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charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 4/?
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1391
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Christine misses her father. The Angel of Music tries to comfort her.
Author's Notes: Intended to be a Phantom version of my series Jottings from a Doctor's Journal, a collection of fragments, vignettes and missing scenes. Mainly musical-based, but I have picked up bits and pieces from various places.
OH, DADDY
“Christine... Christine...”
Erik stopped singing as he reached the mirror and peered through into the dressing room beyond. As befitted a room which held a well-founded reputation for being haunted - a reputation he had taken care to foster since he had begun teaching Christine – at first appearance it was completely empty. He felt anger rise and tried to push it away. In past weeks his pupil had been occasionally been late for their lessons, detained by Madame Giry after ballet practise or by giggling conversations with Antoinette’s daughter Meg, but she bore his scolding meekly and had been contrite afterwards. He had not expected her to dally again and felt the anger replaced by twinge of disappointment. Maintaining the illusion of strict but kindly Angel of Music was not easy when his thin patience was often stretched to breaking point. Though she was talented, Christine was still a young girl with a girl’s flightiness and he was unused to dealing with anything but the complete and utter commitment which had always been his own attitude.
There was a sniffle and a hiccup from the dressing room, and Erik realised with a start that she was there after all – somehow he had completely overlooked her. Her small figure was hunched over on the couch in the corner, looking in the dark little more than a bundle of old clothes. A cushion was crushed in her arms as her shoulders heaved with barely-suppressed sobs, her tumbling curls hiding her face from view. Erik felt a strange sensation in his chest, one which later he could only imagine had been his shrivelled old heart moving with sympathy for the poor girl’s plight. He had not thought himself capable of such emotions in a long time. Instinctively he reached out to her, only to feel the cold surface of the mirror beneath his fingertips.
“Christine,” he said softly, throwing his voice to the other side of the room, “Why do you cry, child?”
Her head shot up like that of a startled rabbit and now he could see her red-rimmed eyes, her trembling rosebud lips as she turned up the lantern she had brought with her. Tears had traced their way down her cheeks, shining in the dim light. “Angel?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am here, Christine. Whatever is the matter?”
Futilely, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You will think me very foolish...”
Erik pitched his voice towards her left ear, light and gentle. “Why should I do that, my dear?”
“Because I miss my father. Even though I know I should be happy that he is in Heaven with the angels I still wish he were here with me now.” Christine’s mouth twisted in abject misery and she bent her head, her voice cracking. “I miss him so much!”
Again Erik felt that strange tightness in his chest. Although he could not understand how it felt to lose a beloved parent, having never been shown even the most basic of care and affection by his own, since she arrived at the Opera it was painfully evident how lonely Christine felt without her father beside her. Loneliness was a creature Erik knew very well indeed, though he would rarely admit it to anyone, most of all himself. The thought of its cold, icy tendrils winding their way around Christine’s soul, sucking the joy from her as it had done his during the countless years he had spent alone, years which sometimes seemed without end, was one he could not bear to entertain. “Your father is still with you, Christine, even though you cannot see him,” he said now, hoping to reassure her. “He would be very proud of you.”
She sniffed. “Do you really think so?”
Erik’s fingers brushed the glass once more. He suddenly had an insane urge to run them through her riotous brown curls, to stroke them gently, a desire to take her in his arms and comfort her, telling her over and over that she was not alone in the world. Clenching his fist and pulling it sharply away from the mirror, he mentally shook himself. What a sentimental old fool he was becoming! He took a deep breath, trying to reassert his heavenly persona. “Yes, child, I do,” he said, and it was the truth. “You should not doubt it.”
“I can’t help it, Angel,” Christine murmured, turning her gaze to the ruined handkerchief she twisted in her lap. “I know you think I have talent but I feel clumsy and awkward out there on the stage; Madame Giry despairs of me, I know she does.”
Cursing Antoinette under his breath for being too hard on the delicate girl, Erik threw his voice to sound as though he were standing right behind her and said lightly, “I do more than think it, Christine, I know it. Your voice will take you far.”
“I’m scared, Angel. I’m all alone with no one to guide me and I don’t know what to do. It frightens me!” Unwittingly, she looked straight at her own reflection and through it at the man concealed behind. Her eyes were big and round, her lower lip wobbling as she fought to contain fresh tears.
She looked so utterly lost that this time the heart Erik had always believed to be dead did more than just move; it nearly broke in two. “Oh, Christine...” he whispered.
“Papa, why did you have to leave me?” she asked plaintively, turning her eyes to the ceiling. “You always promised not to leave me alone!”
“You are not alone, Christine, you have your Angel,” Erik told her, not realising what he had said until the words were out of his mouth. Though he would have given anything at that moment to be able to dry her tears, seeing her cry paining him deep inside, surely this was giving more, much more than he had ever intended when he began their lessons? Exactly what was this young woman coming to mean to him, that he was close to abandoning the habits of a lifetime and allowing himself to become emotionally involved with another human being? He had been reviled and hunted all his life, shunned by anyone towards whom he had been fool enough to reach – why should Christine be any different?
Maybe, just maybe, she was. She sat up straighter as he spoke, her hands clasped and her little face lit up with hope. “Oh, do you really mean that, Angel? Will you stay by my side?”
Never having been faced with such a request, once again Erik’s traitorous lips answered before his brain could fully engage. “Of course. Your Angel will always be with you, watching over you. As long as you are here, you will be under my protection.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, sounding like the child she still to some extent was.
This time he told himself that he could think; if he wished he could conjure sweet words to beguile and convince but not ultimately bind. After all, he had hardly been truthful to her before, so why should he not make such a promise? It was not as if he would have to keep it – within a few years of his tuition, her gift would inevitably take her beyond the Populaire and away from his gaze. It would be so easy to say the words, never meaning them. So easy, if he had been dealing with anyone but Christine.
Erik looked at her, at the happiness that suddenly shone in her eyes, and he knew that he could not lie to her, not now. She needed him; how could he deny her? Though he knew that once he replied there would be no going back for him, there was only one thing he could say:
“Yes, Christine,” he breathed, “I promise. I will never leave you.”
She smiled; the first genuine smile he had seen since she arrived. And it was for him! In his long life no one had ever looked at Erik that way, with such love and devotion. No one had ever made him feel needed, feel wanted.
A little voice in the back of his mind cried out: What have you done? He ignored it.
It was too late. Erik was lost.
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 1391
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Erik the Phantom, Christine Daae
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: Christine misses her father. The Angel of Music tries to comfort her.
Author's Notes: Intended to be a Phantom version of my series Jottings from a Doctor's Journal, a collection of fragments, vignettes and missing scenes. Mainly musical-based, but I have picked up bits and pieces from various places.
OH, DADDY
“Christine... Christine...”
Erik stopped singing as he reached the mirror and peered through into the dressing room beyond. As befitted a room which held a well-founded reputation for being haunted - a reputation he had taken care to foster since he had begun teaching Christine – at first appearance it was completely empty. He felt anger rise and tried to push it away. In past weeks his pupil had been occasionally been late for their lessons, detained by Madame Giry after ballet practise or by giggling conversations with Antoinette’s daughter Meg, but she bore his scolding meekly and had been contrite afterwards. He had not expected her to dally again and felt the anger replaced by twinge of disappointment. Maintaining the illusion of strict but kindly Angel of Music was not easy when his thin patience was often stretched to breaking point. Though she was talented, Christine was still a young girl with a girl’s flightiness and he was unused to dealing with anything but the complete and utter commitment which had always been his own attitude.
There was a sniffle and a hiccup from the dressing room, and Erik realised with a start that she was there after all – somehow he had completely overlooked her. Her small figure was hunched over on the couch in the corner, looking in the dark little more than a bundle of old clothes. A cushion was crushed in her arms as her shoulders heaved with barely-suppressed sobs, her tumbling curls hiding her face from view. Erik felt a strange sensation in his chest, one which later he could only imagine had been his shrivelled old heart moving with sympathy for the poor girl’s plight. He had not thought himself capable of such emotions in a long time. Instinctively he reached out to her, only to feel the cold surface of the mirror beneath his fingertips.
“Christine,” he said softly, throwing his voice to the other side of the room, “Why do you cry, child?”
Her head shot up like that of a startled rabbit and now he could see her red-rimmed eyes, her trembling rosebud lips as she turned up the lantern she had brought with her. Tears had traced their way down her cheeks, shining in the dim light. “Angel?” she asked hesitantly.
“I am here, Christine. Whatever is the matter?”
Futilely, she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You will think me very foolish...”
Erik pitched his voice towards her left ear, light and gentle. “Why should I do that, my dear?”
“Because I miss my father. Even though I know I should be happy that he is in Heaven with the angels I still wish he were here with me now.” Christine’s mouth twisted in abject misery and she bent her head, her voice cracking. “I miss him so much!”
Again Erik felt that strange tightness in his chest. Although he could not understand how it felt to lose a beloved parent, having never been shown even the most basic of care and affection by his own, since she arrived at the Opera it was painfully evident how lonely Christine felt without her father beside her. Loneliness was a creature Erik knew very well indeed, though he would rarely admit it to anyone, most of all himself. The thought of its cold, icy tendrils winding their way around Christine’s soul, sucking the joy from her as it had done his during the countless years he had spent alone, years which sometimes seemed without end, was one he could not bear to entertain. “Your father is still with you, Christine, even though you cannot see him,” he said now, hoping to reassure her. “He would be very proud of you.”
She sniffed. “Do you really think so?”
Erik’s fingers brushed the glass once more. He suddenly had an insane urge to run them through her riotous brown curls, to stroke them gently, a desire to take her in his arms and comfort her, telling her over and over that she was not alone in the world. Clenching his fist and pulling it sharply away from the mirror, he mentally shook himself. What a sentimental old fool he was becoming! He took a deep breath, trying to reassert his heavenly persona. “Yes, child, I do,” he said, and it was the truth. “You should not doubt it.”
“I can’t help it, Angel,” Christine murmured, turning her gaze to the ruined handkerchief she twisted in her lap. “I know you think I have talent but I feel clumsy and awkward out there on the stage; Madame Giry despairs of me, I know she does.”
Cursing Antoinette under his breath for being too hard on the delicate girl, Erik threw his voice to sound as though he were standing right behind her and said lightly, “I do more than think it, Christine, I know it. Your voice will take you far.”
“I’m scared, Angel. I’m all alone with no one to guide me and I don’t know what to do. It frightens me!” Unwittingly, she looked straight at her own reflection and through it at the man concealed behind. Her eyes were big and round, her lower lip wobbling as she fought to contain fresh tears.
She looked so utterly lost that this time the heart Erik had always believed to be dead did more than just move; it nearly broke in two. “Oh, Christine...” he whispered.
“Papa, why did you have to leave me?” she asked plaintively, turning her eyes to the ceiling. “You always promised not to leave me alone!”
“You are not alone, Christine, you have your Angel,” Erik told her, not realising what he had said until the words were out of his mouth. Though he would have given anything at that moment to be able to dry her tears, seeing her cry paining him deep inside, surely this was giving more, much more than he had ever intended when he began their lessons? Exactly what was this young woman coming to mean to him, that he was close to abandoning the habits of a lifetime and allowing himself to become emotionally involved with another human being? He had been reviled and hunted all his life, shunned by anyone towards whom he had been fool enough to reach – why should Christine be any different?
Maybe, just maybe, she was. She sat up straighter as he spoke, her hands clasped and her little face lit up with hope. “Oh, do you really mean that, Angel? Will you stay by my side?”
Never having been faced with such a request, once again Erik’s traitorous lips answered before his brain could fully engage. “Of course. Your Angel will always be with you, watching over you. As long as you are here, you will be under my protection.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, sounding like the child she still to some extent was.
This time he told himself that he could think; if he wished he could conjure sweet words to beguile and convince but not ultimately bind. After all, he had hardly been truthful to her before, so why should he not make such a promise? It was not as if he would have to keep it – within a few years of his tuition, her gift would inevitably take her beyond the Populaire and away from his gaze. It would be so easy to say the words, never meaning them. So easy, if he had been dealing with anyone but Christine.
Erik looked at her, at the happiness that suddenly shone in her eyes, and he knew that he could not lie to her, not now. She needed him; how could he deny her? Though he knew that once he replied there would be no going back for him, there was only one thing he could say:
“Yes, Christine,” he breathed, “I promise. I will never leave you.”
She smiled; the first genuine smile he had seen since she arrived. And it was for him! In his long life no one had ever looked at Erik that way, with such love and devotion. No one had ever made him feel needed, feel wanted.
A little voice in the back of his mind cried out: What have you done? He ignored it.
It was too late. Erik was lost.
