Title : Voices In the Dark
Chapter : Seven
Author : Marie Noire
Summary : This entire story takes place on the assumption that the legend of the Phantom of the Opera was never known. Everything was covered up in the name propriety. In present-day, Christine, Meg, and Raoul are friends on a backpacking trip through Europe… and they stumble across something rather strange at the old Paris Opera. Little do they know what they’re getting into.
Rating : This chapter is probably closing in on PG-13… but the story will likely take a turn into R later.
Carlotta did not turn up in the zero hour, much to everyone’s immense relief. Reality finally settled in on Christine about fifteen minutes before her first scene onstage. She stood in the wings, wearing a long-sleeved shift… which was apparently what the costume designers thought a Nubian princess in ancient Egypt would wear. She was almost certain it was not proper to the period, but then, who was keeping track? She swallowed, watching the lead tenor sing his first aria. He was a handsome man, she thought, watching the muscles in his arms as he sang. But no pretty face or rippling muscles were a match for her Angel’s voice. She smiled a little to herself as she thought of him. Was he here somewhere? Watching her from the shadows? Or maybe even out in the open, in the audience, secure that she would not notice him?
Meg was on the other side of the stage with the rest of the ballerinas. Raoul was out in the audience somewhere, she was certain. So there was no one to help her calm her nerves. All she could do was try to imagine her tutor’s voice, try to hear him telling her everything would be all right, that she was ready for this… imagine feeling his arms around her.
She almost laughed aloud at that. His arms around her? Right, as if that was going to happen. Not once in three months had he even suggested showing himself to her… it would be rather difficult for him to hold her and still remain anonymous and unseen. Oh, but how she wished he would! His voice was always so warm to her, so kind! It calmed her just thinking about it.
Her cue came up and she took a deep breath before heading out onstage, ready to sing her little heart out.
Meg watched from the wings, utterly transfixed by her friend. She’d heard Christine sing more times than she could count, and she’d always marveled at her talent. But this… this was utterly divine! She’d never heard her friend sound so… so inspired! It was as if years and years of training had all come together in a single moment, mixed and mingled in with the highest emotions of her life. It was captivating in a way that Meg had never experienced before… and neither had the audience given the sudden lack of conversation from the auditorium. Meg hazarded a glance out through a crack in the curtains. The crowd had gone completely still, watching Christine as though thoroughly entranced. She could just make out Raoul, who sat in a box on the grand tier, his mouth hanging open in shock.
Who was this mysterious teacher of hers who had made such a thing possible?
The next scene required her onstage dancing, not that anyone in the audience was paying attention to the dancers. They were busy whispering amongst themselves about Christine Daae and her extraordinary voice. Even the managers in their box seemed dumbfounded.
And this worried Meg on a grand scale. Yes, she was very happy for her friend. To be recognized and appreciated and loved, that was all any artist really wanted… what they all worked for every waking moment. But this was not the time or place for accolades and fame. They were in the wrong time! For Christine to become famous in 1881 could have disastrous effects on the rest of the time flow. Meg had seen enough science fiction movies to know how this went. What if some other important star was supposed to come forward? Like that singer the tour guide had mentioned the Phantom liking so much? Where was she in all this? Was Christine overshadowing her?
What if this whole chandelier thing never happened because they had come along? Maybe that was the goal… to prevent a disaster. But somehow she doubted it. If that disaster hadn’t happened then… then… then how would they find out about it in the future and hold the séance?
So many questions… and no time to consider them!
********
Safe and invisible in Box Five, Erik was elated, half surprised that he wasn’t flying about the auditorium so great was his joy. His Christine, his beautiful, sweet Christine, had done so well! The entire audience was going mad for her, rising to their collective feet and applauding with a fervor seldom heard from the reluctant hands of Paris. Christine was on stage, taking her final bows, nearly buried under the flowers that were being tossed to the stage.
The only chink in this ecstatic armor was that he could not surge to his feet along with them and throw her the rose that rested in his gloved hand. He could not risk being seen, else the accolades die to his beautiful Christine would turn to fear and loathing for him. He had not missed the presence of a few Surtete officers in the crowds. He had been increasingly hard on the new managers and, unfortunately, they were not as easily persuaded as the previous ones. Apparently, they thought some sort of small police presence would keep any trouble from happening. Little they knew.
As soon as the applause began to die and the audience began the arduous task of trying to shuffle out of the overheated auditorium, Erik slipped from his dark seat into the passageways hidden in the walls. He wanted to get into Christine’s dressing room before she did, to set the rose on her little vanity and then disappear behind the mirror. She would be eager to hear him, he believed… all of their work finally paying off in one glorious performance! Quick as a cat and just as silent, he easily reached his goal, standing in her room while she was still being mobbed by the rest of the astounded cast.
With some leisure time to spare, he sat at the small table, leather-clad fingertips drifting over the carved edges, eyes carefully avoiding his own reflection in either the large mirror he always hid behind or the small mirror attached to the table. She had very few personal items that he could see; a hairbrush and comb with carved handles, a few dresses hanging in the closet. Her shawl hung on the back of her chair and he turned, picking it up, noting how thin it was. His Christine was not a wealthy woman by any means. He could change that easily enough, but he loathed doing anything that most patrons of young singers did. He could clothe her in silks and velvets, keep her in the best hotels… but so could any other wealthy man in Paris. He wanted to do for her what none of those lecherous, greedy bourgeoisie men could do. He had taught her to sing like one of God’s own angels, he had given her the gift of song… no one else in Paris or anywhere else in the world could do that. He would die for her… and if necessary, he would even kill for her. Obsessive perhaps… but he’d never harbored the delusion that he was completely sane.
Laughter in the hallway. In seconds, he was safely back behind the mirror, his eyes keen on the door. Christine quickly slipped in, shutting the door behind her, effectively cutting off those who were following her. Poor dear seemed more than a little overwhelmed. She backed away from the door, her hands pressed to her mouth, as though she feared they would just burst in after her.
“Oh, god…” she sighed softly when the noise outside faded. She let out a deep breath and sank into her chair, one hand to her chest. Her heart felt as though it was going to break out of her ribs! What had happened out there? She felt possessed! Singing with more than just her voice, with her very soul! This was what her tutor had always told her to do… to transcend earthly technique… embrace the divine. At the time, she’d though him merely keeping up with the silly pretense of being an angel… but perhaps he had not meant such a thing metaphorically.
“Christine!” Meg’s voice preceded her insistent taps in the door. Christine straightened, trying to pull herself together, calling for Meg to come in.
The dancer was flushed, having run from the stage to the dressing room. “What in blue heaven was that?” she demanded, eyes wide. “I’ve known you for years and I’ve never once heard you sing like that!”
“I know!” Christine laughed nervously, still breathless. “I can’t describe it, Meg… it’s like, like it’s not *me* singing anymore. I can’t explain it. But it’s his doing, I know it!”
“His? Your teacher, you mean? Christine… this is… “ she searched for words, but couldn’t find any. “I don’t want to say unnatural… but this is… a little weird, Christine.”
“More than a little.” Christine agreed. “It scares me a little. Such a thing shouldn’t even be possible… not with any amount of training, let alone just a few months.”
“Who is this guy.” Meg said, very seriously, her voice so low that only Christine could hear her. “Christine, I mean it. You have to find out who he is. After what happened tonight… and what we know… this has to mean something I know it. Maybe you’re taking the place of that singer we heard about… maybe you *are* her. I don’t know… but this is a major development.”
“You think this has something to do with… the Phantom?” Christine asked, lowering her voice as well, just in case her mysterious teacher was about. This was the first that such an idea had dawned on her. “Wait… didn’t the tour guide say that he had a thing for a certain singer… wanted her to take over, so to speak? Maybe my teacher…”
“… is the Phantom.” Meg nodded, finishing the thought. “Entirely possible… *please* be careful and try to find out who the hell he is!”
“I don’t feel so good…” Christine said, voice weak as she moved to the small chaise, laying down on it carefully. “Go make sure no one comes back here… I nearly got trampled to death before.”
“You sure you should be alone?” Meg asked, biting her bottom lip. “I can stay, if you like, honest.”
“No, I’m all right… really.” Christine nodded. “I just need time to absorb this evening.”
Meg nodded reluctantly. “Do you think… he’ll show up here?” she asked.
“I don’t know… I hope so.” Christine nodded. “Don’t worry, Meg… I don’t believe he’d hurt me.”
“All right… but I’m not sure I like this whole situation. Just once, can’t we have a normal life?” Meg asked, sighing as she made for the door. “Get some rest, Chris… I’ll come back when the crowds clear out.”
Christine nodded and then lay back once her friend had left. “Normal life… right. Not bloody likely.”
“Your friend is quite concerned for you.” Erik let his voice waft around her like a warm cloud. Christine jumped at first, but relaxed in recognition. He had heard most of their conversation, except for the whispered parts, though he thought he had picked up the word ‘phantom’. No doubt little Meg thought that he was the Phantom of the Opera as well as Christine’s tutor. How right she was.
“Yes… we look out for each other.” Christine nodded, sitting up wearily. “She can be a bit paranoid though.”
“Given our circumstances, she has every right to be.” Erik agreed gently. “Our arrangement is not an orthodox one, by any means. It would seem strange and perhaps even dangerous to others.”
“It seems strange and dangerous to me sometimes.” Christine asserted softly. “But… something about you… makes me trust you. As I told her, I don’t believe you would hurt me.”
“Yes, I heard you mention it.” Erik nodded. “I appreciate your… willingness to defend what we have. But I fear it will become harder and harder to do it.”
“No doubt.” She said, curling back onto the chaise, feeling terribly sleepy. After all of the energy she had put into her performance, she was utterly spent now.
“You need rest.” He commented softly. “After your captivating performance, it’s little wonder.”
“You did hear me then?” she smiled, forcing her eyes open, gazing at the mirror. “I’m glad; I didn’t know if you would come or not.”“Of course… how could I stay away? I am a moth drawn to the flame of your voice.” He whispered, his voice low and slightly rough.
“How very romantic of you to say.” She smiled softly.
Behind the mirror, he swallowed tightly. Romantic? He had spoken only the truth, though somewhat metaphorically. That was considered romantic? Seemed he had much to learn on such matters. “You look exhausted, my dear. Shall I sing you to sleep?” he asked, covering up his surprise.
“Yes, please.” She nodded, already halfway there. She could sleep for a few minutes… at least until Meg returned. Then maybe she could make it back to their room before collapsing again. And if he sang to her with sleep in mind, she’d be out like a light in seconds.
Erik took a deep breath, choosing a song of his own composition to sing. Sweet and lulling and hypnotic. She would asleep before the first verse was done. He intended to leave it at that, simply watch over her until Meg came back. But something in the way her head drooped to one side, exposing a length of pale throat… how warm and lovely she looked, her breath in cadence with his voice… something about her falling asleep to his voice made him want to hold and cling and possess.
Acting on impulse, he slipped through the mirror door, into the room… a large, black bat of a shadow. He slid his arms around her, still singing, keeping her from waking. She was every bit as warm as he’d imagined… and so soft in his embrace that it made his head spin. Limp and unresisting, she folded into his arms like a doll. The irrational desire to spirit her away, to keep her forever like a caged canary, was utterly irresistible.
Still singing, keeping her in a comatose-like state, he slipped back behind the mirror, closing it behind him. Meg would be back any minute… only to find her friend gone. The idea that such a thing might send off warning bells in the dancer’s head never occurred to him. He was too preoccupied with his insane need to have her near, if only for a little while.
Another step towards true insanity perhaps… but, for the moment, he didn’t care.
To Be Continued...