"Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night."
Rainer Maria Rilke
Christine's serenity would not, could not last, for in the silence of her reverie came the sounding of a bell signaling the arrival of a guest. . .
Startled beyond reason, she hurled herself toe over toe from the deep claw-footed tub, almost tripping on the slippery tiled floor as she scrambled from the warm safety of the calming waters. Her body shivered as the water dripped from her skin, but she could not feel the cold shock of it. Christine reached for her bathing towel as it hung plush on the door hook, frantically drying herself and calling out.
"Is someone there? Hello? Erik? Erik! Are you here?!" Her question was a plaintive longing and an unbelieving desire for what she could not claim. A dream she would not entertain. Not yet. "Erik?" Her voice bordered on a scream as she dried her body, the towel moving with haste and hurried hands across her calves and torso. "Darling, I'm on my way to you!"
Christine's voice was full of hope, for who else could it be, but her love? Surely, no other human could know the way down to his home. She yelled his name once more, but still there was no answer to her call. Perhaps he had not heard her? All the more reason to rush to the hidden door. The young woman shivered, goosebumps prickling on her limbs, as she sought her chemise and dressing gown, uncaring for modesty as she made quick work of draping the fabric over her naked form. The shock of the cold underground draft as she emerged from the heated waters of the tub mattered little, such was her haste to get to him. She lifted the chemise over her head, hastily filling the sleeves with her shaking arms, and tied the dressing gown about her waist, as she settled it on her narrow shoulders. The thin cotton of her undergarments hung wet and transparent against her goose-pimpled flesh, the dressing gown serving to offer a faint but extra layer of modesty and warmth.
Christine exited the room in haste and rushed towards the entrance to Erik's home. Their home.
"Hello? Erik?" she yelled into the blankness of the hollow cavern, her voice echoing in a banshee's haunt across the stone walls, searching for her answer. The silence met her with a stark brutality. A futile effort, as her call lay stagnant in the dank and silent space she inhabited. Hope was swiftly fading. For Erik would surely have responded, would have answered her cry with fervency.
It could not be him, she knew, utter despair creeping into her soul, her bones, making her more weary than she could ever have imagined. Still, someone had rung the bell. Had signaled their arrival. What stranger lurked at the hidden door? Her steps to the portal were slow, guarded, and hesitant, for who would greet her on the other side? The gendarmes? Raoul? Had someone come in search of her, for Erik, to hurt and capture him? Every possibility was equally unwanted and horrible, but Christine propelled herself forward, one hand outstretched to unlock the entrance to his home.
Christine paused for a moment, scanning the broad drawing room for an object she might use to protect her person, should her unexpected visitor be one not open to a civil meeting. Her eyes fixed upon a blunt brass candlestick on the settee to her right, which she quickly grasped in her palm, before checking and cinching her dressing gown tight,
"Mademoiselle Daae, I presume?" A slightly accented voice called through the wall, calm and charming in its tone.
Christine did not quite know how to respond, unnerved by the recognition of her name. "I am she," the young soprano stuttered, unnerved, her voice dry with question and exhaustion. She released the trembling fingers from their place at the closure of her gown, and moved them to fiddle with the mechanism that would most certainly open the lock to Erik's domain. She still held the candlestick in her right fist. Erik had taught her a great deal, and her personal safety had been one of the multitude of lessons imparted to her.
"I mean you no harm, Mademoiselle. I know of you, Erik has told me of you. I have heard you sing in great triumph." A slight pause before he continued to explain his arrival. "Perhaps, Erik has spoken of me? I am his friend from Persia. The Daroga, as he calls me? I consider him my friend, though I doubt he would ever honor me with such a title."
"Erik has mentioned the title of Daroga in passing, but he has never hinted at your arrival. Sir, with all due respect, I am hesitant to open this door to you." Christine pressed the pads of her free fingers against the hidden door, anxious for a response.
"I had expected as much, Mademoiselle. The New Marguerite! I have been told that you are a brilliant and beautiful talent. A woman of knowledge and compassion."
Christine attempted to be unswayed by the stranger's charming words, her reason weighing against her better judgment.
"Mademoiselle Daae, my only wish is to assist you in the safe return of our mutual friend. Please allow me entrance. I assure you I mean no ill will. Had I held it in my heart for any harm to come to you, I am certain that I would have swiftly faced the answer of your betrothed. A fate that would end quite badly for me, I dare say." A cheerful chuckle erupted from the other side of the hidden doorway. "I come unarmed, and could not betray the trust of my erstwhile friend or our rosy hours spent in the Persian palaces of Mazandaran." The stranger paused for a moment, and Christine could hear the soft shuffling of the soles of his shoes against the wet stone of the door that separated them. "Has he ever told you of those days, Mademoiselle Daae?" Another gentle chuckle emitted from the Stranger through the locked door, "I doubt he has told you more than a little of his past. Our mutual friend is very guarded, I dare say!"
Christine understood the Stranger's reasoning, and all of the myriad lessons on survival and safety Erik had taught her in his own kind of lucid darkness. His voice had always been a comfort and a vesper of knowledge every time he planted its home in her ear. In that moment, she chose to trust the voice of his that lived forever in her mind. To trust that this stranger knocking at the door was truly a friend to her Angel. Her Erik.
Hesitant, with candlestick in hand, Christine opened the secret door and stepped back to reveal the singular and astonishingly handsome features of a dark-skinned Persian man in cloaks of jewel tones, his olive eyes sparkling beneath the astrakhan hat he wore. Immediately upon entering the chamber, the exotic man bowed at the hip to greet her. His presence was both arresting and comforting. A kind face, a gentle upwards turn of his mustachioed lips, and an utter calmness about his person seemed to set Christine at ease to some extent.
"Erik is not here, as I have said." Christine whimpered, refusing to meet the exotic man's piercing eyes again. She had found them once already, and quickly retreated into her stance of caution . "May I ask your name and how you came to know of this place?" She held her nervousness in her throat, fighting the quiver it might bring, the revealing of her vulnerability. Her hands lay once more in the foldings of her dressing gown, fingers nervously toying with its ties.
"Mademoiselle, my name is Nadir Khan. I hope that Erik has told you of me? We spent many rosy and horrifying hours in Mazandaran, in Persia . . .over vast deserts and oases of grandeur. Times of joy and times of slaughter." The Persian bowed his eyes low, as if wishing to hide and push a memory away. For only a moment. Nadir cleared his throat and offered Christine a gentle smile. "Mademoiselle, he is my friend."
Christine recognized the name, and faintly recalled comments her Erik had made in passing regarding a singular friend he had maintained throughout the last two decades of his life. He revealed little, so when a name had been gifted to her, or a memory shared, she committed it to memory as a rare and precious treasure.
Nadir Khan, the Daroga stepped into the drawing room with a slow and purposeful gait, not wishing to convey a presence of danger or intimidation to the young woman. "Mademoiselle, the harming of you would eventually become the death of me. Erik would never allow any hurt to come to you, and nor would I." The stranger chuckled, though his statement rang with utter seriousness.
"Give me but a moment, sir, to gather myself, I was not expecting company. " Christine gestured to the state of her clothing and shrugged her shoulders. "Please allow me a few moments to prepare. If you are the man Erik has told me of, then I may assume you know your way to the music room, where you may await my company?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle, please take your time. I will await your presence in that chamber." The Persian man nodded slightly, not moving a hair of a step closer to the young woman.
Christine moved towards her bedroom, turning her back on her guest, but as she came to the hidden door to the Louis-Phillipe room, she paused and looked over her shoulder at Nadir Khan. "You know that all of Erik's bedroom doors lock from the inside. You shall not catch me off-guard, should you intend any ill will towards my person, sir."
The Persian man smiled, obviously remembering the genius and ingenuity of his old friend, and relishing the beauty and loveliness of this young woman who had chosen to love him. "I would not dream of disturbing you, Mademoiselle Daae." He said, placing his cap upon the nearest table.
"I would hope not, Monsieur Khan. I may be small in stature, but I am wild as a feral cat when my safety and that of Erik's are concerned." Christine allowed herself to giggle at that moment, a moment of bare levity.
"Of that, I have no doubt. Our friend would never have chosen a kitten, only the strongest and most stunning of creatures. A lioness, perhaps, Mademoiselle? A lioness with a golden voice?"
Christine turned once more before moving to the bedroom. "A lioness is what I am, and what I shall always be, before and after I find him." Christine placed her fingers on the door to the Louis Phillipe room, pausing for a moment, "and trust that I shall find him. I will cut my teeth and carry the blood in my claws of all that have harmed him and stand in my way to get to him. Yourself included, should you step in my way." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "But if you desire to assist me in my search, I shall be as meek and gentle as a lamb."
The Daroga of Mazandaran nodded and smiled. He had expected nothing less of a woman that Erik had chosen. Christine Daae was determined, intelligent, protective, talented, beautiful, and compassionate. A lioness, indeed. He actually found himself startled by the intensity of her courage and anger. It struck him then, that this young lady had most likely never issued a threat in her entire life. But now, the man she loved was missing, injured, and she had become a feral huntress in her quest to find him and bring him back to her side.
"Mademoiselle Daae, as I have said, I mean no harm to you or to Erik." Nadir Khan held his hands widespread before her, signaling a release of power, a surrendering of sorts.
"As you say. Please await me in the drawing room. I shall be with you shortly. If you know this home well, then you can locate the samovar and make some tea for us?"
"It would be my pleasure, Mademoiselle." He bowed again to her.
Christine nodded. "Very well then. I shall meet you in the music room. If your intentions of finding our mutual friend are honest and clear, I will welcome you into our home." She took an abrupt pause, and considered her words, "If I find you to be a liar, may God help you and your fate." Christine spoke her threat with all the bravado she had ever inherited from Erik, before stepping into her bedroom and soundly closing the door behind her.
Nadir Khan stood stock still as he listened to the tell-tale sound of the internal bedroom door lock close upon its inhabitant, and muttered to himself, "Understood, mademoiselle. Understood." He then went in search of the samovar and the tea.
Christine emerged from her bedroom in immaculate fashion, her hair pinned up on the sides, the remainder of her dark curls flowing down her back Her dress was of lilac silk, a sumptuous design Erik had chosen for her. She was calm and collected as she approached the Persian man in the drawing room. Nadir Khan sat, teacup in hand and poised to his mouth. However, he stopped midway through his sip at the sight of the lady of the house.
"Mademoiselle-" He set the cup down and started to rise, only to be stopped by Christine's flat palm outstretched in his direction, gesturing for him to remain seated.
"Monsieur Khan, please set yourself at ease. In this home underground, formalities cease to exist." Christine moved closer and reached for her own tea cup. The Persian man shuffled a bit as he sat on the divan, unsure of how to proceed in the company of the young woman.
"I do not wish to intrude, only to help."
"Then help, you shall," Christine smirked before sipping at her cup, invigorated by the promise of aid, knowing that she just might not be alone in her quest to find her lost love. She tucked her skirts under her and sat down in the chair next to Nadir Khan, looking up at him with questioning eyes. "Well then, how shall we go about this? I must find him, and soon."
Nadir Khan met her eyes once more, shaken by this young woman's strength and beauty. "By God, he chose a lioness." He smiled at her with genuine respect and admiration. "I would expect nothing less from our mutual friend."
"My fiancé'," she corrected.
"Mademoiselle, pardon my error. I am curious as to know if our Erik might respond to a post in Le Journal?"
The Lioness simply nodded.