Title : Voices In the Dark
Chapter : Chapter Five
Author : Marie Noire
Summary : A strange voice in Christine's dressing room....
Rating : As of right now, PG… but will likely take a turn into R later.
“Well?” Meg asked when Christine reappeared. “Did it work? Are you in?
“Very in!” Christine smiled widely. “I’m pretty cure they would have hired me even without prodding from our ‘vicomte’.” She winked at Raoul.
“See?” Raoul nodded. “Nothing to worry about. Now it’s your turn, Meg, m’dear. You’re up.” He said, pointing to the door where the managers’ helpless assistant waited anxiously. Meg scampered off and Raoul took Christine’s hands.
“I’ve always said you have a beautiful voice.” He started. “Even when we were children.”
“I remember. Da used to play the violin and I would sing… you’d play the recorder.”
“Badly.” He grimaced. “Remember the summers at the seashore? You were afraid of sharks and I had to drag you into the water.”
Christine laughed. “Yes, I remember. And you got sun-burned and spent two days being slathered in aloe vera. Your hair would be nearly white from so much sun.” she smiled, brushing his blonde hair back.
“We had wonderful adventures thought… like Peter Pan and Wendy. Playing pirates in the cove, having swordfights with sticks. You’d ride on the back of your Da’s shepherd and pretend you were an elf princess on a steed. I’d be a forest archer and save you from a horde of ugly goblins.” He winked.
Christine nodded, reminiscing right along with him. “You called me Lotte… after da’s story about the Angel of Music. We’d pretend to be a pair of orphans lost in the wilderness… like Hansel and Gretel. But why bring it all up now, Raoul?”
“This is our next adventure… and it’s so much better because it’s not all pretend.” He said, squeezing her hands gently. “We’re still sort of pretending… but we’re a great deal better at it now.”
“One can hope.” She nodded, accepting a kiss on the cheek form him.
Up on a balcony, half-hidden by a marble pillar, Erik scowled deeply as he watched the young nobleman; how easily he grasped her slim, white hands and bent his lips to her cheek. Anger and jealousy boiled up inside of him. He’d spent his entire life bereft of contact and this little blonde fop of a boy dared to take it so easily? He knew all about the rich young patrons of the Opera; pretending to be philanthropists interested in expanding culture. All they were really after were the pretty chorus girls; a bit of illicit fun between the sheets and secret from the rest of proper society. More than one lovely singer or ballet girl had been left broken-hearted (and often with child) once their patron lost interest.
If this new patron, this vicomte de Chagny, even *thought* of doing such a thing to his little songbird… his Christine… he would live just long enough to regret it sharply.
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Within the first weeks of rehearsals, Christine and Meg’s statuses as true talents were assured. Even the singers who had been with the Opera for several seasons thought them exceptional. The notable chink in this, at least for Christine, was the Opera’s current diva, one Carlotta, who apparently believed in the notion that if one was big enough, one did not *need* a last name, La Carlotta, a busty temptress from Italy, did not take kindly to sudden changes… especially sudden changes that included a new singer with the backing of a rich patron. She ranted and raved and complained (all at the top of her very powerful lungs) until the managers placated her with assurances that she was not being replaced… all set to much eye-rolling from the conductor.
“My God…” Christine shook her head once the screeching diva had been lured away by the promise of brandy in the managers’ salon. “I’ve never seen such a… a..” she lowered her voice so only Meg could hear her. “… a bitch in all my life.”
“You’re no joking.” Meg agreed, massaging her abused ears gingerly. “They must have kicked her out of Rome because the Pope took offense.”
“Quite. You know… she reminds me of someone.” Christine frowned while the rest of the cast tried to reassemble itself.
“Who? Madame Poppy?” Meg asked, thinking of their high school vocal teacher who had also had a thick Italian accent.
“No…” Christine shook her head. “Miss Piggy.”
Meg promptly collapsed in gales of laughter, which in turn set off the rest of the ballet corps (who had no idea what they were laughing at, but when one is twelve, everything is terribly funny). Ten giggling teenage girls later, the poor conductor finally managed to restore order.
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“I want her out on the streets!” Carlotta demanded angrily from her seat while Andre nervously tried to pour her some brandy.
“Signora, please… we cannot simply fire someone for no reason. Her patron will want to know why.” Firmin sighed.
“She upsets me and I cannot sing when I am upset.” She pouted, looking like an overgrown ten year old with rouge. “She wants my part, I can see it! I’ll not have some wide-eyed brat after my roles.”
“She’s lucky enough to be playing Amneris. And she’s only got that role because no one else can do it.” Firmin assured her. What he did not say was that the only reason no one else would take Amneris was because no one else wanted to be in Carlotta’s range of attack. “Even if the vicomte were *not* her patron… there are… others… who seek aid on her behalf.” He glanced nervously at the black-edged letters on his and Andre’s desks.
“The Opera Ghost!” Carlotta sneered. “Daae probably wrote them herself. I do not care who her backer is. I want her out!”
“Brandy, signora?” Andre practically shoved the glass into her gloved hand. “It will calm your nerves before you return to rehearsal.”
“Rehearsal? What, rehearsal? I do not need rehearsal! I know Aida like I know my hand.” She said before taking a healthy sip of brandy anyway. “I will go home once I am done here.”
“Signora, please…” Andre said at Firmin’s flabbergasted expression. “We are not suggesting that *you* need rehearsal. But everyone *else* does and they need you there to have someone to look up to and want to improve by.”
That seemed to placate her a little; she quieted and sipped her brandy. “Oh very well. I will go see to rehearsals. But if so much as one person irritates me, I am leaving.”
From his hiding place behind the walls of the office, Erik smirked. If that was all it would take, he would gladly irritate her. Trollop. Really, he didn’t have a clue why they didn’t simply dismiss her. In her prime, Carlotta had been a big name… known for her volume more than anything else. But now… well, no one insisted that they came to the Opera to see Carlotta. She was no longer even a name and the Opera accounts showed that clearly. Erik had never interfered before simply because he did not trust the managers to find a suitable replacement. But now… he knew exactly who they should replace the diva with.
Christine!
Despite the redundancy of it, Erik had sent a few notes to the management regarding Christine… more to assuage his disappointment of not being the instrument of her acceptance. Mostly his letters consisted of pointing out what a fine voice she had and how easily she outshone Carlotta. With a little hinting on how she would improve revenue. With his influence, she would soon be diva. For now, he would strive to ignore the vicomte.
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Christine sighed as she walked down the long hallway back to her dressing room. In the weeks since they had arrived in 1881, things had happened so fast. She had practically flown from being a simple chorus member to being the understudy to the diva, something Carlotta was not pleased about, nor was anyone within earshot of her. The managers had insisted on giving her a private dressing room, which didn’t really surprise her… the fact that it was so far away from everything else, *that* mystified her. Raoul swore he had nothing to do with it… and they all suspected Carlotta of it.
The little ballet rats had been all to eager to warn Meg about that dressing room. It was haunted, they said, by the Opera Ghost. Meg had naturally relayed this information to Christine. They both had wondered if perhaps this ghost was the same spirit who’d brought them to 1881… the one that the tour guide had mentioned… that maybe he was the reason they were here at all. However as the weeks progressed with no supernatural activity, they began to relinquish that idea.
She unlocked her dressing room, entered, and then relocked it behind her; years of London living had left their mark. The candles were lit in due time, giving the room a soft glow and for the seventh time in as many days, she started at the appearance of her own reflection. That damn mirror dominated the entire room! Why anyone would even need a mirror that large was beyond her. The frame of it stretched from ceiling to floor, the reflection so clean that it gave the impression of being a doorway into another room rather than a mirror.
With an exasperated sigh, Christine sat at her dressing table and began the process of taking down her hair. As was her habit, she sang softly, this being the only time she could get away with singing modern music without earning a death look from Meg. No one would hear her after all, she was too far away.
On my own
Pretending he's beside me
All alone
I walk with him till morning
Without him
I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my eyes
And he has found meIn the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me forever and foreverBehind the mirror, as he always had been for the past six weeks, Erik sighed softly, touching the surface of the glass where her reflection shone through. Every day, she tempted him with a new treat. Sometimes her songs were soft and sweet, others they spoke of anger and betrayal, this one was melancholy. And, like a starved animal, he lapped up every note. Her voice was pure relief for him, allowing him to drown in her tones and forget for a little while.
In rehearsals, she was progressing well… though he just knew she could be so much better! He could teach her how to make the audience bleed from their hearts or leap with joy. If only there was a way…
Unaware of her voyeur, Christine finished with her hair and moved on to another song while she removed her stage makeup. This time, she chose a song that was not from one of her shows, though still a favorite.
Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay
there's always one reason
to feel not good enough
and it's hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memory seeps from my veins
let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonightin the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort thereFrom his place, Erik blinked, listening to the lyrics avidly. He was familiar with her obsession with all things supernatural… her and Meg both. This however was only the second time he’d heard mention of angels… the first time being her conversation with the vicomte. She had spoken of an Angel of Music. A pretty child’s tale, no doubt.
But maybe… just maybe…
How ironic if he could accomplish it! In his younger days, in Persia, he’d had many nicknames; Trap-Door Lover, Shah’s Assassin… Angel of Death. A delicious twist if he could be the Angel of Music now!
*Her* Angel of Music.
Very softly, he began to sing to her, echoing her song, adding a natural harmony to it. To the very end of the song he did this, though when she stopped singing, he continued, taking over the melody.
Christine’s eyes widened as this strange and yet familiar voice sang. She knew she had heard it before, but could not place where. And such beauty! Never could she remember hearing its like before! Warlow, Carreras, Jackman… none of them even came close! This voice was so utterly perfect, it was almost painful. She was afraid to close her eyes, fearing she would fall under a spell and never wake again.
“Who’s there?” she asked once the song had ended, her eyes searching the mirror behind her own reflection.
“An angel.” Came the reply.
Christine did not have to fight the urge to smirk. She was twenty-three and a fallen away Catholic, she did not believe in angels. However, that voice was so beautiful and the whole situation so surreal, she almost believed him.
Almost.
“I’m… not certain that’s the truth.” She said softly, almost in apology. “Who are you really?”
Erik smiled a little behind the mirror. Seemed his little songbird was not completely taken in by his voice as others were, her grasp on reality was lessened, but not gone. “A friend.” He replied.
Christine’s expression shifted from wonder to worry, immediately suspicious. “I have no friends who can sing like that, monsieur.”
“Perhaps you do now.” He whispered. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” Christine echoed. This entire thing sounded like some sort of unnecessarily extravagant come-on… and a voice that issued from nowhere in her locked dressing room was more than slightly alarming. Still… it *was* locked… so he couldn’t actually be in the room. There was no place to hide anyway. “Why should you want to help me? I’m no one to you.”
Oh, how little she knew! Erik sighed softly, closing his eyes to collect his thoughts. Conversing with others was nearly a foreign concept to him in his solitary existence. “I heard you earlier… I heard you singing. And I know that I could help you to reach heights thus far unknown to mankind. All of Paris will be at your feet, the audiences clamoring for your slightest smile. You could be sublime… if you just have the right training.”
“And… you can give me this training?” she asked, skeptical. She had a good, pure voice, she knew… but what he was speaking of sounded as though it needed a good dose of divine intervention.
“I can. I have long studied music and vocal techniques in my cultures… I know methods completely outside of the traditional opera training of Europe.” He assured her, his own voice soft and soothing… persuasive.
She thought about that. From what she understood, there were many different methods… though is basic thought, all singing was the same. Still… a few different visualizations or other techniques might be helpful. “Why?” she asked next, not certain why she was addressing her mirror. “Why me? What do you get out of it?” her unspoken question hung in there air… how was she to pay him for these lessons?
“I chose you… because… out of this entire company, you alone have a voice that promises greatness. Anyone can sing… but it takes someone quite extraordinary to exude such potential.” He said with some discomfort. Being honest was something else he was unaccustomed to. “As for what I will get out of it. I will have the satisfaction of knowing I was the instrument of your rise. I will ask nothing of you save hard work and dedication… and discretion.”
“Discretion?” Warning signs were going up again.
Erik sighed. “I do not want others to know I am giving lessons. I do not want others to know anything of me at all. I am rather… a hermit. That I have come to you at all is… a stretch… for me.” He admitted.
Christine nodded, accepting that for the moment. “Have you a name?”
It was on his tongue… he wanted to tell her… but his good sense overcame his impulse. “You can make one up for me… “
She smiled at that. “My, we are mysterious, aren’t we? Very well… since you decided to try the angelic approach… I shall call you Angel.”
Angel! God above that filled him with such warmth! “Then Angel, I shall be, Miss Daae.”
“Christine.” She corrected him automatically. “Miss Daae reminds me too much of a teacher I hated. You can just call me Christine.”
His breath caught. “Christine.” He repeated, his voice a shade lower than normal.
She blushed softly, not understanding why the simply sound of this strange man saying her name filled her with such warmth. True, he had a voice of such unique beauty she almost felt under a spell. “When should we meet?”
“In the mornings before rehearsals.” He said softly. “And tell no one of what we do… no one.” He said more firmly. “I do not want anyone sneaking about to hear us.”
She almost protested. She wanted to tell Raoul and meg about this development… but then again… this was so strange… they would try to talk her out of it. And she wanted to do it! It wasn’t as though he was asking for sex in return, as she feared he might, 19th century or not… and if he did later, she would stop on her own.
“Agreed.”
On to Chapter Six