The Phantom's Daughter

Chapter Twenty-Three

I was tired as I trudged back through the Opera House. The show was on, Christine was playing the part beautifully of Countess—teasing and sly, she made me so proud of how well she embodied that role. And Meg looked so happy to play the part of the Page Boy. As well as the two girls held their part to make the story look authentic, you could also tell that the two friends were having fun with it too.

And that made me smile despite everything.

But I had a heavy weight on my chest, everytime I thought of that dead body they carried off stage. Called him a drunk. Called it a shame. Maybe it was the Phantom of the Opera, they said. Coming to collect his dues for how Joseph Buquett couldn’t reign in his fun. At least that went well….I got more respect and awe from my cast members, and no one suspected murder, so Monsieurs Firmin and Andres were fine. They’d be in the front column for the brilliant piece that Christine Daae performed, being asked, where was this rising star before?

Madeleine had gone back to tending to Box 5. She kept her usual, still, but stern, no-nonsense, composure, but I could tell by how she gripped her hands and fiddled with her ring, that she was anxious. Anxious for me in my recklessness. I had crossed a line this time that there was no turning back to. My heart ached for that. Does she still love me?

I sighed softly, standing in the dressing room as Rita slept on the fainting sofa.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. What was driving me to take this child with me? I should just leave her here. It would send a signal. I could lock the door that I kept open for her. This could be over. Our little arrangement could be done here. We had no obligations to each other, especially now since I saved her life. She kept my secret, and I kept her from ending like Joseph Buquett. We were even. A child was work. A child would be in the way of what I wanted to do. And how was I going to handle one so broken like me when I couldn’t even handle my own brokenness at times?

My body shifted slightly, turning as if to leave. I stared at the sleeping child, her soft breaths, her hair still tied back. She was looking healthier….still small, but not as malnourished now. Her cheeks had more color then, some meat was starting to grow more on her bones.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of defeat. I went over to her, and picked her up, holding her close. She stirred, her eyes fluttered open briefly and then closed again. She was small and light, standing there in the room; when I had hoisted her up from the rafters, she felt heavy, but now she weighed as I remembered.

After I had tucked Rita into her bed, down in my home, I again stared at her for a few minutes, wondering what possessed me to be doing this, to be caring for this child. I sat on the bed, the quietness of being in the cellars hitting me. My mind felt as still and as blank as the soundness around me. My body felt tired and appreciated the rest, and I felt a slight annoyance of having to trek back up, to collect Christine and bring her down too…I wasn’t even sure how that was going to go yet, and was assuming that it would be easy. I hoped it was. I wanted it to turn out right. I wanted Christine to know me, to see me in person, to see me as more than her teacher. I didn’t know what would come out of this, but I was hoping for the best.

I stood up, and placed my hand on the child’s head before departing. The show would soon be over. I went to go fetch Maggie. She was such a good little mare, and she was familiar with the Opera and knew what she was expected to do. I, of course, was being a gentleman, not about to let my tired lady walk five levels down after putting on such a fantastic performance. Maggie also knew her way back up to the stables, so once I got Christine settled, I could go to bed.

Both excitement and nervousness punched my stomach and strangled my heart, the closer I got up to the space behind the mirror in the dressing room that Christine would be in—a fine dressing room for a star.

As Christine was getting changed, I stood outside the door, slowly turning the key in the lock, making sure that no one else could get in—and she couldn’t get out. I knew that fool of the Vicomte was waiting for her at his carriage with his fancy well-bred horses.

Without looking, I knew Madeleine was standing beside me in the shadows. I turned my head to look at her for a moment and she regarded me with a warm, soft, tired expression on her face.

“You took your girl back down I see.” she said.

“I almost left her.” I confessed.

She nodded and softly smiled, looking down at the ground. “I almost left you too….” my eyebrows raised at her confession. But before I could respond, she placed a firm bony hand under my chin. “I’m glad I didn’t.” she said. “Please be careful Erik. She’s young and very ignorant of the world. Don’t scare her, and be gentle.” she said, referring to Christine. She turned to walk away before looking back at me. “Erik.”

“Yes, Madeleine?”

“Was Joseph’s death an accident?”

“No.”

She half nodded, looking troubled and walked off.

I made my way back to behind the mirror, just as Christine walked out from behind the changing curtain. I started singing to her, a soft, kind, greeting, blessing her for her voice. She looked startled, but smiled, sighing deeply. She closed her eyes, soaking up the notes. She was so beautiful….her hair tied back, her perfect soft lips slightly parted, I wanted to press mine against hers so badly.

I sang to her gently, Raoul knocked on the door and asked if she was in there and okay, jiggling the doorknob, but I made myself visible for her to see. Her eyes widened as she saw me standing there, and she walked over, holding out her hand.

“Christine…”

“Are you the angel…?” she asked, confused, her hand froze in mid air. She took a hesitant step.

“My name is Erik…I am your maestro who has been training your voice Christine….you now see me in my full person.” I spread my hands out.

“Oh….” she said. I could see her trying to make sense of this all. I think a part of her realized that I was the Phantom of Opera, but she stepped closer. I stood still,letting her come to me. Raoul called out from outside of the door and she turned briefly.

The spell was almost broken.

I had to act now.

“Christine…” I held out my hand. “Take my hand.” It was gentle, but blunt.

She looked back at me, her eyes wide and entranced. I started singing to her again, so she could match my voice to my face—masked yes…but she could see I was real. I was here and I was in love, and I wanted her to know me as a real person. Not just some angel, not just some mystical teacher. I was real and in the flesh.

Her small hand was placed into mind and quickly, but smoothly so as not to yank her, I pulled her through, closing the mirror, but keeping the illusion up that there was still one an opening between her room and this dark, but lit tunnel (that I had scrubbed for months, all along the stretch so she would have a comfortable and frightless walk-through).

We stood face to face (so close….) for a moment, before I opened with a duet that she would know. I would sing to her, and guide her, and she would let me guide her down, and when we got down to my home, I would explain everything to her.

As I finished the note to my part, she immediately started with her, and I sighed in relief, foolishly showing it, but quickly directing her down the long passage, down to where my abode was, still holding her hand. We went slowly at her as she sang, and I opened with my part again, as we rounded the corner down to another hallway.

When she got frightened, I pulled her closer, and focused her on the duet, willing the music to hug her and comfort her. Sing with me Chistine, sing with your angel of music. During our lessons, I would always have our duets in a fun, comforting way, ending on a good note. So that when the time came for us to be at this moment, me leading her down into my abode, she would be filled with the memories of our happy, soft duets and she wouldn’t feel frightened.

We got to Maggie just as we finished our duet and I held my breath for what would be next. Christine gasped softly, reaching out to touch the tacked up mare.

“Oh, it’s Maggie!” she softly exclaimed.

The scent of her perfume was intoxicating and it took me everything not to throw my arms around her and kiss her. I gently reached my arm around to hover over her waist and offered my other hand.

“Madam, if I may please help you on this fine mare?”

She smiled and grasped the saddle, jumping slightly as I hoisted her up. Thankfully Maggie was a smaller horse so it didn’t make things awkward and Christine was light and nimble from her dancing. She sat in the saddle, smiling, enjoying this so far, her posture perfect for riding.

I led her down, continuing to talk gently to her, telling her that I was the one who had been training her, that she had nothing to fear, my name was Erik Durand, and I had helped run the Opera. I kept myself hidden because people were not ready or worthy of my presence, but I still commanded the Opera and soon I would show the world my own music. She hung onto every word, seemingly fascinated with me. I saw this as good hope as we got to the lake—the final part of the journey!

I let Maggie go so she could return to her warm stall in the stables (the stable hands were going to get it when she was found with a saddle and halter on her) and helped my Christine in the boat. I kept the cellars as well-kept as one could, and having my hand in the craft of magic, I was able to spark up and illuminate the place to make it look wonderful for her.

I asked her to sing for me again, so she could hear how her voice bounced off the walls and everything seemed wonderful as we docked my small boat and I helped her out to show her to my humble abode, built in the cellar walls, sturdy, warm and functional with all the keeping it needed for a small home.

Taking her gently by the hand, as my other hand was placed gently on her back as I led her through. Now she seemed a little nervous, but I reassured her that she was in no danger and I would not impose myself on her.

It was all going so well. We were in the main room where my piano and desks were, when she turned to look into my room.

To see my coffin bead. She cried out and fainted in my arms, I caught her, not too worried, because now I wouldn’t have to worry about any awkward small talk or how to reveal to her who I really was. I could simply put her to bed and put this whole thing off in the morning.

I lifted her and carried her to the bedroom where Rita slept. Placing her on the bed carefully, I took off her slippers and put them by the desk, and pulled the covers over her.

Rita stirred from the other side and looked up briefly at me. I went over to her and sat on the bed next to her. “I’m here, Rita. I’ve brought down a friend is all. Everything is alright. Be kind to her, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

She settled her head back on the pillow and quickly went back to sleep. I hoped she wouldn’t have her night terrors tonight—sometimes she’d wake up just screaming and thrashing. It wouldn’t do Christine any good after the fright she’s had. But in the morning, I would explain to her the humor in sleeping in a coffin bed and she would understand. I wasn’t sure how long I would keep her down here, but it wouldn’t be that long. She had an audience to perform to, a career to build. Wings to fly with, and hopefully take me with her.

I got up, pausing at the doorway to look at my two girls sleeping soundly.

Everything felt alright, and in place.