.
"Oui," she said, nodding and smiling at me. I let loose a squeal of joy before throwing my arms around her in a rough hug. I ran to my friends in the doorway and we had a small celebration of hugs and encouragement. When I looked back, my father was still standing there, shoulders slightly slumped in a posture of defeat.
I walked over to him, passing Madame Giry who ushered the girls out so we might have a bit of privacy.
"You needn't worry about me here," I told my father boldly. "I'll be taken care of now." As soon as it left my lips I realized I had no idea if I actually would. My stomach clenched as the full weight of the announcement sunk in. Choosing not to let it worry me, lest my father catch on, I pushed the thought aside. I could have a sleepless night tonight instead.
With a heavy sigh he said, "I'm going to have to tell him you are here, Jacqueline."
I winced. "Why?"
He scoffed. "I cannot lie to him. He is your fiancé. He has a right to know where you are and what you are doing. And with whom." This last statement was said with disdain and he gave me a demoralizing look. I felt the heat of a blush rising to my face.
"Because I love you, I will give you time to think about it," he continued. "Time enough to realize the mistakes you are making. And if it should take too long for you to come to your senses, then I will tell Benoit. I'll let him try to talk some sense into you."
"Beat it into me, you mean," I replied bitterly, but feeling relief at being able to say it out loud.
"If that's what it takes," he said. Smoothing out his light grey jacket, he walked away. At a loss for words, all I could do was stare at him as he left.
An unexplainable tingle on the back of my neck informed me that I was being watched. I glanced around the auditorium but saw no one that would account for this. The only people about were the other janitors, one of which was shouting across the room to get busy now that the reunion with my father was over. I could only guess as to who was observing me from the shadows and I did not appreciate his interest in my painful affairs. I suppressed a shudder as the eerie sensation left me and I continued sweeping.
From the cavern below the Opera Populaire, he could have sworn that he heard Christine singing. He closed his eyes for a while, delighting in the rapturous melody. It was a different song — one he had not heard before.
Listening to it, he realized it was not Christine. Could that truly be Jacqueline? The night he promised Madame Giry he would hear the girl sing, he was moved by her song, but there was something new in her tone this morning. Something wondrous.
Letting out an explosive sigh, he abandoned the score he was composing, and grabbed his cape. He was just going to have to go up there and find out exactly what was going on. It could not have been a song from the next opera — he knew it too well. But he just could not place the song! He had to hear it better.
Unfortunately, by the time he reached the auditorium, the singer was gone, the stage empty and the curtain raised. Cursing under his breath, he climbed higher into the stage left fly tower to sit and ponder the new opera he was writing. It would be marvelous when he was finished. With Christine playing the lead role, it would be the best opera ever performed on that stage. Now he wondered if perhaps he should not have Jacqueline play a part as well. There really was no place for her… unless he cut Carlotta out of the picture entirely. He did not see a problem with that. Except that the idiotic theatre managers would think they needed Carlotta and to appease her they would just stick her in somewhere and mess up his beautiful work. This time it needed to be La Carlotta. Later, he could make sure Jacqueline had a role in a different opera.
The ballerinas came in to practice, dressed in their black leotards and pale pink leggings. Fearful one of them might look up and spot him, he started to get up to leave, but then he saw Christine. She was beautiful. Without making a conscious decision, he stayed to watch her dance. After a while, he noticed he was seeing two Christines. It astonished him. Narrowing his eyes at the two chorus girls on the stage below him, he unconsciously began comparing them. Surely, Christine was by far a better dancer; her moves graceful and rhythmic, almost hypnotic. To be fair, she had been training for far longer than Jacqueline. But their looks! How had he not noticed their similarities before now?
He sat and watched the entire practice while, in his head, he added music to their moves, his new opera forgotten. Even after every one of them had left, he sat staring at the stage. Now he felt that he should write another opera. But no! He had to stay focused on this one! Stay focused on Don Juan. He needed Christine and it seemed that the new plan he had formed was going to be the only way to get through to her. To get close to her.
Out in the auditorium someone shouted for Jacqueline. He frowned. It was a man and not a voice he recognized. He swung down to a position where he could see the newcomer, just on the other side of the orchestra pit, hugging Jacqueline. While the stranger was smiling broadly, he noticed that Jacqueline was not. With careful detachment, he watched the scene before him unfold.
"Is it not disgraceful to have a daughter that is beaten and bruised?" Jacqueline's words hurt him more than they should have. He thought of his own scars and felt that old familiar shame welling up inside. It was slightly out of context, but still.
Listening to the rest of the argument, it was all he could do to remain hidden; not to leap down and choke the man. Her father's accusation that she had agreed to marry a man that violently abused her seemed to crack the last of her composure.
"I didn't know!" she screamed at the man responsible for bringing her into this world; responsible for protecting her now.
"Well, you know now, but it's too late. Come back to the life you promised yourself to."
"He hurts me, Papa!"
A searing anger burned him from within as he heard those words.
Now he understood Jacqueline Devoreaux.
He had been born with his flaws, while she was physically marred by another. But they were both emotionally scarred. To survive, he had run away and hid from the world, just as Jacqueline was doing now. Except the world she had been hiding from had found her. His grip on the catwalk rail tightened; imagining it was Monsieur Devoreaux's neck, he squeezed.
"Just come back with me, Jacqueline," was the man's reply.
Jacqueline leaned away from her father, shock evident on her face. When she spoke, it was not what he expected to hear. "There is a man here, who is a murderer. He is here to hide from the world. But it should be you hiding, because you are more of a monster than he."
The words hit him full force and he found he was having trouble breathing evenly. His face contorted, alternating between frowns of confusion and passive expressions of relief. Her words, meant to hurt the man she called father, had an unintentional opposite effect on him. The fact that she did not think him a monster was… monumental. But did she honestly believe it? Or was she only saying it to hurt the man who had so obviously betrayed her trust?
She said 'more of a monster.' She still thinks you are a monster, he thought to himself. Simply less of one than this man. But something had changed inside. He could feel it, but not identify it. Somehow, she had done this to him.
His eavesdropping yielded further reward when Madame Giry told Jacqueline that she had a sponsor. The reaction she had both astonished and pleased him. Cocking his head to one side, he watched as Jacqueline rushed to her friends, just out of his view. Overwhelmed by his own conflicting emotions, he did not pay much attention to the rest of the conversation below, but waited until the man he wanted to kill was walking back up the aisle toward the exit, before he stood up. As though she sensed his presence, Jacqueline's head jerked back and forth, searching. He remained motionless until her eyes were averted and then he escaped back to his lair, where his partially written opera and his loneliness awaited him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
A/N: Soooo... what do you all think?