Chapter 1: The Beginning
Chapter Text
The darkness of the catacombs was thick with suppressed venom. From the depths of it, black fingers of deep midnight threatened to force her to remain forever within its bitter embrace. Although surrounded by the flickering of slowly melting candles their light barely proved sufficient against the monsters that were closing in around her. Why she remained there, in that place of perpetual night, she did not know. Its master had surrendered his power upon her and her fiancé was eager to carry her swiftly towards the surface, but she hesitated. Metal bars remained present upon her mind and she found herself unable to maneuver herself past their guarded influence. Try as he might, Raoul could not reach her there – locked in a prison cell of her own creation. Instead, he had been forced to submit himself to her meek insistence that she could not go, not until she bid one final farewell to her dethroned Angel of Music. His reluctance she understood, to allow her to return to the murderous man’s lair was to trust his promise of freedom. Unlike her fiancé, she trusted that the one-time Phantom would not hurt her. Drawn back to that place of magic and music, she felt as if she was truly seeing it all for the first time. The wealth and meticulousness of the arrangement of things were astounding and she was reminded of how little she knew of the man that hid within the shadows of his own creation. She climbed the stone staircase with half-halted steps, her hand gripping the carved balustrade with white-knuckled intensity.
Her steps grew weary as they carried her to the top of the stairs. It was easy to find him there, crumpled and defeated in a heap upon a gold-fringed pillow. Toppled candelabras created bars around him and strewn pieces of scribbled parchment created a carpet upon the floor. She froze as she studied the slight tremble of his back as emotion chipped away his carefully placed facade. The building groaned, a cruel reminder of the tragedy that persisted just above their heads. Still, he lay, completely ignorant to the reality of his mortality, and her heart clenched to see him so entirely unlike himself. The tinkling of a softly strummed song filled the air and she watched as the Phantom’s hand-crafted Persian monkey music box swayed in time to the melody. The familiarity of its haunting refrain drew her back to a time when all she’d had was her tiny cot in the dormitories and the lullabies her Angel sung to her nightly. His voice would chase away her childlike fears and help restore her hope in tomorrow.
But it was all too evident that she had rebuilt herself upon lies and manipulation. The realization that she had allowed a man capable of murder to dictate her so fluidly was startling and she knew there was no hope of reconciliation to be found. Raoul had humanized the ghost that had haunted her amid her vulnerability and as she quietly approached the man who had stalked her, she was no longer fooled by his illusions.
Through a maze of disarranged furniture of misplaced works of art, she picked a path toward him, her eyes firmly upon his back. Her steps were clumsy as the stone beneath her feet roiled in the complaint. The thickness of her tulle gown only served to add to the difficulty of her movement. The fabric brushed along and pulled on anything within reach, inevitably catching upon the leafy detailing of one, particularly unlucky candelabra. As Christine pulled, the hem tore and pulled, sending the expensive golden spire crashing to the ground. The metallic clatter filled her ears with its harsh sound as it reverberated off the surrounding walls. Her resulting gasp was fragile in comparison as she clumsily moved to unhook herself from her captor. Gathering the rest of the fabric into her arms she rose her gaze and was unsurprised to see her Phantom’s eyes hard upon her. The pain slowly intermingled with sudden disbelief, his eyes almost staring straight through her. Her heartbeat quickened. In one fluid movement, he swooped to his feet, his body coiled and tense. Uncertainty spread between them as they both struggled to determine the meaning of her presence there. Digging within her consciousness, she found no givable answer.
There was a sudden blur of black and white as he flung himself toward him, the tension surrounding them breaking even as his steps stumbled and faltered in their uncertainty. Watching him, there was no urge to run as his tear-stained eyes studied her with renewed hope.
“Christine, I love you.”
The eeriness of his hypnotic voice broke through the silence of their shared confusion. Fresh tears fell past her lids, wetting her face as the intensity of his attention drilled holes into her resolve. His confession was not surprising, nor did it offer the clarity that she lacked. That year alone she had been gifted with two professions of love and there had been a brief moment in time when she’d trusted her belief of the emotion. However sure she had been, it all seemed insignificant when she was forced to face the reality of all that had just transpired.
Everything she had trusted seemed poised and ready to cave in around her. His face, however gruesome, no longer remained a source of unending terror. Even as she prepared to leave him behind she knew that he would forever remain her Angel of Music – a man disguised as a father’s gift. But a new possibility began to offer its realizations. Perhaps she had been the gift sent to release a tormented soul from the grip of his demons. Admittedly she had not played her part well and she feared that the moment had already passed.
Despite her readiness to sacrifice her freedom in exchange for Raoul’s life, the feared Phantom had set her free. She doubted that he knew that it was in that moment, as her lips pressed affectionately against his own, that she was struck with the realization that she did not know the true meaning of love. Faced with an opportunity to bid him farewell she found herself unable to utter the phrase.
“Angel,” she whispered breathlessly, the only name she knew him by. A single step carried her towards him. “I want to help you – I need to know that you will be safe.”
A recklessness was birthed within her at that moment. She understood the insignificance of her offer, how truly incapable she was, but she had to try. Newly perplexed, the fold of jutted flesh that served as a brow fell into a frown, almost as if he were afraid in the truth of her words. Her mouth gaped open as words presented themselves to be spoken only to flee from her before she managed to utter a single one.
Above them another tremor shook the whole of the lair, lurching her unexpectedly forward. Falling forward she gasped as she managed to catch herself upon the cornered edge of his beloved organ. Breathing heavily, she waited there for the shaking to stop, her eyes came to rest upon a frightened figure hidden beneath a mahogany bench. The cat’s eyes were wide as they watched Christine warily. Summoning her courage, the young woman reached forward and as the ground continued to shake, pulled the frightened animal into the crook of her elbow. Balancing the creature within the firmness of her grip she hoisted herself upward and through loosened strands of curls she spotted the Phantom frozen with his arms outstretched. His sterling eyes tracked a trail along the frame of her body, his gaze pausing only momentarily upon his beloved pet before they locked onto her face.
“I cannot guarantee your safety.” His voice was almost distracted, but he remained stoic and she felt strangely vulnerable in his presence.
“You will keep me safe.” You always have.
It did not shock her to find that she believed the words she had spoken almost too quickly. For all the fear she had felt it had never been for herself. It was because of his actions that she knew that there was no line he was unwilling to cross to ensure she was out of harm’s way. He continued to stare at her, his expression guarded. Then, as quickly as he had before, he moved towards her. She stiffened but remained planted where she stood as he halted only to tilt himself toward her. Her skin bristled with anticipation, half expecting him to kiss her, only to have him gently pry the cat free from her arms. Adjusting the animal into his hold he peeled away from her. Her stomach clenched, underwhelmed by his reaction. Without a word he sat at a messy desk and pulled out a piece of crisp stationery from within its top drawer. She watched with growing interest as he began to heat a cube of blood-red wax and commenced writing with long measured strokes. Filled with anxiety she drew nearer to him, her arms wrapping around her petite frame as it fluttered and faded. Pieces of mortar and stone rained down from the ceiling above them and sprinkled its dust upon every surface signaling the progression of the fire above. There was a renewed urgency as she realized that soon their escape would be impossible.
“We cannot stay here,” he stated evenly what she had already known. With methodical concentration he gently eased his folded note into its matching black framed envelope and poured the hot melted wax onto its lip, carefully pressing his copper stamp to seal it. “I will escort you to the home of an old associate of mine by the name of Jules Bernard. Give him this letter and the rest shall be tended.”
He extended the fresh envelope towards her and she eyed it like it was a fanged serpent. The weight of the paper felt suddenly empty as she took it into her hand cautiously flipping so that the hideous skull of his seal faced away from her. Again, his movement redrew her attention and she watched as he began to gather various items into a leather strapped messenger bag, the cat being one. Her words caught in her throat as he moved to an old wooden chest. Carefully he opened it and retrieved the all-too-familiar black wig and mask from within its cavity. With practiced hands, he set them both in place, and in the single blink of an eye, his dignity and mysticism returned. Her breath caught at the sight of him appearing exactly as he had the first time she had ever laid eyes upon him.
Phantom once more he turned to witness the shamelessness of her ogling, his expression impossible to read beneath the curves of his ivory façade. Confidence renewed he reached and took hold of her hand pulling her gently towards a wall of black fringed curtains. Quiet so as to conceal their movements he freed the fabric from its trappings and it fell to the floor to reveal a wall of tall mirrors. Each ornately and uniquely framed. He singled out a single mirror situated near the center of all the others. Carefully he fingered along the edges of the glass and slid it effortlessly aside to reveal a long dark passageway. Fear gripped her.
“Angel -.” Her words caught in her throat as he wasted no time in pulling her into the unknown.
Enveloped in the still deep dark she felt hauntingly alone as he slid the mirror back into place. As the final remnants of light faded she realized, with a shuddering clarity, that she had willingly returned herself to his will. Lost in the suffocating darkness her panic rose in fresh waves of auburn as she contemplated how easy it would be for him to abduct her then. Raoul could never find her there – hidden away as another of the Phantom’s relics. Her breath quickened as her senses became charged. Quickly she calculated the success of an escape. She could run and stumble her way through the darkness – but he knew the secrets of the Opera House better than she and would surely find her. It seemed that her freedom no longer belonged to her.
Out of the dark, a hand gripped her wrist. Senses already on edge, the rudeness of the gesture birthed the beginnings of a strangled scream. Quick, attempting to stifle the sound before it could rise much higher, another firm hand quickly clapped itself over her mouth. Quiet, He implored. The Phantom’s voice sounded as uniform as her own thoughts, barely discernible. The startling reminder of his power did little to still her nerves as he gently began to lead her down the impossibly dark path.
Encumbered by the weight of her dress she struggled to match the Phantom’s brisk pace. The many twists and turns of the path were dizzying, and soon she lost track of the direction they were headed in. Confidently he pressed onward, unhindered by the impossibility of sight. With every step, her fatigue grew, and she began to feel as though she might never again look upon a starry sky. When he halted, the lack of motion was so unexpected that she felt herself bristle with the release of her arm. A series of sharp shuffling noises accompanied the movement of air. The stone wall blocking their path shuddered before it glided obediently to the side. Darkness was eaten by the sudden moonlit brightness, and Christine blinked away the stinging of her eyes. Cold air rushed into the dead space and she stumbled backward, a hand raising to shield her from the blast. Her lungs stung as the newly introduced fresh air chased away the moist death that had surrounded her. Poised at the gaping hole, the Phantom turned to face her. No longer hidden by darkness, the fist that had wrapped around her heart loosened. Slowly he approached, as if afraid that she might turn and run. His movements were slow and disjointed as he raised his hand to reach for her. Long, artful fingers brushed against her skin, the touch of them surprisingly gentle. Blinkingly, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze only to be greeted by a flash of hesitant questioning. He was looking for permission. Inhaling, she lifted her hand to meet his - her fingers entangling into the folds of his large palm. His jaw clenched. Spinning on his heels, he adjusted the grip to one containing more formality. Unflinchingly she allowed him to assist her up the three chipped stone steps. From behind the concealment of branches, he pushed their way through the bush to reveal an abandoned alleyway. Confined and hidden away, her body slowly began to relax. Freed from the catacombs, he drew away from her - the absence of him feeling strange and unwanted.
“Follow the road until you are able to turn left,” he instructed shortly, his back the only sight of him offered to her. Reluctantly, she followed the direction of his pointed body and spotted the lamp lip cobbled street he had referred to. “You will find Jules within number twenty-seven.”
Christine clutched the envelope tight against her bare chest, the feel of it warm and soft. “Are you not coming with me?”
“I have included instructions to ensure your safe return,” he continued without pausing to acknowledge her question. His silence was answer enough. With frightening clarity, she understood that he was saying goodbye.
All previous inhibitions towards his intentions melted away at the finality of his tone. With every unspoken syllable, he implored her to leave him there, to marry Raoul, and to forget the only home she had ever known. The fist’s tight grip upon her heart returned. A small tickling at the back of her mind voiced its assurance that ignorance would never grant her its bliss. Ashamed she peeled her blue framed gaze away from him and made a study of the path she’d been instructed to take. Completely abandoned the modest street appeared before her as treacherous as a raging river, impossible to cross. The bubbling of a protest rose from the depths of her and she turned to protest only to find air where he had once stood.
Once again, her Angel had removed her from his power, evaporating like vapor with only one hastily written note as proof that he had ever existed. The pain of his sudden absence was like a knife to her heart and she found herself achingly unprepared to face a world without him.
Suddenly, the night’s sharp cold grew in its intensity and her long-exhaled breaths rose in a cloud about her face. It seemed she had two choices and they taunted her mercilessly, each one begging to be chosen. She could easily double back and deliver the letter to the authorities and they might be able to apprehend him -. Even as the thought formed she knew the impossibility of it. He would know, he always knew. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she forced her feet forward.
The clatter of her footsteps upon stone was uncomfortably loud in her ears and her pace quickened. She was thankful that the streets were empty, most sane people choosing to remain comfortably within their warmed homes. To any wandering eyes, she would, no doubt, look like a crazed madwoman. Stumbling about, only half certain of her destination, in a shredded wedding gown. It would not be easy to describe the sight of her, nearly unrecognizable in her current state. Perhaps that was a gift. That the newly famed Christine Daae could move unseen through the street.
Just as he had said, another road emerged to her left and she veered onto it, her eyes constantly scanning the gold-plated numbers secured above every door. Nestled between two nearly identical apartments, twenty-seven rose like a beacon of hope. Her pace had grown weary, her ivory skin a soft shade of frozen blue. Lights glowed from beyond the fogged windowpanes promising that her endeavor was not in vain. Tentatively, she opened the iron gate and entered the garden. The warmth of the house was within her reach, chasing away her inhibitions. Gently she knocked upon the wood of the door her impatience growing with every drawn second. A lifetime felt to have had passed before the large door swung open to reveal a sour-faced woman within. Her expression offered no hint of surprise, her eyes pinched in a permanent expression of displeasure as she examined the inappropriately dressed Christine. The young soprano’s discomfort climbed.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” Christine offered with forced formality as her voice cracked in the cold. “I have a message for Monsieur Bernard.”
The stout woman remained still in her silence, her eyes hardening with every passing moment. Slowly, and without fanfare, she pushed the door open wider and granted Christine admittance. Unspoken disapproval lingered between them as the young woman stepped into the warmth of the cozy house. The chill deep in her bones fought against the sudden comfort and her body responded, shaking her with renewed energy. Madam Bernard, as Christine presumed her to be, maintained her quiet disposition as she shut the door and started down the hall. Like a starved child, she followed eagerly anticipating the end of the night’s horror. The pair entered a cozy fire-lit office, the familiarity of its book-lined shelves offered her the odd comfort of normality amidst so many unknowns. Turning once more she found the woman replaced by the figure of a dark-skinned man draped in red and gold robes. His expression as he gazed upon her was even, void of any sign of surprise or anticipation.
He approached her, his disposition belonging to someone afraid that she might flee. When he did speak his voice was heavily accented and reassuring. “Hello, mademoiselle Daae.”
Chapter 2: Nadir
Summary:
Christine meets an old friend of the Phantom who sheds some new light onto his dark past.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Silence surrounded them, and she pulled herself away from the stranger as he made a point to close the office door behind him. Trapped there with him her stomach tied itself in knots, the evening’s events clinging to her like a nightmare that refused to end. Frozen she watched him draw near to her, her mind violently repelled by his presuming posture. Her body shook and swayed unsteadily in response as her head pulsated behind her eyes. There were too many pieces of her that were being pulled in different directions and the stranger appeared to be, yet another, threat. Panic threatened to consume her and all around her the room spun in a blur of dusty brown and burnt orange hues. Unsteadily she stumbled backward, searching for any possible means of escape. The dizziness grew in its intensity overwhelming her and forcing her to close her eyes against the onslaught. At any moment she felt as if she were about to fall in a heap of exhaustion. As her knees gave way, she felt a pair of sturdy hands grasp her gently to lead her towards a pair of neatly upholstered leather chairs. Grateful she fell into its embrace, exhaling shakily. Forcing open her eyes she was met by the stranger’s worried attention.
“Are you hurt?” He asked as his fingers dug into her wrist, an action she understood was used to locate the beating of one’s heart.
Beneath his pressure, she could feel it's rapid pulsating. She understood why he would have felt it necessary to ask such a question. Given the events of the night -, but how did he know? Rather than spew the millions of questions rolling within her head, she shook her head furiously. Slowly her vision had begun to clear, the sights of the study becoming more vibrant with every passing moment. He released his, almost painful, grip upon her arm and pursed his lips into a fine line.
“I believe you’re in shock, Mademoiselle.” The stranger’s diagnosis was not at all surprising, though Christine wondered what made him qualified to say so. Was he a doctor? Perhaps that was why her Angel had sent her to this musty house.
After everything she had endured that night, she found that the word shock was fitting. She swallowed past the hysteria that had already begun to spill over and bit back the remainder of what had already managed to slip past the deteriorating walls of her composure. Many people had suffered that night because of one singularly, and ignorantly made decision. The fire of her Angel’s rage had been the result of her foolishness and it had threatened the lives of everyone she loved. He had murdered Piangi and threatened to do the same to Raoul. His love for her and her inability to requite had driven him to an awesome madness. Her breath quickened as she remembered his face and the realization that it was his soul that was truly deformed. Desperately she searched the exotic stranger’s face in hopes of finding an answer hidden within his calm. He finished his examination of her and rocked back onto his heels, in one swooping motion his attention was drawn to the note, now slightly crumpled within the tightness of her grip.
“May I?” He asked with a slow gesture towards it. She flinched protectively away, drawing the note to her chest.
Who was he to assume that she would so readily trust in him? He maneuvered himself in a manner that dripped with unearned familiarity all the while excluding to offer clues of his identity. Not a single moment had been given in an attempt to calm the edges of her nerves. Still, he presumed she would gift him the knowledge of her Phantom’s final instructions. To her, to do such was only another way to betray him. “I - I was told to deliver it into the hands of Monsieur Bernard,” she stuttered, and his eyes softened to an expression of pity.
“Was it Erik who asked this of you?” He pressed, and her brows fell into a tight knot upon her forehead. The name he had spoken was not familiar to her and he exhaled, almost appearing exhausted by her ignorance. “The Phantom, he never told you his true name?”
She was unsure whether she should have been jealous that he should know such a thing while she had remained oblivious. Of course, her mystical Angel was a man, earlier that night he had revealed himself to be nothing but a poorly formed mortal, but the stranger’s casual confirmation was unwelcome as it slammed against her consciousness. It was not fitting, the simplicity of the name. Erik was such a common name and not one she would have ever attached to the mythical being who had spent years stalking her from the shadows. The very oddity to think that he could have been anything but the illusion he had given brought a laugh to her lips. The sound of it escaped in a sudden burst of energy sounding strangled and confused amidst the seriousness of that night’s happenings. Perplexed, the Persian’s hand gripped her shoulders and shook her once. The gargle died in her throat and she saw the depths of his concern reborn within the still of his nearly black eyes.
“Please, allow me,” he persisted once again motioning towards the note. Low and tainted with clemency, his tones remained unwavering. “I will see it safely delivered.”
That night she had betrayed her Angel in a way she had not believed herself capable. Giving in to the stranger’s demand felt like yet another knife dug into his back. She felt her grip loosen regardless. “I p-promised him…”
“I assure you, I have no intention of betraying him,” he reassured when her voice cracked and faltered. He spoke like a father might to his frightened child and she found herself reimagining the many stormy nights she would climb into her own father’s bed in search of his comfort.
Her body stirred, and his eyes grew suddenly sad. Her heart hardened against him once more. There had been too many people to approach her in the same such manner of late. They treated her as though she were an ignorant child, incapable of comprehending their motivations and concerns. In truth, she knew more than they thought her capable and still she had allowed herself to play her part as their pawn. Was this man intending to use her for his benefit as well, or was his concern for her genuine? The familiarity of how he spoke hinted that he knew more than just the Phantom’s name and, quite selfishly, she wondered what secrets he could reveal to her. Glancing downward her eyes locked onto the hollow sockets of the Phantom’s skulled seal. The blood-red of it was haunting in the low light of the office and the face smiled threateningly up at her. His gaze had unnerving supernatural alertness almost as though he hung on every word shared between them. The very presence of him felt as if he were the eyes that watched her in the quiet moments when she slept alone. Tangled in the horror of her nightmares he was the cackle that froze her soul and tainted her waking hours. Suddenly frightened she hurried to extend the note toward the Persian, glad to be rid of it. The paper trembled like a leaf shaken by her hand until he gently pried it away. As he rose from his spot guilt accosted her, her eyes following him as he carried it to the door. Christine could not see the figure on the opposite side of the door, nor could she decipher their whispered conversation. Her uneasiness grew. With a final furtive nod, the robed man returned to her side taking the chair beside her. Relief evaded her. She had not done what he had asked, she had waited for Jules Bernard as instructed. Now she worried that he was in peril – once again because of her. She was free, but at what cost? Hands folded upon her lap she fiddled with her fingers as she studied the stranger’s solemn features.
“Who are you?” She asked before he stole another opportunity to speak for himself.
It was obvious that she would not be able to leave without knowing whether he was a friend or a foe. The Phantom had gifted the man with the knowledge of his name, but she was unsure if that meant he had Erik’s trust. Even so, it was obvious that he knew more of the masked man than even she, who had spent nights in his home.
“My name is Nadir Kahn,” he obliged with a tilt of his turbaned head. His eyes sparkled as if she ought to have heard of him, but his name sounded foreign to her ears. “Erik often refers to me as Daroga – a lingering piece of my past life in Persia. If you did not know any different, one might even name us as friends. Though, Erik often reminds me that I am naught but an annoyance to him.”
Her tongue felt as thick as cotton in her mouth. There was transparency attached to his manner even though his words only furthered the depths of her uncertainty. The Phantom had a friend? Again, the normalcy of such a notion felt like a slap upon her cheek and her insides flinched away from it. Her muscles remained tensed as her mind beat wildly against him.
Summoning up her courage she glanced downward, afraid to meet his eyes and find the hidden answer deep within his stare. “Who…why -,” she fumbled over her words and cursed her inability to articulate the swirls of emotions that battled within her. “Help me to understand.”
The weight of her request tackled him and instantly his demeanor changed. Exhaling he pushed himself free of the neatly upholstered chair to stare out the window. He clasped his hands behind his back as his eyes searched every shadow, her heart quickened in her chest and she wondered if he saw something there that she did not. The softly glowing streetlamps did little to fight away the darkening evening and she knew that the hour had grown immodestly late. Her body felt suddenly heavy and her eyelids burned angrily, demanding that she close them to rest.
Nadir did not rush to speak and with every ticking of the clock, her impatience grew. “I am afraid that is the one thing I am not sure I can do,” he answered heavily, and her heart fell. She studied the curves of her knuckles, biting her lip to keep her disappointment locked safely away. “Erik, he is not like other men. The capabilities of his mind – the depths of his genius…Mademoiselle.” He turned to face her, and their eyes locked in frozen anticipation. “I have seen many things in my time as a Daroga, but he was the only man whose deeds caused me to question the humanity of them.”
The lump in her throat regrew as his gaze grew distant, his mind carrying him back to a time before Erik had become the Phantom. His body was rigid, his hands still behind his back. Keeping his distance, she yearned for a glimpse into his mind, only for a moment so that she might be granted the understanding she so desperately craved. With baited breaths, she basked herself in the anticipation that he did not intend to continue when, slowly, he returned to the present. His jaw clenched and unclenched as he returned to his spot beside her.
“It is not my intention to frighten you, Christine,” he continued with new hesitance. His face fell, and his features turned suddenly gaunt in the low light. “You must know, by now, that he does not see things as we do. His mind does not perceive the differences between black and white, or good and bad. It is in that way that he is like a child. He has learned that fear and violence gain the results he desires – once he has convinced himself that something must be, he will stop at nothing to see it accomplished.”
Fear gripped her as his words faded into the darkness. For a moment it felt as if she had returned to the Palais Garnier. She felt the seething rage that lurked just behind every wall. She heard, once more, the accusatory tone of her Angel as he condemned Raoul and chastised her weakness towards the young man. It felt as if, no matter where she hid, his eyes had always been upon her.
She had seen another side to him as well. Pure and seeped in the most beautiful music imaginable. The purity of his voice as he had taught her. Never before had she found herself so completely moved and envious of a male’s talent. The danger of him, the forbidden nature of his heavenly vocals, had drawn her back to him time and again – like an addict in search of their next hit. It was with all her heart that she did not believe him to be incapable of redemption. He would forever remain an Angel in her mind.
But, even, Lucifer had been an angel.
“Christine,” Nadir’s pronunciation of her name jolted her back into reality and she shied away from the intensity of his tone. “Whatever promises he has made you – you mustn’t return to him. You know that, don’t you? There is no – could never be a future with Erik.”
It was impossible to argue with the force of his tone. Her mind hastened to agree with him, while her soul hesitated to content itself. Her Angel turned murderer continued to beckon her to him, even though he remained distant from her. He was a fugitive of the law, and still, she found herself completely incapable of burying him forever within the depths of her inescapable memory. Raoul’s words from earlier that day sprung forth and she wondered if he knew just how true they had been. Even then, before they had both faced the Phantom’s rage. While he lived, he would forever haunt her. If not in body then in spirit.
The memories he had gifted her would forever be embedded into the very core of her being. The hair on her arm stood straight up as she remembered Raoul with a noose tied around his neck. There had been no mercy, no sanity to be found there, - in that perpetual darkness. She had no doubt that had she acted differently, her fiancé’s body would now lie in a watery grave. It defied logic that she would then put her trust back into that same man. It would have been almost too easy for him to steal her away in that moment of blind faith – to see his objective met. But he had let her go, proving the Persian wrong.
“He let me go,” she said suddenly. Her voice was distant as she slowly met Nadir’s gaze defiantly. “Raoul was waiting by the boats and I returned to him, to say goodbye. Still, he let me go and I came here of my own accord.”
Nadir remained still. “Then I urge you to leave this all behind you. Return to your Fiancé, do your best to leave tonight’s unfortunate events behind you.”
He spoke as if such a thing should have been easy. To forget and move forward with her life. With Raoul at her side, life would be easy, and she would want for nothing. But at what cost? Years of her life had been devoted to the art of her voice and to the teacher who had first inspired those first bleating notes. To leave him in the past felt like she was abandoning the very foundations of herself. The impossibility of it was confounding.
When the sun rose the opera house would lie in shambles and, along with it, the memory of her Angel of Music. She no longer yearned for a career as a Prima Donna, she had seen the vulgarity of that world and the greed it excited. What else did that leave? A life with Raoul as the future Vicomtesse seemed as daunting as the expectations of the stage. Unlike him, she was not born with blue blood coursing through her veins. His affiliation with her was almost as scandalous to them as her relations with the infamous Opera Ghost had been to him. She would never belong there, no matter how many social events she attended, no matter how many hands she shook. Although Raoul hesitated to see it, she knew that their marriage would always appear as one of gain.
He was waiting for her, she remembered with a quick glance out the slightly fogged window. The streets remained desolate and deserted, not a single soul eager to brave the blustery winter morn. By now Raoul would be beside himself with worry, perhaps even endangering himself in what remained of the Palais Garnier in hopes of finding some sign of her within the protection of its charred columns.
The sound of wooden wheels grinding against stone cut through the silence of her internal battle and Nadir rose to, once again, look out the window. “It seems as though Monsieur Bernard has solicited a cab for you,” he explained with a thick voice. Her jaw was set as he positioned himself before her, his hands slipping inside the billowing sleeves of his robe. “I do hope that you consider what I have said tonight. If there is anything else you wish to know before we part…”
There were many things that continued to nag at her relentlessly, but the only one that presented itself as urgent was a question she knew he would refuse to answer. The night was yawning, and her body yearned to rest, yet she knew the time had not yet come. No doubt the Persian believed himself to have shed light upon the subject of the Phantom of the Opera when his words had only proved to fill her with even more doubt. She had nothing but battling emotions to accompany her home – wherever she decided that should be.
“Monsieur Daroga,” she intoned cautiously. All at once, she decided that she had to try, even if she stood to be denied. Rising from her seat she fiddled with her index fingernail nervously. Apprehensive he watched her. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to allow me to keep the Pha – Erik’s letter?” When his eyes narrowed she hastened to add, “Please, I – I don’t want to forget him.”
“I do not think –.”
“Please,” she said once more as she took a single, quick step in his direction. Fresh tears pricked at the edges of her vision as she considered the possibility that he might still deny her. “It is all I have left of him.”
Angel, Ghost, Phantom – Erik. There was no name to fully appropriate all that he had been to her. Before Raoul, he had filled her days with wonderment and delight – even when she found herself consumed by grief. The gentle tones of his songs had often acted like a lover’s caress, frightening away her loneliness in the darkest of nights.
Something new lit in Nadir’s gaze as he, without a single word, strode to the door and abandoned her there within the unfamiliarity of the office. He had not beckoned her to follow and yet she found herself drawn toward the flooding of light released by the ajar door. The hall was cold, and she flinched away from the harsh wintery draft missing then the convenience of a shawl. Just as she was losing hope that he would return, Nadir rounded the bend from the other side of a steep staircase and presented her with the opened letter. Aghast she studied the familiar black order and uniformity of it, surprised by the Persian.
“Mademoiselle,” he said softly as she closed her fingers around its edges. He lowered his gaze and shook his head, almost appearing defeated. “Whatever else you choose to do, I beg of you not to forget all that I have shared with you this night. Erik – he cares very deeply for you, and it is only because of that love, that I believe him to be a better man than he was.”
His words stunned her, and she swallowed past the lump formed by his implications. With a sad smile, she intoned softly, “Thank you, Monsieur Kahn.”
Brusquely he nodded to her, his body suddenly fidgeting as he motioned towards the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she returned back into the fold of the cold night. The cabby waited for her by the head of his brown horse, his eyes fogged by the effects of a morning beginning much too quickly. With a quick apologetic smile, she climbed into the seat as he drew up his reins to stand upon his platform behind her.
“Where to mademoiselle?” He asked with the hint of a shiver upon his voice.
Fumbling open the letter she scanned the length of the text until she found the answer to his question. “To the Hotel Louison, please.”
The room was quaint and empty, just as the innkeeper had said it might have been. Erik had not yet come to claim it and she stood within it exhausted and uncomfortable. Plainly decorated there was nothing particularly inviting about it and, she suspected, it was for that reason that Erik had been drawn to it. Darkened by panels of shabby curtains, the only pieces of furniture to fill the space was that of an old wooden chest, a tattered chair hidden away in a corner and a bed nestled between two small square windows. There were no candles to be lit and the hearth lay icy as the wind whistled down from the chimney. Christine’s nerves frayed as she stepped deeper within. From the bed, a shock of pale movement caught her eye and she jumped to see the cause of it, only to melt with relief. Sandwiched between two flat pillows a familiar feline regarded her with sleepy disdain. The Phantom had been there and would be back.
Relieved she approached the bed and began to fiddle with the many fastenings that held her dress together. The fog of her sleep-deprived mind made the task nearly impossible and she heaved a sigh of relief when the bulk of the gown fell around her ankles. Clothed in nothing but a corset and chemise she climbed onto the bed. Scooping up the cat into her arms she sighed contentedly at her warmth. Greedily Christine pulled her closer and pulled an itchy woolen up around them. The cat barely had a chance to yowl its protest before Christine was fast asleep.
Notes:
Chapter 3 is coming soon!