Chapter 17: Spare a Thought for Me
"Élodie, fetch a chamber pot, anything, quickly". A hand wrapped itself before Meg's torso, tugging her away from the gruesome sight beheld. Another hand pulled the stray wisps of hair from her face and her knees gave out beneath her just outside Monsieur LeFevre's office.
Fumbling, her friend made haste in searching for the nearest commode and pulling the chamber pot from before her as the bile rose in her throat, and she found herself hunched over it, gripping the sides until her knuckles grew pale.
"You should not have seen that, ma cherie. What were you thinking darting past the gendarmes like that?" A voice scolded from behind her.
Even with her head dipped low, she heaved a deep sigh, rolling her eyes inwardly. This was not what she needed right now.
Her body trembled against the hands that continued to hold her steady, and she made a desperate attempt to block out the appalled reactions of onlookers outside her peripheral vision. That gruesome sight.
"Madame, if I may interject, perhaps we should show sympathy now and save the criticism for later?" Someone exasperated from somewhere behind them. "A man has just been killed for God's sake!"
The hands suddenly left her, and the floor pulsed beside her with what may have been the harshest of taps. Meg winced for what was to come.
"Come again, Monsieur?"
Shit.
An evident icy didactic tone seethed from the authoritative Ballet Mistress, her lips pulling back in a sneer. Meg could easily convince herself those words were sharper than the dagger that had slain Piangi.
"You dare question my maternal rights reprimanding my daughter?" Her voice raised sharply, gaining the attention of those around them. "I yield a sturdy, wicked cane, Monsieur, and I've a mind to use it on you. I will say this only once, do not test my patience or you shall find yourself succumbing to a fate worse than the Phantom's Punjab!" Another harsh tap of her cane sent the man scurrying away.
The ballet mistress issued another warning to the gathering crowd, and they too left the scene, leaving the women to be.
"Maman-"
Meg was swiftly silenced by yet another tap of the cane beside her. Others yelped, and she bowed her head, spittle slipping from between her lips.
"You", she directed her gaze to Sorelli and Élodie, who were crouched beside Meg. "Help her to the dorms. We will be having words". There was no hint of a threat in her words. It was a promise.
Great. Just great, Meg slouched above the chamber pot, preparing to drag herself to her feet.
She looked to her two friends, wordlessly nodding her head as her mother led the way upstairs.
"Did it not occur to you to stay out of this investigation?" Madame Giry closed the door behind them, not slamming it but not by any means gentle either. She spun around furiously as Meg and the two ballet girls perched themselves on the makeshift bed, all wincing at her raising voice. "Have you no sense at all? Have I taught you nothing?"
"Maman if you would just let me-"
"I want not a word from you, cherie, not one! Did you think me to be a fool?" Her mother's tone raised, echoing in the small room. "And you two!"
Élodie and Sorelli flinched as the Ballet Mistress spun on her heel to face them. "How dare you not take great caution and allow yourselves to partake in such reckless behavior!" Her lips drew together in a thin line, her brows creasing in concern.
"Have you any idea the consequences should you continually follow danger?" She asked, and their breaths caught in their throats. "Death! Nothing but violence, bloodshed, and misery!"
She shook her head. "I have much too much to worry over, and your inevitable death will not be one of them should you continue to pursue this utter madness! For the sake of your mentor-" she turned to Meg, "-and your Maman, don't put me through this. I cannot bear it should something happen to any of you".
Meg stepped forward, weaving her arms around her mother's waist tightly. Soft hands raked through her curls and she sighed deeply. "I'm sorry, Maman. But I can't just sit around and do nothing while Christine's fate remains unknown in all this. After all that she has done for me…"
"Me too", Sorelli agreed meekly, Élodie nodding silently. "Then what can we do? This killer must be brought to justice before another falls victim".
"Rest assured no matter the outcome, Christine is safe, and in the best hands possible. No one shall lay a finger on her".
Sorelli fidgeted with her hands timidly. "Madame, with all due respect, Signor Piangi is dead. A Gendarme stood outside his door all night and he wound up with a knife in his chest. How are we to believe anyone is safe here?"
"All the exit doors have been barred," Élodie sputtered. "There's no way anyone can leave undetected-"
"Which is exactly why you shall remain here, in this room until further notice", Madame Giry rounded slowly towards the door, her hands falling from the blonde curls. "Fetch your belongings now. From now on, a Gendarme will be stationed outside this door".
"You can't be serious! We just told you-"
"What's said is done!" Madame Giry snapped. "Believe me, if I had the choice to send you far away from here, I would, but I can't. It's not possible at the moment".
"Christine is gone", Meg muttered.
Grasping the doorknob, she moved further to the threshold, a guilty expression crossing her features. "Go, now and fetch your things. I'll not discuss this a moment longer".
They did so, quickly filling out of the room with an eagle eye trained on them, leaving Meg and her mother.
Heaving an exaggerated sigh of discontent, she crossed her arms over her chest and collapsed onto the edge of her bed.
"I'll never regret making these hard decisions, Marguerite Giry. A mother loves and above all else, manages", she turned to look at her daughter. "All I ask is that you listen and stay put. Please, cherie".
"You're putting our lives into the hands of a Gendarme. I'd much rather be the master of my own fate". Meg paused, pounding her fists into the blanket beside her. "Our safety is now the responsibility of a Gendarme". She suddenly yelled, "I don't trust them!"
Her mother's head hung low, striking a nerve. "Not after what they did to papa-"
"Meg", she warned.
"On that freezing winter night, we had walked home-"
"Meg, please stop-" she cautioned, her tone changing instantly.
"I can still remember your screams-"
Madame Giry's hands went to her ears, and she clenched her eyes shut.
"I was only a child. Yet I remember every moment".
"Stop… Stop it now!" Distant memories began to pour into her senses.
"That fucking gendarme never got what he deserved! He never deserved it-" Meg cried.
"That's enough!" She screamed, rapping her cane against the floor, silencing her. "You will watch your tone because I will not stand for this! This childish nonsense ends here!"
But those childlike, doe eyes gazed at her with such contempt, and it took nearly all her willpower to not break down and weep beside her. "How could you forget him?"
"Maman, what's happening?"
"Run! Run and don't turn back! I'll find you soon!"
"Don't do this… I'm begging you! Tis' not true!"
"Papa?! Papa!"
"No Meg, don't! Come we must go! We mustn't hesitate, hold my hand cherie…"
Meg had no strength to fight off the warding hands of her mother as she was quickly maneuvered away from her father.
"I love you, cherie…"
"Papa!"
"Run, Antoinette, just run, damn it!"
Meg squirmed and attempted to wriggle out of her mother's grasp, but it was no use.
"We can't leave him! Where are we going? Maman!"
"Meg! Please-"
Then, a sharp ring through the air, echoing down an alley.
"NO!"
There was a ringing in her ears, and Meg's head darted up as there was a startling rap outside the door, and she stifled her sobs, smudging away the tears and regaining composure as her friends slowly opened the door.
"Pardonnez, Madame", Sorelli excused quietly, keeping her head bowed as they gathered into the room to sit by their best friend in noticeable distress.
Without a further word, Madame Giry excused herself, leaving the girls to comfort her daughter, much to her own anguish.
Avoiding the narrow hallway outside the manager's office, Antoinette Giry all but strode with purpose back to her chambers, where she let the door slam shut behind her for all to hear.
Because quite frankly, she didn't care. And no one else would either.
No one would dare to approach her under such circumstances. Not the managers, nor the staff or the corps de ballet… Not even her own daughter.
Antoinette Giry was a regimented, simple woman who never changed voluntarily. Every day she wore a black dress, and every day she wore her hair in a crown braid that wound into a tight bun in the back.
She would awaken every morning and say her prayers as she had been raised to do and get right to rehearsal before the corps de ballet would. From the morning to the evening, her days were the same.
Then to fall asleep and awaken to repeat it all over again, time and time again. The consistent schedule was almost a comfort to her, and it sometimes felt as if she had never known anything but the Opera House.
That she could forget her life before.
There was not a shred of doubt that the events of the last two days had all but destroyed that constant schedule, leaving her befuddled and at a loss for what to do.
But now the catastrophic events had left the relationship she had with her daughter in even more tatters than it had been before.
Overcome with anger and sorrow, she stormed to her vanity, and with a sweep of her arm, sent all the organized objects clattering to the floor, leaving behind the spilled perfume, a broken vase, and photographs of a time she wished she could have forgotten.
What had become of her?
The once warm and compassionate mother had turned her heart to stone.
Or at least that was what her daughter would surely think after all the years that have passed since.
Grief had done this to her. To the point where she turned a blind eye to even the heartfelt grieving of her own flesh and blood. To the point where it was too hard for her to cope and so, she denied the ability for her own daughter to do so.
Who was she to block her out? To see that in her desperation to forget she forgot how to love.
That her kin may be of a graceful student, and no longer a loving daughter.
Antoinette Giry despised herself, and the rest of the world too.
Crumpling onto the ottoman before her vanity, her head fell into her hands, allowing herself to shed the tears she had held back.
Antoniette Giry resented herself, and so did her daughter.
But the question remained if she would ever be able to reconcile through the palpable grief they both felt.
Nadir had wasted no time in securing his horse immediately after Antoinette had given him the word.
He could immediately recognize the fear in her eyes when she approached him with such lament and regret that it was palpable.
As a parent, there is no stronger urge than the want to protect your children from the world. And there was a helplessness in registering the dozens of girls from the corps de ballet whom she had also taken under her wing and protection. She couldn't leave them, even her own daughter, who had a proclivity for investigating the suspicious.
Which quite frankly, complicated the entire current situation.
True to his word, the gendarmes allowed him to passage from the opera house to the stables after confirming his position with a flash of his investigator's badge, where no one approached him or dared question him.
A mere coincidence for them, surely. For Nadir, however, personal reasons were what brought him to the opera house every few months.
Truth be told, he found it lonesome to be without a friendly face after a measurable length of time, as being alone left him with nothing other to do but grieve.
For Rookheeya. For Reza.
How else was a father supposed to react when their child was handed a death sentence for an unknown disease? Or when he was told his wife had died in childbirth?
Left alone to care for a dying child and grieve the loss he had not yet lost.
Granted he was alone to grieve but never alone in the process as Erik had remained by his side after escaping Persia together, as if there were much else to go.
But nonetheless, Erik had created an imaginary world for his child that allowed him to spend his final days in peace.
Erik may call himself a monster, but to Nadir, it was far from the truth.
Those dark years in Persia changed them, but most of all Erik, who from birth had become conditioned to be a reprobate, and yet still human.
Despite the two remaining at each other's side with an unspoken companionship, they found themselves at the start of a new beginning.
The construction of the Palais Garnier.
There had merely been a blank space of land and framework, and by some miracle, Erik had found his way into a contract with Charles Garnier, whereupon he and Nadir carefully crafted a home within the belly of the opera house, and other workers didn't blink twice as they were instructed to do so.
Nadir was quite unsure what had convinced him to do so. Perhaps it was a constant feeling of always looking over his shoulder following the events that unfolded in Persia. Reza and his condition. Money had been no complication whatsoever, as his position of the Daroga paid handsomely.
There was always a roof over their heads.
Yet companionship lingered in the back of his mind.
The opera house, however, appeared to be a new start for Erik as he had begun throwing himself into tedious labor, and Nadir had begun to find himself at the bottom of a bottle every night after Reza had long past fallen asleep.
Days, weeks, months, and several years passed, and it wasn't until construction was completed that Erik approached him one night.
Nadir sat before a warm hearth reclined on a chaise, a small glass in one hand with an amber liquor that he mindlessly swirled through a simple twist of a hand. On his other, his fingers tapped restlessly on the metal rear of the furniture.
How much time had passed since he had sat down? Three-quarters of an hour? Three hours? Time was merely a concept as he often found himself drinking until there was nothing left to feel until awakening the next morning.
He let out a long and deep sigh. His son would be turning four tomorrow…
How much longer of a life would he have? He could lose him any second now and instead, here he was, spending those possible final moments drinking away the misery the liquor seemed to alleviate.
A breeze of cool summer air swept through the room, and he needed no further confirmation of who stood behind him.
Raising the glass to his lips, he downed the whiskey, welcoming the burn and warmth it provided him.
The room remained in silence until Erik's voice casually spoke, "You ought to take a break".
Nadir hummed quietly. "Don't we all". He turned his head ever the slightest and was met with mismatched eyes beneath white porcelain. "Are you in need of something? The others left the site hours ago". A pause. "You should be celebrating".
"I have much more pressing matters to attend to. As you may recall I do not "celebrate". I compose", he added.
Nadir waved a nonchalant hand. "Then attend to whatever you need to address. There are far less important things to do at…", he moved his hand to reach into his waistcoat and pull out his watch. He groaned. "Two in the morning".
Erik took a step into the firelight, and with a scornful look, he swiftly pulled the glass from his hand and set it on a nearby table.
He rolled his eyes, hands raising and falling to his sides with a groan. "Allah above, Erik. What do you want, Erik? Can you not leave a man to his drink?" He exasperated.
The man in question pulled over a barstool to sit before him, blocking the heat from the hearth. His hands folded neatly in his lap, yet he hunched over slightly to meet his eyes.
"This has gone on long enough, old friend", Erik murmured in a hushed tone.
Nadir nearly balked at the term he often used to refer to Erik. "I know where you're coming from Erik, and I am not quite in the mood for one of your loquacious lectures".
"Evidently not, considering you are barely sober. Suppose now is a better time than ever. You know what they say, Nadir. A drunk man's word is a sober man's truth".
There was no time for Nadir to respond as his thoughts were immediately cut off by him.
"Reza turns for tomorrow", Erik stated pointedly.
Nadir raised a brow. "And?"
"And he is a smart boy".
He waved a hand with a brief nod. "And?"
Nadir watched Erik's head hang forward for a moment, and he briefly wondered if he were to give up the pursuit or point of the discussion.
He was poorly mistaken when he heard Erik whisper. "He knows, Nadir".
"Knows what?" There was a sharp intake of breath from him.
Erik's long fingers clenched, before gripping his knees. "Don't give me that bullshit, Nadir. You may feed yourself these lies, but we can see through it, your son and I".
Nadir suddenly stood and his vision wavered, as did his body when the alcohol hit him, and a hand outstretched to regain his balance. His voice deepened. "What are you trying to get out of this Erik? Are you trying to throw some sort of pity party?"
In a tone higher, he spoke. "Daddy was drinking again, Mister Erik. I had a nightmare and he didn't hear me. He was asleep in the drawing room", Erik goaded. "How the fuck was I supposed to react? I have approached you time and time again, and I've grown exhausted of your excuses".
And then Erik stood, only several inches taller than him but even in their companionship he was an imposing, menacing man when he chose to be.
With a disgruntled look, Erik gripped him by the cravat and pulled him close, and Nadir stumbled, their face mere inches apart.
"You can drink all you want into this succumbing spiral, and dare to tell me every day that I require "help" when you can't even properly care for your child", Erik seethed from between his teeth.
"But the moment your "dying child", as you so put it came to of all persons, myself, for impunity from your negligent, unduly behavior. To be frank, I've had it".
Nadir swallowed, feeling as if it would catch in his throat as shame flooded him. Reza-
"You may call me a heartless bastard, but there is no greater disservice than to the obligation you brought into this world. And dying or not, Daroga, you helped to bring him into this world, and you will guide him out of it as the father he deserves!"
The Persian was left speechless at the revelation. "Erik…"
This man he had known for seven years in his life never shed a tear before him. But the arrogance he presented as his composure let slip frustration welling in his eyes.
"You are his father, and I'll be damned if I am to come here every night to tend to the boy as you wallow in your morose behavior. And if not for me, then for him. Lose the damn bottle and pull yourself together!"
Suddenly there was a throbbing on his cheek. And it took a long minute to register that he had been struck across the face.
The grip Erik's hand had on his cravat loosened and as if all the energy had been exhausted from him, he dropped onto the chaise, the shame rising up within him and his head collapsed into his hands.
An ugly sob wrenched itself from his throat.
And then, unexpectedly, a hand fell upon his shoulder.
The two remained that way for a long while, and the time blurred.
And when he awoke in the warning, Erik was still there, his eyes not showing a hint of exhaustion.
Then Erik's head turned slightly, and a small voice pierced the silence of the room.
"Daddy?"
Rubbing his eyes momentarily, Nadir outstretched his arms and Reza padded barefoot across the floor, and crawled into his lap, his legs moving to curl around his waist and his hands wound around his neck as the side of his head rested on his father's chest".
Nadir looked at Erik. Truly, looked at Erik, and gave an appreciative nod.
Returning the exchange, Erik wordlessly and silently left the room.
As Reza's breathing changed slowly, he whispered, "I love you, Reza".
His head turned to look at the bottle and Nadir made himself a vow.
He would never touch a bottle again.
He was done mourning.
It was time to live, whether his life is to be short or long.
There was no stronger urge that called to a parent than the urge to protect their child from the world.
Although not biologically, Christine was Antoinette's child. Christine was someone's child.
He may have failed Reza for a significant amount of time far more than he would priorly be willing to admit. But now, he had the opportunity to make that up by extending a young woman's life, an improper accusation as a suspect in the murder of a mature actor she barely knew.
Maybe it was not a matter of life of or death, but perhaps the question of the quality of life she would be living with such an accusation brought before her.
Paris was a socialist republic herein lied people who would forever remember a person's reputation.
Even if it were to a young member of the corps de ballet in the Paris Opera House.
The poor child didn't know what she was in for. Violence was ever-growing in the city, especially within the corrupt system of the Gendarmerie Nationale.
No matter, Nadir thought. Christine was in the best hands possible. A former Persian police chief, an unyielding ballet mistress, and an opera ghost comprised a guaranteed safety net if things were to take a turn distastefully.
And yet Nadir nevertheless remained insensible that the Gendarmerie may have committed many errors. Making a young ballet girl a suspect was only the first of many to come from this investigation.
For hours, he rode with determined vigor to the house by the sea in Calais. True to Antoinette's word, he breathed a sigh of relief meeting the outskirt of the small village.
At this time of night, the midnight oil had well and surely been burned. Regardless, he carefully scoped out the layout of the land from his height perspective from above.
Even with the frigid winter wind forcefully blowing in favor of his direction, he instantly spotted the residence, and with a light slap to flank, sent his horse into a steady gallop heeding the advice of avoiding traveling through the town.
It was only a quarter hour later that he brought his horse to a halt, and with numb legs, maneuvered off the saddle to the frozen ground.
With the dreary clouds moving at a visible pace, quietly moved through the shadows, a skill taught to him by none other than Erik himself, and peered around the corner of the house to find Ceasar tacked in a wide stall, and beside it, an empty stall.
"Thank Allah", Nadir sighed with heavy relief.
After taking several minutes to ensure his steed was safely harnessed, he backed out of the stall.
Then suddenly, he found himself within the tight grip of a metal coil around his neck, exerting an excruciatingly tight pressure on his windpipe.
"You have made a grave mistake in trespassing on this property, Monsieur".
Hi, lovelies!
I found myself for the last year so preoccupied with the university, and now that I am less than two months from graduating with my bachelor's, I found myself returning from a writer's block that took a hold of me. To be quite honest, I am taking this story however my thoughts go at the present moment. Learning Phantom was closing on Broadway instilled a deep sorrow within me, as it has changed and impacted my life in ways I cannot begin to describe. I can say with closure that I am seeing one of the final shows and hope to see it in another production and hope that this revelation will serve as a motivator for me to continue this story and update it on a frequent basis.
Thank you for the reviews that encouraged me to keep writing through this very busy time of my life as I continue my student teaching. Writing this has been a beautiful experience. Feel free to leave a review, as Christine would put it, they make my spirit soar. Even after updating after a year, thank you for partaking in this journey with me.
Your Obedient Servant,
-Emma51020