“No!” I immediately exclaimed, shaking a frantic head. “You mustn’t dare!”
“What’s the worst he’ll do? Turn you out of your job?” Raoul scoffed his disregard. “Let him! You don’t need to worry over money or salary. I’ll take care of you until we’re married and then none of this will matter.”
“Raoul!” I snapped and forced his attention. “He is the Opera Ghost, and the tales Meg tells are true. …He could kill you.”
The word only rattled him a bit, not nearly as much as I believed it should, but he obviously didn’t give much credence to Erik’s power. “You sound as melodramatic as Meg.”
“It’s not melodrama. He is a murderer. I know it to be true; he told me.”
“Did he threaten you, Christine?” But as I desolately shook my head, the Vicomte presumed the worst again and I couldn’t deny it. “What has this…Opera Ghost been to you that he makes such admissions? …Is there something more you should be telling me?”
“He…was my teacher once. He…he’s in love with me.” Speaking it was enough of a betrayal, and I saw it bruise the Vicomte as his grip unconsciously tightened on my shoulders.
“And…you?”
“I want to be with you,” I said before I even contemplated. Oh Lord, I was not about to crush the Vicomte’s heart as violently as my own. Perhaps I loved Erik; perhaps my heart still felt tied to his, but I knew being with him was destructive. He’d hurt me again and again, but Raoul…his love was safe.
The Vicomte took that as assurance enough, and with a relieved sigh, he cupped my cheek adoringly in his palm and decided, “Then I want you nowhere near this masked man, especially if he has the potential to hurt you if you do not give him what he’s after. Christine, …you must understand my concern. If what you say is true, then this is a dangerous situation. Perhaps you should leave the opera.”
“I can’t. I signed a contract.” It was an excuse. Maybe there were ways beyond such limitations, but I wanted to sing. And for as terrible as things seemed, I couldn’t reason never seeing Erik again.
“Then…I will attend rehearsals with you again.” Before I could argue, Raoul shook his head against me and concluded, “Let him be angry and threaten! I have a right to be present and observe what my family’s money funds. If he argues, I’ll take my case to the gendarme. Don’t worry. I will not leave you alone with that man, ghost or not.”
I swallowed back another protest. What could truly be said? I’d given Raoul too many details to make his own retort impenetrable.
As his gaze roamed my tear-stained face, he slowly clung to one point I had not given him. “If, as you say, Meg’s Opera Ghost tales are true, does that mean his face is…?” he trailed off with a wince as though he could not even fathom something so unsavory, and it bothered me.
“It’s…a deformity,” I was compelled to defend, “and it’s cruel to judge something he had no hand in creating. God is responsible.”
“God works in mysterious ways. Have you ever heard that phrase, Christine? Perhaps God was marking him so the world would see his evil makeup. A warning to those with good souls.”
I went numb as he took a saying I myself had uttered in sincerity and turned it into a travesty. I’d seen optimism in its words; he saw the opposite. “A warning?”
“Yes, to keep pure souls like yours safe and turn you away from malevolence. If the stories are true, it certainly makes sense. God would want to keep you protected and make sure you know evil when it appears. I refuse to believe a man with a deformed face is coincidentally a murderer. Fate carves our path from the beginning, so if this Ghost is evil, he was destined to be evil.”
“But…you don’t reason the world could make him such a way?” I posed with a dubious shake of my head.
“Of course not! What a flimsy excuse! We as mortal beings with souls know right from wrong. God gave this creature a monster’s face instead of a soul, and fate scripted his path to evil before he ever took his first breath. That’s all there is to it, and he will be held accountable for his sins. Oh, Christine, thank God you told me! What if I’d stayed ignorant of such horror and lost you?”
Raoul hugged me to his chest, and I went willingly even as my head reeled with his remarks. I knew Erik better than anyone, and Raoul’s quick assessment made me angry. How could he judge something as life-altering as a disfigured face? I saw no compassion in the Vicomte for Erik’s plight; maybe that was due to jealousy, but I saw it as cruel.
For the first time in months, my musings felt tied to my center, and it hurt me to know Raoul could condemn Erik without truly analyzing him, without knowing his love and passion for the music, …his love and passion for me. Such things were redeeming qualities in my eyes.
We went to supper, but I kept quiet most of the minutes, unable to escape my mind’s caverns as the details of the evening played in an incessant loop. Thankfully, Raoul did not push and left me at my apartment later with nothing more than a kiss and a promise to be there in the morning.
The next day passed in an unending pattern. Raoul was my anchor and rock, keeping me grounded in the world when my mind and heart yearned to drag me other places. He went to rehearsal with me and lingered in the back, and if Erik cared, he made no appearance to argue otherwise. Hour to hour ticked their minutes, and he never came, not even to check our progress. It hurt me because my immediate terror was that he’d disappeared again.
Oh God… What if my rejection had frightened him off like the last time? Sense said I should be grateful if that were so, but I couldn’t reason beneath a newfound swell of agony in my chest. It throbbed with my heartbeat and did not subside as the day wore on. I still saw no sign of Erik’s presence, and the bleeding wound in my soul oozed its wares onto the stage and another lackluster performance. Erik, where was Erik?
The instant Reyer dismissed us, I was halfway down the aisle. I would go straight to his office, to the underground, whatever it took to find him, drag him out by bare hands and knuckled fists if need be!
“Christine!” Raoul assumed my projected path was to him and caught my arm with a welcoming grin. “You sang wonderfully.”
I shot him a glare of annoyance, only to find that he meant the sentiment. Suddenly, Erik’s assertions held weight. The Vicomte obviously knew nothing of music because my performance was most definitely mediocre and subdued.
“Christine…” All thought fled with that voice, and I spun wide eyes about to catch the mismatched ones watching the Vicomte and me in solemn somberness.
Raoul leapt to attention and darted between my body and our masked companion like a guard dog on alert. “If you intend to chastise her or speak threats because I am in attendance, do not bother, monsieur. I can have the gendarme here to speak our rights in mere minutes.”
“By all means, make yourself comfortable in my theatre,” Erik snapped with a condescending sneer. “If it keeps the Vicomte and the gendarme happy, then I suppose I’ll have to allow this disrespectful impropriety to continue.”
The Vicomte cast a glance about to find we were the only ones left in the theatre, and with a cold glare, he retorted, “I am here to see that Christine remains protected, Monsieur Ghost. I will not stand idly by and let you hurt her.”
I met Erik’s enraged stare over Raoul’s shoulder and could say nothing in conciliation. He blamed, but I deserved it and the guilt that erupted.
“Hurt her…?” Erik distantly bid. “If she truly believes that is my intent, then perhaps it is a blessing she has you to keep her safe, Monsieur Vicomte.” Every word was sharp and directed solely at me as he added, “I only sought you out to tell you that you sang well today.”
“My performance was-”
“Not performance,” he hastily interrupted. “Performance was shoddy, and you know that. But for the first time since rehearsals began, I heard you, your soul and heart in your voice, and if hating me is what brought it back, then please hate me to every extreme of the word. But keep singing as you did. Why do
anything if there is no passion in it? What a meaningless waste if you don’t feel.”
Music…or marrying a Vicomte who didn’t even know the shades of my heart…
That was all he said. With one more glare at the Vicomte, he left, but I watched him stalk down the corridor toward his office until he disappeared from sight.
“I think you were right about everything, Christine,” Raoul was saying, but I barely heard a word. “He is your Opera Ghost, and only God knows what he is capable of. A madman!”
This began a string of speeches from the Vicomte about how best to protect ourselves from the Opera Ghost’s diabolical plans. I ignored the majority of his ideas and instead silently dubbed him a fool to ever consider posing battle with the almighty ghost. It seemed like a child’s game of pretend: Erik as the Opera Ghost, wailing and moaning as he haunted the opera corridors, Raoul as the hero in a miniature cape and crown with paper sword in hand ready to duel to a fake death scene, and me the damsel in distress. I didn’t want to be the damsel in distress.
The situation was taxing, and as the next week slipped by and I saw Erik only as he headed between office and theatre, I grew bored with the entire world and my place in it. I was angry and hurt; the emotions were broken out of my self-made boundaries and more powerful than ever in their attack, but I was also longing inside for the man I’d once known and loved, the angel I’d never wanted to be without. Since his return, I missed him still, and though rifts were un-mended and hearts bore scars, I could take no more of this separation.
Raoul awaited me at rehearsal’s end, and though he offered a late supper, I claimed fatigue and was grateful when he brought me home. By his standards, I was safe, locked in my little apartment for the night and secure until he came for me in the morning. Tonight would not follow his protocol.
As soon as I saw his silhouette disappear, I emerged from the front door and rushed back through the city, chasing the final rays of sun until I arrived at the opera. I was quick to enter the building, gliding through empty corridors to my dressing room, past the secret doorway in my mirror and onward to the network of underground catacombs.
I couldn’t say what I hoped would come of this or what I thought I was doing, only that I had to hear Erik’s voice, any words, even angered outbursts to calm my wayward spirit.
Thin slits of light escaped into the darkness from Erik’s hidden doorway, announcing a presence within, and with a racing of my heart, I hurried the final distance, my footsteps echoing off the stone before I burst into Erik’s house.
“Erik,” I breathed his name in anticipation, but though a fire burned in the hearth and welcomed me, there was no masked angel leaping to his feet with my intrusion. No, instead I came face to face with a small, dark-skinned man in foreign attire, tossing his teacup on an end table and gaping at me with wide eyes.
“Mademoiselle…Christine, is it? You gave me quite a fright. I was expecting Erik,” he said in thick accent and forced a chuckle to cover his obvious unease.
“You…know who I am,” I stated with my own discomfort as we both studied each other and sought to read our characters. I had no idea if I regarded friend or foe.
“Yes, Erik’s spoken of you…quite often in fact,” he replied with a kind grin and sat back upon the couch cushions. “Let’s move beyond formalities. I am…a friend of sorts. Erik might not use that term, but then again, I’m not sure he knows its definition. He tends to treat everybody as failing and falling into the category of enemies no matter their intentions. Tea?”
I shook my head but cautiously took a seat in the chair across from him, still unsure if my guard should waver and drop. “And…where is Erik exactly?”
“He hasn’t returned yet. This past week he’s been dallying above. At first, I thought he was back to teaching you. Your lessons used to delay his appearances, but that was in days of old. Now…well, I think he’s just unsettled and doesn’t want my company. I try to make him talk about it, and lately, his burdens are too heavy to share, it seems.” He eyed me as he sipped from his teacup, and though I didn’t want to share either, I knew my guilt was evident upon my face. Walls were no longer my specialty or working in my favor.
“You know,” the foreign stranger continued as he scrutinized me with a shrewd eye, “the days when Erik was teacher to you, that was the most lighthearted I’d ever seen him. Take it from a man who has witnessed some of the worst parts of Erik’s existence. Teaching you was something that gave him hope.”
“Hope…”
“Yes, and it was quite lucky that he continued carrying that hope the entire time we were away. It was the inspiration for his survival, you know.”
My ear caught on details that intrigued, things that were mysteries Erik was disinclined to reveal, but the stranger before me seemed eager to talk. Even as I wondered how much I could trust, I was anxious for every word.
“Erik…refuses to speak of such things,” I murmured as if we were exchanging secrets.
The foreign man sighed and rolled his eyes. “Stubborn one, he is. I tried to push him into it. I think you should be told, but…”
His expression grew solemn, and I wondered what I was getting into, suddenly apprehensive. Perhaps Erik wouldn’t speak of his time away for good reason, but as my mind created its own interpretations, I grew frantic and impatient. I needed to know with an urgency that tore at my heart.
Choosing the point I could argue with the most proof, I demanded beneath a furrowed brow, “Was he…hurting people again? Or…killing?”
“No, no, by Allah, no,” the foreign man assured, hasty and adamant. “Just the opposite, mademoiselle. Erik was not the assailant this time; …he was the victim.”
“What?” I gasped the word and felt my stomach drop without even a solid explanation to hold. “What do you mean, monsieur? Now you must tell me.”
He huffed indecisively at my wide eyes and desperation. “Erik is going to heave me unceremoniously out of his life for this betrayal. You really should ask him to tell you, now that you know there is something worth telling.”
“Your deduction of his stubborn nature should also include his dire need to seem invincible and in control,” I retorted. “If you know him at all, then you realize that he will deny me any such story.”
The stranger shook his dark head. “This time there’s more to it than his need to play god. This time…it’s shaming to him, mademoiselle, and…it’s my fault he was ever put in such a position. He left Paris to help me.”
“He never told me, not why or how or a single valid point. Please tell me, monsieur. He accuses me of walls, but he has done the same, and…I can’t bear it.”
He still seemed hesitant, glancing at the sealed door as if gauging how much time we had undisturbed before Erik returned, but with a sigh, he nodded consent.
“All right, but only because if you don’t hear it and know what he would rather keep alone, he’s going to lose you. I told him as much, but he refused to listen. You deem him unforgiveable for abandoning you when really he sacrificed everything he loved and was punished for it left and right.”
Punished… I’d dubbed his love as my punishment and hated myself for speaking in the heat of the moment and regretting only later.
“We were in Persia for the last year and a half, mademoiselle,” the small man said, holding my gaze with utter honesty. “Did Erik ever speak to you about his past in Persia?”
I pondered and muttered, “He said he once worked as an assassin for the shah…and killed for him.”
He nodded. “Those were his real dark days, not these Opera Ghost pranks and mischief. He was merciless in the shah’s court, but the job required it. Such a cruel state was not a stretch for a man who had spent his life as humanity’s mockery. I daresay he took out decades of being weak and victimized by victimizing others. It is no excuse, but…I don’t think any of us can truly sympathize with Erik’s plight. To spend one’s entire existence rejected and abhorred for something he couldn’t fi
x or change… That is a lonely life, and I’d imagine the base for quite a lot of hostility and anger, …a need to retaliate.
“And the shah gave it to him. For a time, Erik was the shah’s golden boy, obeying every command, torturing at will, never questioning. But any man with even a flicker of decent emotion in his heart must eventually tire of such brutality. Erik wanted to quit the shah’s service, but he knew too many secrets. He was invaluable and was ordered to stay or die, so he made his own third option and tried escape. I helped him. Call it pity for his case; call it a hope that he would seek something better when his life had been a tragedy thus far. I made sure he got free unscathed and thought we’d never encounter each other again. But the shah is no fool, mademoiselle. He knew someone aided Erik’s departure. He was on the hunt for years. To him, it was a disgrace to his rule that mutiny could abound. Once he learned I was the one responsible, he took my wife and infant child, jailed them for treason, and I came here in search of Erik.”
My mind envisioned his tale with deft precision and could already predict the path it would take. To me, it felt like fiction. A shah upon his throne in a foreign land, tormenting women and children with his vindictive ways, but surely a hero would save in the end…
The foreign man smiled at me gently as he continued, “I arrived in Paris only to find my once reclusive and desolate friend had found a sudden purpose and meaning for his life. You, mademoiselle. He was your teacher, and…he loved you. He didn’t want to leave you, but he opted to come to Persia and help my plight. We both thought it would be a quick trip there and back. How could we have guessed the shah would put Erik in an impenetrable dungeon that took quite a bit longer to find a means out of again?”
“Dungeon…” The word conjured images of stone encasements and bars. Trapped like a caged bird, unable to fly free.
Scripted in Love's Scars Page 18
