![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charleygirlTitle: Beyond the Green Baize Door 43/44
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3052
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Christine Daae, Erik the Phantom, Meg Giry, Madame Giry, Monsieur Andre
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The Phantom makes a last appearance.
THE FINAL PERFORMANCE OF THE OPERA GHOST
“Erik, what are you doing? You can’t get up yet!” Christine exclaimed as he threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He reached out his good hand and braced it on the nightstand, pushing himself slowly to his feet. His arm trembled with the effort, and he stood quite still for several moments with his eyes closed, just gathering his strength. “I’ve no choice,” he said at last, letting go of the table for a moment to take up his mask; he wobbled alarmingly without the support and so Christine lifted it, placing it gently over his distorted cheek and securing it behind his ear. “I can’t let those fools bring down my theatre.”
“Christine is right, Erik,” Madame Giry told him, but he took no notice, shuffling to the end of the bed with the help of its solid mahogany frame and looking around as though he had lost something. Sighing, Christine fetched his oriental robe from where it hung on the back of the door and wrapped it around his shoulders. “You are not well enough for this. How do you expect to make it all the way to the managers’ office in your condition?”
The Phantom shrugged his good arm through the sleeve and thrust his feet into the velvet house shoes Meg brought; they had been warming before the fire. Watching him, Christine could only think how human he appeared, standing there in dressing gown and slippers, his hair still mussed from sleep; he would never, could never appear ordinary for there was nothing ordinary about him, but just at that moment he looked... normal, frighteningly so. “There is a quicker route that bypasses the lake. Antoinette, I need you to do something for me.”
Madame rolled her eyes, and folded her arms. “We all risked much to save your life last night. Would you throw all our effort away?”
“Annie.” He met her gaze steadily, his pale face quite serious. “Would you allow Andre and Firmin between them to rob everyone in the Opera of their livelihoods? Some of my actions of late may have been morally suspect to say the least, but even I would not punish the entire company for the mistakes of a handful of people!”
“And what of the chandelier, Erik?” Madame Giry asked sharply. “What of the six months it took to restore the structure of the building and repair the damage you caused? I suppose you have forgotten that, holed up as you were down here with your music and your misery!”
Erik’s spine stiffened at the accusation. “Did any of you suffer in my absence? Were any of you harmed, out of work, left to struggle?”
They glared at each other, locked in a stalemate, for some moments, before Meg said quietly,
“He’s right, Maman. What will we do if we lose our jobs? Where will we go?”
Christine’s hand flew to her mouth; she had not considered the consequences for all of them until that moment. They would be on the street; what little her father left had been taken by the expenses of his funeral and she could not afford even her tiny apartment without her salary from the theatre. The recent scandals and her current notoriety would make it virtually impossible for her to find another position; no one would take a singer with her reputation, however undeserved that reputation might be. Had she still been engaged to Raoul it would not matter, but now...
“Whatever happens, Little Giry, you will be looked after,” Erik said, surprising them all, including, judging from the expression on his face, himself. “You have my word on that, for what it is worth.”
Meg stared at him, open mouthed, for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she managed to say, before her mother began to protest.
Erik cut across her. “I will not see you starve, Annie, you know that,” he said. “God knows you sometimes try my patience to the limit, and I have not yet forgiven you for removing my mask in the presence of that doctor, but...but...” Struggling for the words, he glanced at Christine and she smiled encouragingly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You are... the closest thing I have ever had to a family and you will always have my protection.”
There was a long pause, during which Meg anxiously glanced at her mother and Christine felt a desire to start chewing her fingernails, a habit that had been drummed out of her soon after she joined the corps de ballet. Erik watched, his visible features as impassive as his mask, trying not to make it obvious that he was leaning against the bedpost more heavily than before.
Eventually, Madame Giry sighed and threw up her hands in defeat. “Very well. What do you want me to do?”
________________________________________
It was a long journey to the upper levels of the theatre, even if the route they took avoided their having to use the boat. Erik had to stop and rest at regular intervals, the many stairs sapping his dwindling reserves of strength and energy. Every time he paused to regain his breath Christine asked him if he was all right, whether he wanted to go back, and every time he would insist that he was fine. She knew that Doctor Lambert would have a fit if he could see what his patient was up to, but it was quite clear that trying to stop Erik when he was determined to do something was like Canute attempting to hold back the tide so she did what she could by making sure he was well wrapped up against the chill of the cellars and giving him as much support as possible when he faltered.
She had never been in any of the smaller tunnels before; these were much narrower than those she was used to, barely big enough for two, and she guessed that they ran between some of the walls, allowing him to flit from room to room and observe what was happening within. He led her carefully through the dusty, cobwebbed passages, and she covered her nose, trying desperately not to sneeze. At last they stopped, and Erik flipped aside a small section of the wall to reveal a peephole; he looked through it for a moment, and then stood aside, gesturing for her to do the same.
Christine had to stand on tiptoe, but by squinting she could see into the room beyond. Usually so neat and tidy when Remy was in charge of affairs, the office was a shambles. Empty bottles stood all over the desk, the wastepaper basket was overflowing with balls of crumpled paper and books had been pulled from the shelves only to be tossed aside with no consideration for their age or value. Monsieur Andre sat in his chair, sprawled over the memorandum book which lay open on the desk before him, and he was snoring loudly, an empty glass in one hand.
“Where are we?” she asked Erik in a whisper.
“Behind the inferior Degas copy that hangs to the left of the fireplace,” he replied, equally sotto voce. “I’ve often found it a convenient vantage point in the past.”
She stepped back. “So I can see.”
“This is so strange,” Erik mused. He glanced at her, only his eyes illuminated by the thin shaft of light which fell through the hole. “You are the first person ever to have entered these passages apart from myself.”
“I am honoured.” Christine smiled and asked cheekily, “Does that make me Madame OG now?”
That mismatched gaze widened briefly in surprise and she wondered when she had become so bold around him. Goodness, she had sounded just like Meg for a moment! Was it the knowledge that she had come so close to losing him that suddenly made her want to grasp at every chance, throw caution to the winds? He did not answer, returning his attention to the office and the man sleeping there, and she realised that she may have been a little too forward.
Softly at first, but with increasing volume, he began to sing. There were no words, only a melody which he wove effortlessly with just that beautiful, otherworldly voice. Even when not directed at her, Christine was moved by the power of it; he had the ability to lift the heart and soul to a heavenly realm, or just as effortlessly turn the blood to ice and send ghostly fingers creeping down the spine. She did not recognise the tune and supposed that he was creating it as he sang, composing as natural to him as breathing.
It had the desired effect. Andre started awake, staring around him with eyes as round as saucers. His hair was flattened on one side and there were ink marks down his left cheek. “Who’s there?” he demanded querulously. “Show yourself!”
“Impossible,” said Erik, throwing his voice to the opposite side of the room.
“Unthinkable,” he added, this time from the corner by the door.
“Unlikely,” came the conclusion, from beneath the desk. Andre jumped, bending down to look and crawling right under the piece of furniture to reappear on the other side, popping up like a jack-in-the-box.
“Where are you?” he asked, his gaze flicking about wildly.
“Everywhere,” Erik replied from the ceiling. “Am I not a ghost?”
“Dear God.” The manager reached for the one cognac bottle which still contained some liquor and hugged it to his chest. “I thought you were gone. They shot you!”
Erik laughed, a demonic chuckle that almost made Christine’s hair stand on end. The sound brought back memories of a croaking Carlotta and a dangerously unstable chandelier. “Did you really think that bullets could touch me? Spectres fear no earthly weapon, Monsieur.”
“Have you returned just to torment me?” Andre squeaked.
“That depends.” The voice blew through the office like a chill wind.
“On what?”
“On you, and your cooperation.”
Timidly, Andre climbed back into his chair, still clutching the bottle. Christine felt sorry for him. He had gone along with Raoul’s plans, it was true, but he had always been the one with misgivings, joining in reluctantly. Firmin’s eye was constantly on the profits, determined to make as much out of the unsuspecting patrons as he could, but Andre seemed to have more of a love for the arts, and concern for the company. She was sure he would not be behaving in such a way now had he not been driven to it. Murmuring in his ear, she said as much to Erik. For a moment it seemed that he might disregard her and take out his anger upon the hapless manager, but then he nodded.
“The cast and crew,” he said. “You will reinstate them with immediate effect.”
“Impossible! There is no money left with which to pay them,” Andre replied. His chin sank onto his chest and his tone became maudlin. “I have been cheated too. And to think I trusted that man with my life’s savings...”
“There will be money, enough to cover the salary of every member of the company until new management is found for the theatre.” When the manager gawped and began to speak Erik added, “This money will be provided for the staff and only for them. You are to take nothing for yourself, do you understand me? If I discover that one sou has gone missing I will find you, Monsieur, have no doubt of that.”
Andre nodded dumbly.
“Good. If you go to Box Five on the Grand Tier you will find an envelope containing thirty thousand francs. You will leave in exchange the memorandum book I see there upon the desk and all copies of the theatre accounts, as well as any notes of mine which you may have preserved. If I do not see those books, the money will vanish. Do you agree?”
“What - ” The manager’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat. “What do I receive in return?”
“Why, your life, Monsieur,” Erik told him silkily. “And the knowledge that you have done the right thing.”
“I had no idea you were such a philanthropist, Monsieur Opera Ghost.” Andre sounded bitter. He poured the last of the brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one gulp.
“We all have hidden depths, do we not? You had best hurry – the mob outside are I believe very close to finding the structural weakness in the main doors and I would not like to be in your shoes should they get to you first.” Turning away, Erik allowed his final words to linger in the room: “Adieu, Monsieur. We shall not meet again.”
________________________________________
“It worked! It worked!”
Meg came rushing into the room as Christine was helping Erik settle back into bed. His face was ashen grey, there was a cold sweat on his forehead and his limbs were trembling; she had no idea how he had made it all the way back down to the fifth cellar without collapsing. Gleefully, Meg deposited the books onto the coverlet, virtually on top of Erik’s feet; Madame Giry tutted and swept them up just in time.
“Did you see what happened afterwards?” Christine asked, tucking the blankets over her exhausted maestro. Erik smiled weakly in thanks.
“I followed him back up to the office, which wasn’t easy as he was looking over his shoulder all the way,” Meg said. “You must have put the fear of God into him.”
“Not God, just the fear of the Phantom, which was quite enough. What did he do?”
“Opened the window and made an announcement. I couldn’t see much through the keyhole, but I think he put the money in the safe and locked it.”
“Spying through keyholes... shame on you, Meg!” Madame Giry scolded.
Meg looked innocent, her hands clasped behind her back. “I believe it’s not much different to listening at doors, Maman.”
Her mother fixed her with a stern glare but Christine did not miss the ballet mistress’s lips twitching. Oblivious to all of this, Erik lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “Well, it’s done,” he said. “Now OG can rest his weary head.”
“Oh, don’t you want to know how the company reacted?” Meg asked in surprise. “I stayed until I was sure that - ”
Madame Giry exchanged a glance with Christine, and they both looked at the Phantom. Cocooned in blankets, Erik seemed to be asleep already. “Later, Meg,” she said, taking her daughter by the arm and turning her towards the door. “Let’s go and see what we can make of the results of your shopping expedition. I think we could all do with something to eat before the doctor arrives.”
“But, Maman - ”Meg’s expression was confused, but she allowed herself to be led from the room. As the door closed behind them, Christine gave a gentle sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached over to remove Erik’s mask, and his eyes opened, his body tensing immediately when he felt the feather light touch of her fingers brushing his face.
“I wanted to make you more comfortable,” she explained, and after a beat he relaxed, releasing the breath he had been holding.
“I still can’t believe that you don’t run away at the sight of me,” he said quietly. “You should, you know.”
She set the mask aside, and took his hand. “It doesn’t scare me, not any more. Your anger was always far more terrifying than your face.”
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to frighten you.”
“I’m frightened now,” she admitted, and he looked horrified. “Oh, no, not like that! I’m frightened because this is all so new and strange... I suppose I’m scared of the unknown, that I might do something wrong, disappoint you in some way.”
Erik was silent for some moments, and she found herself wanting to bite her nails again. “If that’s the case, then I’m frightened too,” he said eventually. “You could never disappoint me, Christine. If anything, I’m scared I might not be good enough for you.”
“Never!” she cried, and relief flitted across his uneven features. How different and fascinating it was to be able to see both sides of his face, to read his expressions clearly for the first time! A tiny, inappropriate giggle rose up in her chest. “It seems that neither of us has much idea what to do. We can be terrified together.”
“How the mighty have fallen.” He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb stroking her knuckles. A rueful smile touched his lips. “You see the influence you have over me?”
“I promise to use it only for good,” she told him, adding, “I’m proud of you.” He glanced up, bewilderment in his heavy-lidded eyes. “You didn’t have to help them, but you chose to, and for that I thank you.”
Erik sighed. “They bore no blame for any of this. Why should they be punished? If anyone knows about injustice, it is I.” His gaze slid across to the door through which Madame Giry had vanished. “Someone once told me that I would know I had truly joined the human race when I could feel guilt. I have much to atone for.”
“The fact that you admit it is the first step.” Christine gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. His eyes closed, the lashes fluttering as he fought against the instincts of his exhausted body. “But now, my Angel, you need to sleep.”
“Will you... will you stay?” he asked. His fingers tightened around hers and it was almost the plea of a child after a nightmare, desperate for someone to chase away the shadows.
She leaned forward, and softly pressed her lips to his distorted cheek. “Until you are better.”
“And then..?”
“And then we’ll see,” she said, and he nodded, his head falling to one side as the exertion of climbing so many stairs caught up with him. He looked quite innocent; there was a gentle smile on his face, turning up one corner of his twisted lips, and Christine found herself smiling too.
Fear can turn to love...
Author: charleygirl
Word Count: 3052
Rating: G
Genre: General, Drama
Characters Involved: Christine Daae, Erik the Phantom, Meg Giry, Madame Giry, Monsieur Andre
Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is the creation of Gaston Leroux but probably these days copyright to Andrew Lloyd Webber.
Summary: The Phantom makes a last appearance.
THE FINAL PERFORMANCE OF THE OPERA GHOST
“Erik, what are you doing? You can’t get up yet!” Christine exclaimed as he threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
He reached out his good hand and braced it on the nightstand, pushing himself slowly to his feet. His arm trembled with the effort, and he stood quite still for several moments with his eyes closed, just gathering his strength. “I’ve no choice,” he said at last, letting go of the table for a moment to take up his mask; he wobbled alarmingly without the support and so Christine lifted it, placing it gently over his distorted cheek and securing it behind his ear. “I can’t let those fools bring down my theatre.”
“Christine is right, Erik,” Madame Giry told him, but he took no notice, shuffling to the end of the bed with the help of its solid mahogany frame and looking around as though he had lost something. Sighing, Christine fetched his oriental robe from where it hung on the back of the door and wrapped it around his shoulders. “You are not well enough for this. How do you expect to make it all the way to the managers’ office in your condition?”
The Phantom shrugged his good arm through the sleeve and thrust his feet into the velvet house shoes Meg brought; they had been warming before the fire. Watching him, Christine could only think how human he appeared, standing there in dressing gown and slippers, his hair still mussed from sleep; he would never, could never appear ordinary for there was nothing ordinary about him, but just at that moment he looked... normal, frighteningly so. “There is a quicker route that bypasses the lake. Antoinette, I need you to do something for me.”
Madame rolled her eyes, and folded her arms. “We all risked much to save your life last night. Would you throw all our effort away?”
“Annie.” He met her gaze steadily, his pale face quite serious. “Would you allow Andre and Firmin between them to rob everyone in the Opera of their livelihoods? Some of my actions of late may have been morally suspect to say the least, but even I would not punish the entire company for the mistakes of a handful of people!”
“And what of the chandelier, Erik?” Madame Giry asked sharply. “What of the six months it took to restore the structure of the building and repair the damage you caused? I suppose you have forgotten that, holed up as you were down here with your music and your misery!”
Erik’s spine stiffened at the accusation. “Did any of you suffer in my absence? Were any of you harmed, out of work, left to struggle?”
They glared at each other, locked in a stalemate, for some moments, before Meg said quietly,
“He’s right, Maman. What will we do if we lose our jobs? Where will we go?”
Christine’s hand flew to her mouth; she had not considered the consequences for all of them until that moment. They would be on the street; what little her father left had been taken by the expenses of his funeral and she could not afford even her tiny apartment without her salary from the theatre. The recent scandals and her current notoriety would make it virtually impossible for her to find another position; no one would take a singer with her reputation, however undeserved that reputation might be. Had she still been engaged to Raoul it would not matter, but now...
“Whatever happens, Little Giry, you will be looked after,” Erik said, surprising them all, including, judging from the expression on his face, himself. “You have my word on that, for what it is worth.”
Meg stared at him, open mouthed, for a few seconds. “Thank you,” she managed to say, before her mother began to protest.
Erik cut across her. “I will not see you starve, Annie, you know that,” he said. “God knows you sometimes try my patience to the limit, and I have not yet forgiven you for removing my mask in the presence of that doctor, but...but...” Struggling for the words, he glanced at Christine and she smiled encouragingly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You are... the closest thing I have ever had to a family and you will always have my protection.”
There was a long pause, during which Meg anxiously glanced at her mother and Christine felt a desire to start chewing her fingernails, a habit that had been drummed out of her soon after she joined the corps de ballet. Erik watched, his visible features as impassive as his mask, trying not to make it obvious that he was leaning against the bedpost more heavily than before.
Eventually, Madame Giry sighed and threw up her hands in defeat. “Very well. What do you want me to do?”
________________________________________
It was a long journey to the upper levels of the theatre, even if the route they took avoided their having to use the boat. Erik had to stop and rest at regular intervals, the many stairs sapping his dwindling reserves of strength and energy. Every time he paused to regain his breath Christine asked him if he was all right, whether he wanted to go back, and every time he would insist that he was fine. She knew that Doctor Lambert would have a fit if he could see what his patient was up to, but it was quite clear that trying to stop Erik when he was determined to do something was like Canute attempting to hold back the tide so she did what she could by making sure he was well wrapped up against the chill of the cellars and giving him as much support as possible when he faltered.
She had never been in any of the smaller tunnels before; these were much narrower than those she was used to, barely big enough for two, and she guessed that they ran between some of the walls, allowing him to flit from room to room and observe what was happening within. He led her carefully through the dusty, cobwebbed passages, and she covered her nose, trying desperately not to sneeze. At last they stopped, and Erik flipped aside a small section of the wall to reveal a peephole; he looked through it for a moment, and then stood aside, gesturing for her to do the same.
Christine had to stand on tiptoe, but by squinting she could see into the room beyond. Usually so neat and tidy when Remy was in charge of affairs, the office was a shambles. Empty bottles stood all over the desk, the wastepaper basket was overflowing with balls of crumpled paper and books had been pulled from the shelves only to be tossed aside with no consideration for their age or value. Monsieur Andre sat in his chair, sprawled over the memorandum book which lay open on the desk before him, and he was snoring loudly, an empty glass in one hand.
“Where are we?” she asked Erik in a whisper.
“Behind the inferior Degas copy that hangs to the left of the fireplace,” he replied, equally sotto voce. “I’ve often found it a convenient vantage point in the past.”
She stepped back. “So I can see.”
“This is so strange,” Erik mused. He glanced at her, only his eyes illuminated by the thin shaft of light which fell through the hole. “You are the first person ever to have entered these passages apart from myself.”
“I am honoured.” Christine smiled and asked cheekily, “Does that make me Madame OG now?”
That mismatched gaze widened briefly in surprise and she wondered when she had become so bold around him. Goodness, she had sounded just like Meg for a moment! Was it the knowledge that she had come so close to losing him that suddenly made her want to grasp at every chance, throw caution to the winds? He did not answer, returning his attention to the office and the man sleeping there, and she realised that she may have been a little too forward.
Softly at first, but with increasing volume, he began to sing. There were no words, only a melody which he wove effortlessly with just that beautiful, otherworldly voice. Even when not directed at her, Christine was moved by the power of it; he had the ability to lift the heart and soul to a heavenly realm, or just as effortlessly turn the blood to ice and send ghostly fingers creeping down the spine. She did not recognise the tune and supposed that he was creating it as he sang, composing as natural to him as breathing.
It had the desired effect. Andre started awake, staring around him with eyes as round as saucers. His hair was flattened on one side and there were ink marks down his left cheek. “Who’s there?” he demanded querulously. “Show yourself!”
“Impossible,” said Erik, throwing his voice to the opposite side of the room.
“Unthinkable,” he added, this time from the corner by the door.
“Unlikely,” came the conclusion, from beneath the desk. Andre jumped, bending down to look and crawling right under the piece of furniture to reappear on the other side, popping up like a jack-in-the-box.
“Where are you?” he asked, his gaze flicking about wildly.
“Everywhere,” Erik replied from the ceiling. “Am I not a ghost?”
“Dear God.” The manager reached for the one cognac bottle which still contained some liquor and hugged it to his chest. “I thought you were gone. They shot you!”
Erik laughed, a demonic chuckle that almost made Christine’s hair stand on end. The sound brought back memories of a croaking Carlotta and a dangerously unstable chandelier. “Did you really think that bullets could touch me? Spectres fear no earthly weapon, Monsieur.”
“Have you returned just to torment me?” Andre squeaked.
“That depends.” The voice blew through the office like a chill wind.
“On what?”
“On you, and your cooperation.”
Timidly, Andre climbed back into his chair, still clutching the bottle. Christine felt sorry for him. He had gone along with Raoul’s plans, it was true, but he had always been the one with misgivings, joining in reluctantly. Firmin’s eye was constantly on the profits, determined to make as much out of the unsuspecting patrons as he could, but Andre seemed to have more of a love for the arts, and concern for the company. She was sure he would not be behaving in such a way now had he not been driven to it. Murmuring in his ear, she said as much to Erik. For a moment it seemed that he might disregard her and take out his anger upon the hapless manager, but then he nodded.
“The cast and crew,” he said. “You will reinstate them with immediate effect.”
“Impossible! There is no money left with which to pay them,” Andre replied. His chin sank onto his chest and his tone became maudlin. “I have been cheated too. And to think I trusted that man with my life’s savings...”
“There will be money, enough to cover the salary of every member of the company until new management is found for the theatre.” When the manager gawped and began to speak Erik added, “This money will be provided for the staff and only for them. You are to take nothing for yourself, do you understand me? If I discover that one sou has gone missing I will find you, Monsieur, have no doubt of that.”
Andre nodded dumbly.
“Good. If you go to Box Five on the Grand Tier you will find an envelope containing thirty thousand francs. You will leave in exchange the memorandum book I see there upon the desk and all copies of the theatre accounts, as well as any notes of mine which you may have preserved. If I do not see those books, the money will vanish. Do you agree?”
“What - ” The manager’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat. “What do I receive in return?”
“Why, your life, Monsieur,” Erik told him silkily. “And the knowledge that you have done the right thing.”
“I had no idea you were such a philanthropist, Monsieur Opera Ghost.” Andre sounded bitter. He poured the last of the brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one gulp.
“We all have hidden depths, do we not? You had best hurry – the mob outside are I believe very close to finding the structural weakness in the main doors and I would not like to be in your shoes should they get to you first.” Turning away, Erik allowed his final words to linger in the room: “Adieu, Monsieur. We shall not meet again.”
________________________________________
“It worked! It worked!”
Meg came rushing into the room as Christine was helping Erik settle back into bed. His face was ashen grey, there was a cold sweat on his forehead and his limbs were trembling; she had no idea how he had made it all the way back down to the fifth cellar without collapsing. Gleefully, Meg deposited the books onto the coverlet, virtually on top of Erik’s feet; Madame Giry tutted and swept them up just in time.
“Did you see what happened afterwards?” Christine asked, tucking the blankets over her exhausted maestro. Erik smiled weakly in thanks.
“I followed him back up to the office, which wasn’t easy as he was looking over his shoulder all the way,” Meg said. “You must have put the fear of God into him.”
“Not God, just the fear of the Phantom, which was quite enough. What did he do?”
“Opened the window and made an announcement. I couldn’t see much through the keyhole, but I think he put the money in the safe and locked it.”
“Spying through keyholes... shame on you, Meg!” Madame Giry scolded.
Meg looked innocent, her hands clasped behind her back. “I believe it’s not much different to listening at doors, Maman.”
Her mother fixed her with a stern glare but Christine did not miss the ballet mistress’s lips twitching. Oblivious to all of this, Erik lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. “Well, it’s done,” he said. “Now OG can rest his weary head.”
“Oh, don’t you want to know how the company reacted?” Meg asked in surprise. “I stayed until I was sure that - ”
Madame Giry exchanged a glance with Christine, and they both looked at the Phantom. Cocooned in blankets, Erik seemed to be asleep already. “Later, Meg,” she said, taking her daughter by the arm and turning her towards the door. “Let’s go and see what we can make of the results of your shopping expedition. I think we could all do with something to eat before the doctor arrives.”
“But, Maman - ”Meg’s expression was confused, but she allowed herself to be led from the room. As the door closed behind them, Christine gave a gentle sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed. She reached over to remove Erik’s mask, and his eyes opened, his body tensing immediately when he felt the feather light touch of her fingers brushing his face.
“I wanted to make you more comfortable,” she explained, and after a beat he relaxed, releasing the breath he had been holding.
“I still can’t believe that you don’t run away at the sight of me,” he said quietly. “You should, you know.”
She set the mask aside, and took his hand. “It doesn’t scare me, not any more. Your anger was always far more terrifying than your face.”
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to frighten you.”
“I’m frightened now,” she admitted, and he looked horrified. “Oh, no, not like that! I’m frightened because this is all so new and strange... I suppose I’m scared of the unknown, that I might do something wrong, disappoint you in some way.”
Erik was silent for some moments, and she found herself wanting to bite her nails again. “If that’s the case, then I’m frightened too,” he said eventually. “You could never disappoint me, Christine. If anything, I’m scared I might not be good enough for you.”
“Never!” she cried, and relief flitted across his uneven features. How different and fascinating it was to be able to see both sides of his face, to read his expressions clearly for the first time! A tiny, inappropriate giggle rose up in her chest. “It seems that neither of us has much idea what to do. We can be terrified together.”
“How the mighty have fallen.” He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb stroking her knuckles. A rueful smile touched his lips. “You see the influence you have over me?”
“I promise to use it only for good,” she told him, adding, “I’m proud of you.” He glanced up, bewilderment in his heavy-lidded eyes. “You didn’t have to help them, but you chose to, and for that I thank you.”
Erik sighed. “They bore no blame for any of this. Why should they be punished? If anyone knows about injustice, it is I.” His gaze slid across to the door through which Madame Giry had vanished. “Someone once told me that I would know I had truly joined the human race when I could feel guilt. I have much to atone for.”
“The fact that you admit it is the first step.” Christine gently brushed his hair back from his forehead. His eyes closed, the lashes fluttering as he fought against the instincts of his exhausted body. “But now, my Angel, you need to sleep.”
“Will you... will you stay?” he asked. His fingers tightened around hers and it was almost the plea of a child after a nightmare, desperate for someone to chase away the shadows.
She leaned forward, and softly pressed her lips to his distorted cheek. “Until you are better.”
“And then..?”
“And then we’ll see,” she said, and he nodded, his head falling to one side as the exertion of climbing so many stairs caught up with him. He looked quite innocent; there was a gentle smile on his face, turning up one corner of his twisted lips, and Christine found herself smiling too.
Fear can turn to love...
