Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  That explanation, while sounding somewhat ambiguous to me, must have pleased her because she smiled and nodded. Next, she spotted the roses on her dressing table and rushed toward them. She bent forward and, with two fingers steadying the stems, placed her nose on the petals. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath and smiled even broader.

  Quickly, she opened the note and, after reading it, frowned slightly before asking, “Angel, do you know who sent these to me?”

  My words were strong and sure as I answered, “The one person in your life who cares the most about your happiness.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Who?”

  My captivated heart motivated the tone of my voice, which I let speak softly from the roses. “You’ll never find anyone else, Christine, who has more interest in you and your life than I—your Angel of Music. Whether that life is your past, your present, or your future, I’ll always care the most.”

  Her sight followed my voice to the roses, and she ran one fingertip gently across a petal. “I should have known my angel sent them.”

  I sighed at her fragile trust in my every word. “Now face the mirror and tell me—tell yourself—that it’s going to be a wonderful day. Say you’re going to fill it with splendid thoughts and beautiful music.”

  Again, she did as I asked, and I spread my hand on the barrier between us and stared into her beautiful blue eyes. I took a deep breath and had to close my eyes for a moment before I could continue. Then I began similarly to the previous day but with additional instructions.

  “Today, I want you to feel not only the breeze around you but also me behind you. Spread your arms out to your sides and feel my wings under them, giving them support. Feel my breath and voice.” Then I whispered my next word at her ear. “Sing.”

  With my whispered breath, she jumped and lost her concentration. Quickly, her hand covered her ear, and her wide eyes expressed her shock.

  “Please, don’t fear my power, Christine. I’m here to help you, not harm you. But I do apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She nodded, guardedly. “That’s all right. I just didn’t expect to hear you so close. Are you that close to me?”

  Now, I had to think fast. “In some ways yes and in some ways no. Angels are much different from mortals, so it’s difficult to explain. I only wanted you to feel my power. I want you to be familiar with it so you can use it whenever you need—especially when you sing.”

  “I see,” she responded shyly.

  “Let’s start over. Face the mirror, hold your arms out from your sides, and follow my voice. Only, this time, I want you to feel the power of my wings around your ribs. They’ll give your lungs power.”

  She responded so flawlessly it made me feel uncomfortable. My entire life I’d been able to control others to one degree or another with my voice and demeanor. But the power I had over Christine was almost supernatural, and it was beginning to frighten me terribly.

  My control over each of the others had lasted for only a short time, allowing me to accomplish my purpose. While I had a purpose in my shrouded relationship with Christine, I didn’t know how or when to end my deception. I didn’t see it lasting only a short time. I didn’t see it having an end. I think that’s what frightened me the most. I didn’t know how I was going to relinquish my power over her.

  I wanted her to fall in love with me, the man, but how? To her, I was a powerful angel, not a mortal man. As a man of flesh and blood, how could I remain powerful enough to keep her as my own? In addition, how would she respond when I revealed my sham of playing the angel she held so dear to her heart? Once that lifelong dream was shattered by the reality of my gruesome human nature, what would it do to her delicate heart? I was so frightened. What had I started?

  I pushed off those doubts, deciding I could work it out later. For the time being, I needed to concentrate and prepare her for the gala, her chance of a lifetime.

  “That was near perfect, Christine. Each time you get stronger and stronger, and your concentration is very good. But it will be more of a challenge to concentrate when you’re on stage. There may be things going on backstage or in the audience that you can hear and that will make it harder for you to focus. So, this time when you sing, I’m going to give you some distractions. Do your best not to let them interfere with your concentration.”

  “I can do it. I’ve learned how to shut out talk from the other chorus girls. I can do it,” she assured me.

  “Very well then. Turn around with your back to the mirror this time, then close your eyes.” She did as I’d asked. “Now concentrate, and begin your warm up exercises.”

  She began, and I also began what I feared could be an act with a catastrophe as its final scene. But I couldn’t stop. It was as if something was controlling me, just as I was controlling Christine.

  “You’re on the shores of Perros again, and you can hear the power of the surf as it crashes on the rocks, and you can feel it rumble under your feet.”

  Having that said, I released the latch to the mirror, allowing it to faintly rumble and open. I was ready to reverse the process quickly if she showed any signs of turning around, but she didn’t.

  “Now, feel the cool sea breeze as it passes you.”

  Again I waited for the cool air from the passage to reach her. Since she was holding her focus, I stepped forward, softly, until I was directly behind her. I held her captive by speaking encouraging words, rhythmically. But as soon as I was close enough to smell her fragrance, she was no longer my captive, I was hers, and I couldn’t breathe.

  Without permission, my fingertips brushed gently against her hair, and I thought I was going to lose control of her and myself completely. I put my lips close to her ear to command her to stay focused, but, instead, I froze on the spot and had to give myself that command.

  Somehow, I managed to whisper in her ear, “Imagine you’re like one of the gulls, gliding effortlessly on the breeze.”

  She was reaching the top of her register, so she raised her chin and took a deep breath, revealing her soft neck and décolletage. The temptation to place my lips on her smooth skin was so strong that I knew I’d reached my limitations and had to leave before I actually kissed her. So, quickly, I backed away from her and into the passage. After closing the mirror, I leaned against the wall and tried to calm my rapidly beating heart and labored breathing.

  “Oh, Christine,” I whispered. “I love you so.”

  While she’d passed that experiment successfully, I’d failed miserably, and I never attempted it again.

  Abruptly, there was a knock on the door and both Christine and I jumped.

  “Angel, what should I do?” she whispered.

  “Answer the door, my child, but don’t betray that I’m here with you.”

  “Who is it?” she asked while trying to straighten her hair and dress, as if I’d somehow altered her appearance.

  “It’s me, Meg. May I come in?”

  After a deep breath, Christine unlocked and opened the door, and Meg shoved her way in and quickly searched the room with her eyes.

  “Who’s here with you, Christine?”

  “Why—no one,” she stammered, while sweeping her hand around the room.

  Tilting her head and frowning at Christine, Meg insisted. “But there has to be. I heard a soprano singing as I approached your door.”

  “Oh, that? That was me. I was exercising my voice.”

  “Don’t play games with me. I know it wasn’t you. It was the clearest soprano voice I’ve ever heard.”

  “Really?” Christine questioned with a wide smile. Then, while wrapping her fingers around her throat, she questioned more. “Do you really think so?”

  Meg moved up close to Christine and looked her directly in the eyes. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Christine nervously nodded as her fingers fidgeted with a tendril of her hair.

  “But how? You were perfect. Do you have a tutor?”

  Again, Christi
ne only gave a nervous nod in reply.

  “Well, I must have his name. I want to be taught by him also. What’s his name?” Meg questioned, with far too much enthusiasm.

  “Uh . . . uh . . . he . . .” Christine stammered again.

  I held my breath while waiting for her answer. She searched the room, and I knew she was waiting for help from me. I would have put a thought in her ear, but Meg was standing so close to her that I feared she would also hear my suggestion. Nonetheless, I was about ready to rescue Christine when she gathered her thoughts on her own.

  “I can’t give you his name right now. He’s very busy and doesn’t have the time to tutor another student, but I’ll ask him for you anyway.”

  “Very well, but can you tell me where he lives? Does he live here in Paris?” Meg asked with excitement.

  “Sometimes,” Christine answered while again looking around the room.

  Meg began to ask another question when we were all saved by another chorus girl, Sorelli, charging into the room.

  “There you are, Meg. Gabriel wants to see all of us right now.”

  “But I’m not ready!” Christine exclaimed.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Sorelli insisted. “You have to come with me now.”

  They all scampered toward the door, but Christine lingered just long enough to whisper, “Goodbye, my Angel,” before she shut the door.

  We didn’t have the opportunity to discuss that encounter until the next day, but, before that happened, I purchased two red roses, replaced the three roses with the two new ones, and again bound them with the gold ribbon. I laid one of the original three roses in front of the vase on her dressing table. Then, with the two old roses in hand, I went to my place behind the mirror and waited.

  Again, when she entered, she leaned back against the door and asked, “Angel, are you here?”

  We spoke for a while about the cold and the snowfall and then she spotted the one rose out of the vase.

  “Oh! How did that happen? The chambermaid! I must reprimand her!”

  I was taken aback. That’s it! I’d never heard her speak with such spirit. That’s what I needed to pull out of her when she sang. But it wasn’t the proper time to utilize it, so I explained calmly, “No, my dear, it wasn’t the maid who removed the rose. It was I.”

  “You? My angel? Why would you want to do such a thing?”

  “Put the rose back, Christine. The two roses in the vase represent your present and your future. That one rose, separated from the life-sustaining water, represents your past, and you must let it die.”

  Her frown increased as she laid it down, and I continued, “It will remain there, and, each day, you’ll compare it to the other two, which will always be fresh and new. You’ll watch the one wither and fade just as your past must. But as long as that one flower remains close to the other two, it will spoil their beauty. Therefore, the day will come when you’ll need to dispose of it. When there’s no life left in it, when it’s black and dry, we’ll dispose of it together.

  “In the same manner, you’re letting your past spoil the beauty of your present and your future. So the day will come when you’ll have to dispose of that part of your past that is hurting you. When you do, I’ll be there beside you. That’s the only way you can experience the beauty of your present and future life.”

  Her lips parted as she looked at the drooping rose and again ran one fingernail gently across one of its limp petals. “It seems a shame to deliberately let it wilt.”

  “Yes, my dear, I know. But remove your sight from it and focus on the beauty in the other two roses.”

  Slightly nodding, she did as I asked, and then I coached her through her lessons until she left for rehearsals. As usual, I stayed close to her the entire day. Then, at the end of it, I once more watched her and Meg exit through the side door and descend the steps. With envy, I watched a driver open his brougham’s door for them, and I watched the brougham’s light vanish down Rue Scribe, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  That night, in addition to buying two more fresh roses and exchanging them, which I did every night, I began my plans for the gala. I found La Carlotta’s scheduled pieces and put them in Christine’s dressing room. Then the next morning when she entered, she again leaned back against the door and asked if I was there. I smiled, so thankful to hear her voice and feel her presence.

  When she saw the scores lying on her dressing chair, I instantly explained. “They’re for you, Christine. They’re what we need to start working on before the gala.”

  As she picked them up and began thumbing through them, she seriously frowned and exclaimed, “No! These are Carlotta’s pieces.”

  “No!” My voice boomed across the room, causing her to jump and drop the scores on the floor. “They’re your pieces! Don’t doubt me!”

  “But how, when she’s preparing to sing them?” she asked sheepishly, while kneeling down to pick up the scattered sheets of music.

  I answered indignantly, “She can prepare all she wants, but all the preparation in the world won’t grant her the voice you have or allow her to take your rightful place center stage.”

  Her frightened voice came up to me from the floor. “Oh, no! I could never do that! Not in place of Carlotta! Not center stage! Not yet!”

  “Christine! Why are you here with me? Why are you obeying my voice and doing my bidding?”

  “Because,” she said softly as she got to her feet, trying to straighten the jumbled papers in her arms.

  “Because why, Christine?” I asked powerfully.

  She remained silent, with her head down. Then I could see her retreating into that child’s hiding place behind her father’s coat sleeve, and I couldn’t let her go there.

  “Why?” I shouted at her.

  With a hint of irritation, she responded quickly. “Because I want to sing.”

  “You can already sing, and you have for years. Remember how Meg described your voice? You’re not here because you want to sing. Why are you here, Christine?” She was again silent, so I demanded, “Look at the mirror, and tell me why you’re here!”

  She turned to face me, and her eyes showed all the fright of a child lost in the woods, so I couldn’t help but soften my tone. “Why, Christine? Why did you call for your Angel of Music in the darkness of your room for so many years? Why, Christine?”

  She sighed. “Because I needed your help.”

  “Help to do what, my child?”

  “To sing perfectly,” she finally admitted.

  With those words, she lowered her eyes from the mirror, almost in shame. I gently touched the glass with my fingertips, as if I were stroking her hair.

  “And that you shall do. You believed I could teach you or you never would have called for me. Your belief in me was proper, and you need to remember that belief and not question how I will get you to where you want to be. Continue to follow my instructions. Follow me. Will you follow me wherever I lead you, Christine?”

  “Yes,” was her weak reply as her eyes came back to the mirror.

  “Then learn these scores well, because in six weeks time you’ll be singing them center stage—with only me by your side.”

  The next three weeks went well. In fact, since Christine’s appearance at the opera house, things had been going so well that I was able to suspend my nightly rides with César without any harm to myself or others. It turned out to be very good timing, considering the number of eyes that were looking for that mysterious midnight rider.

  While it was a pleasure to use Christine’s tutoring to distract me from the day-to-day affairs of the opera house, I knew it could be perilous to do so entirely. Being ill-prepared for the gala was proof that I was slipping. And I’d almost forgotten about Joseph Buquet stalking me, which put me in a dangerous position. In addition, when I focused on the conversations going on backstage, I realized the rumors about the Opera Ghost had increased measurably. I needed to stay alert, regardless of how I felt about Christine.

&n
bsp; Every day I put two fresh roses in her vase, and, as I watched the one lone rose shrivel, I saw new life coming into Christine’s spirit. I reminded her daily about the difference in the roses and the difference in her spirit. She was also pleased. She sang, and we sang together. I guided her in the proper inflection and passion for the music she’d be singing the night of the gala, which was from Romeo et Juliette and from Faust, both full of deep meaning and feeling. As the days passed, I smiled often when I saw her letting go of her fears and inhibitions and becoming one with the characters she’d be portraying.

  The only change I didn’t see in her was in her performances. While she was part of the chorus, that’s all she tried to be, just a part of the chorus and nothing special. That saddened me, because she was special. But, for the time being, I allowed her to remain just another chorus member. It was a safe place for her to be, both for her and for me. Once she reached that place we were working toward and tasted center stage, I could lose her if I hadn’t made my true identity known by then. So, safe in her dressing room, filled with our voices, we both remained.

  I was so pleased with her progress, and I told her that often. Sometimes I was so filled with gladness that I found it difficult to remain an omnipotent and veiled angel. I wanted desperately to be her friend and squeeze her tightly while congratulating her on her progress. But then, at the end of those three weeks, something unexpected happened to my make-believe world, although it shouldn’t have been unexpected. When it happened, almost everything, including our strange relationship, disappeared in an instant.

  Five

  As usual, she entered the room after the evening performance, leaned back against the door, and asked with excitement in her voice, “Are you here tonight, Angel?”

  Her happy mood automatically put me in one as well, so I asked with a smile, “You seem to be in exceptionally good spirits. Tell me, are you that pleased with your performance tonight or are you simply glad to be here with me?”