Title : Voices In the Dark
Chapter : Chapter Six
Author : Marie Noire
Summary : Leading up to the gala performance….
Rating : As of right now, PG… but will likely take a turn into R later.
Weeks turned into months. With no more of an answer to their problem than when they first arrived, the three of them had attempted to settle in 1881. Raoul adapted the quickest, being generally accepted as the vicomte de Chagny, God help him if the real family ever caught on or got wind of him. This seemed unlikely, however, since he kept his spending very modest and no noble family had any clue what their bank balance actually was. What was a hundred francs here and there?
Meg, without the looming shadow of her mother’s success, was free to rise up through the theatrical hierarchy on her own merit. Her modern style of ballet, mingled with the traditional techniques, resulted in a form of dance that was entirely her own and quite captivating to watch on stage. The other ballet girls were fairly evenly divided between being jealous and being enthralled, the latter being mostly the little rats. Even the ballet master admired her style. It seemed new-fangled things were all the range, luckily for them.
Christine’s success however, was nothing short of phenomenal. Seemingly overnight, she went from simply a good singer to an angel! Carlotta had fallen ill a few weeks in with some mystery malady; though the going rumor was that she just refused to work with Christine and was hoping her pointed absence would prompt the management to fire the upstart. This was basically the equivalent of a four-year-old holding his breath in order to get a sweet; all they had to do was ignore her. In the meantime, it was no surprise that Christine was singing the role of Aida in rehearsals now.
Gala night was approaching swiftly and several parties were taking bets on whether or not Carlotta would turn up at the last minute and demand her role. Only Christine seemed unaware of that chance. Even at Meg’s suggestion of it, she shrugged it off. To anyone else, that was simply a display of kind indifference. To Meg, however, it was a sign of something deeper.
“What is with you?” she asked one afternoon, sitting in the dressing room with Christine, watching her brush her hair out.
“Mmm?” Christine asked around the hairpins in her mouth.
“You! You’re acting like you don’t even care if Carlotta shows up or not! By all rights, you should be bouncing off the walls.” Meg insisted, frowning at her friend.
Christine finally turned from her mirror. “Oh, Meg… I am worried she might come back. But what can I do about it? Nothing, really. I’m just singing as well as I can.”
Meg nodded. “That you are. The change in your voice…” she paused. “It’s almost scary, Christine. You didn’t sound like this a few months ago. In fact-“ she stood gracefully, losing a bit of her shawl as she stood directly behind Christine, relieving her of the brush and taking over the task of untangling her hair. “-you sound as though someone’s been teaching you. You can’t simply be struck with technique. What’s the deal, Chris?”
“I… don’t know what you mean?” Christine said, though her eyes flicked to her lap uncertainly.
“Bullshit.” Meg said succinctly, glad that Christine had no knots in her hair, otherwise her strokes would have been painful. “I’m not stupid, Christine. You come here two hours before anyone else in the morning. Sometimes you stay for two hours after too. Someone is teaching you. Why all the secrecy?”
“I… I cant say, Meg. I promised.” Christine sighed.
Meg looked alarmed. “That just sounds worse. Come on, Chris… what’s going on?”
Christine looked up at her friend through the mirror, biting her bottom lip. Meg was right after all. Even to her own ears, it sounded terribly suspicious. Like she was mixed up in dark deeds.
But her Angel was so adamant that no one know of her lessons. Fanatical even. He didn’t even want her using his techniques fully outside of her lessons yet. He’d said he wanted everyone to be astounded when she finally was given leave to let her voice soar. Still, the difference was noticeable, even when she tried to sound like her old self.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve been taking lessons, yes. But it’s a secret. Nothing’s wrong, I promise.” She assured Meg when her friend’s eyes widened. “My teacher is… shy.” She explained. “He doesn’t want any attention, so he stays hidden. I don’t even know his real name.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of this.” Meg shook her head warily, crouching next to Christine so they were eye to eye. “What if this mystery man is some homicidal maniac? What if he attacks you or kidnaps you or something?”
“I highly doubt that.” Christine smiled a little, though she was not completely confident. How could she trust someone who remained so completely hidden. There were times when he was very possessive. She had no doubts that he would be very upset if she skipped a lesson.
“Christine please… be careful.” Meg sighed. “I trust your judgment, but it’s bad enough we’re here at all. Don’t go getting mixed somewhere where we don’t belong.”
“I know, Meg. It’ll be fine, honest.” Christine nodded, the two of them pressing their foreheads together briefly. “You’ve heard the difference in my voice so far and that’s not even the half of it! My Angel is teaching me so much!”
“Angel?” Meg blinked. “Are you going Catholic on me again?”
Christine laughed gently. “No. It’s just what I call him.. Oh, Meg!” she grinned, relieved to finally be able to talk to someone about her teacher. “He sounds like an angel himself! I’ve never heard such a voice!”
“That good, hmm? Like Groban?”
“A hundred times better!”
“Wow.”
Behind the mirror, where he spent most of his days of late, Erik scowled deeply. He had warned her! Was her devotion to him… to her art… so weak that it could not withstand a few months of secrecy? He was ready to call her on her betrayal and end their lessons forthwith! But that would punish him as much as her… More to the point, the sound of her gentle laughter and the sight of her smile stole most of his anger. She was so happy to confide in her friend. And, truth be told, he trusted the Giry girl more than any other person Christine could have told.
God! She was praising him! Enthralling Meg with tales of the beauty of his voice! His! He’d seen and heard such excited conversations before among the girls… but normally about a handsome patron or new tenor. He’d always been vaguely bitter upon such chance encounters before… but now, knowing they spoke of him… it brought a warm flush to his face under the mask. Not the happiness he craved… but pride. It felt good to be praised… even in secret.
“So, you’ve only heard him?” Meg asked. “Not even a shadow or anything?”
“Right.” Christine nodded. “I have no idea what he looks like.”
“Hmph… well, visualize it. What sort of man goes with that voice?” Meg suggested. “Light or dark hair?”
“Mmm… dark. Definitely not a blonde.” Christine grinned, playing along.
Erik raised a hand instinctively to smooth back his rather unruly hair. It was likely not what she was picturing, though it was dark, after a fashion. His hair was thin and cut raggedly near his shoulders since he never bothered with mirror or barber. What there was of it was a dark brown, leaning towards red when he came into light.
“Eyes?” Meg continued gleefully.
“Oh God, I’ve no idea… light. Blue or green, maybe?” Christine answered.
Not quite, Erik thought ruefully. His eyes were brown, though not the dark chocolate brown most people had… a light, almost amber brown. In certain lights, they gleamed like a cat’s, hence the “eyes of fire” description currently circulating about for the Opera Ghost.
“Pale or dark skin?”
“Oh, definitely pale. It’s in fashion, you know.”
Right, Erik nodded, not knowing why he was mentally tallying how close she was to his actual description. He was white as a ghost, to put too fine a point on it. He never saw sunlight if he could help it, though not for fashion’s sake. It was far easier to hide in shadows than in light.
“Height?”
Christine thought about that. “Tall. He’s a tenor, but he’s got that baritone resonance, that low hum that fills everything when he speaks. I’d say tall and slender.”
Erik blinked. That was answer was very accurate. He was very tall, even for a European man, topping most other people by several inches. And he was very thin, skeletal even. Eating was nothing more to him than something he was forced to do in order to stay alive and strong.
“I like the sound of it.” Meg winked.
Christine smiled, toying with a comb from her vanity. “Yes. But it doesn’t really matter what he looks like, does it? His voice alone would suit me.”
“Ever the romantic.” Meg teased.
“Well, it’s true.” Christine looked up. “I don’t care whether he’s handsome or not. A voice like his would make up for any physical fault.”
Erik had to stop himself from crowing with delight. They were childish, stubborn, idealistic words, no doubt… but to hear her say them! It lifted his heart in a way that only music ever did before! Being “not handsome” was one thing… he knew he was downright repulsive. But if she found his voice that moving… oh, the possibilities!
Go to Chapter Seven
To Be Continued...