Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  “No,” I growled quietly.

  My anger burned instantly. This is our time together, you fool. Go away, I secretly willed him. He started for the gate but then stopped. Instead of entering and following her any further, he went back around the side of the graveyard and began climbing the slope, much the same way I’d done earlier that day. My anger took on a new level when I realized he was spying on her during such a time as that. Just what did he expect her to do in a cemetery and in the middle of the night?

  Focus, Erik, focus, I told myself. I didn’t want my anger toward him to interfere with my interpretation of her father’s favorite piece of music. My anger at times had a way of weaving itself in and out of the notes I played, and I just couldn’t let that happen; not that night which was for Christine. I slipped my coil back in my pocket, picked up my violin, closed my eyes, and concentrated on the feel of the instrument in my hands. I took several slow deep breaths, focusing on the muscles in my shoulders and hands, not wanting to transfer their tightness to the strings.

  Once I felt more relaxed, I looked for Raoul, who was trying to stay out of Christine’s sight behind trees, but he was underestimating me if he thought he was out of my sight. I held my position behind the large cross, where I could see Christine on one side of it and Raoul on the other side, which left me, hopefully, to appear as only a part of the cross from their point of view.

  By the time he was situated, Christine had stopped and was kneeling down before her father’s grave. I could see her take the roses and hold them first to her face and then to her chest. Then she began looking around. I think I heard her say angel, but her whisper was too soft for me to be sure. When she stopped looking around, her head and shoulders went down, and I could tell she was crying. I could literally feel her pain in my chest as I watched her there all alone, once more resembling a lost child.

  My heart went out to her, and even though it wasn’t in the script, my lips parted. “Don’t cry my angel—I’m here with you—You’re not alone.”

  Her head came up, but I couldn’t see her face until she removed her hood and looked around again. No work of art had ever been painted that captured the painful beauty of her there, all alone, beside rows of cold and lifeless granite. Her hair took on the appearance of rich liquid gold flowing from a refiner’s cup, as it waved softly over her shoulders and down her black cloak. At one point, I held my breath as her gaze passed right over me. Then she lifted her hood back over her head, and her face was once again hidden from me.

  I looked at Raoul, hoping he was holding his supposedly secret position, and he was. I wanted to cry out to him and tell him to watch closely the extraordinary connection we had. I wanted him to know the important part I played in her life. But that evening wasn’t about me and my competition with Raoul; it was about Christine and her father, so I respectfully held my tongue.

  The tranquil and silent moonlit scene awakened with the first stroke of the clock’s chime, announcing the end of one day, the beginning of another, and my promise to Christine to commence. The violin was poised under my chin, and I raised the bow and laid it gently across the strings and waited, counting each stroke. 10—11—12. Then, with a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let the first sweet notes of her father’s music escape from my Stradivarius, bringing life to the cold air surrounding the lifeless tombstones.

  The notes were so breathtaking in the still of the night that I almost forgot where I was and why I was there. After the last note softened and disappeared from that moving, midnight scene, I had to close my eyes tightly to remove the tears before I could focus on Christine. She slowly raised her face and arms to the sky and truly looked like an angel praying. Perhaps she was praying, since her lips were moving, silently.

  I was mesmerized by the sight of her until I remembered Raoul on the slope. With a quick glance in his direction, I could see he was still hiding, so my attention returned to Christine. I remained motionless and watched her there for some time before she got up and walked slowly back to her waiting coach.

  As I watched it get smaller in the distance, I made the final decision; I couldn’t wait any longer to speak with her face to face, person to person, and not angel to angel. I wanted so desperately to touch her hand or her cheek and to smell the fragrance on her and not just on her handkerchief. We would be back in Paris in two days, so that would be the day—the day when my life could start, or, if she rejected me completely, the day my life would end.

  Thirteen

  When I looked back toward Raoul, he was making his way down the slope toward the side fence. I knelt down and watched him closely while I replaced my violin in its case and my gloves on my nearly frozen fingers. He walked through the cemetery slowly, as if he was looking for someone. He stopped now and then, and he appeared to be listening for something. I believe that something was the one responsible for the angelic music he’d just heard.

  I carefully made my way down the back side of the church, but I didn’t head for Jasper who was supposed to help me down. I felt he wouldn’t let me drop down on top of him without some sort of sound, even if it was only a groan, no matter how gentle he was. So, instead, I lay on the edge of the roof, lowered myself with my arms as far as I could, and then, after holding my breath in preparation for the pain, I let go and landed in the soft snow.

  The pain was excruciating, and my legs collapsed under me, but I managed not to cry out. I lay there only long enough for the pain to lessen before I got to my feet, knowing my rival was just on the other side of the church and probably looking for me.

  That was one time when my black clothing was not going to help me hide, considering I was surrounded by the bright moonlight reflecting off the white snow. I peeked around the back corner and saw Raoul not far from me, perhaps only twenty meters from the side door of the church. He continued to take a few steps and then stopped and listened.

  He even looked closely at the footprints in the snow, my footprints that would lead him toward the back of the church and me. When he started in my direction again, I had to think quickly. Then, after giving a quick apology to the skull lying at my feet, I did the only thing any playful poltergeist would do under the circumstances. I picked it up and rolled it quickly toward him.

  That stopped him short, and I could hear him take a quick breath. It had also frightened him, and I smiled. Once he caught himself, he looked in my direction again, and again I rolled another head. That one also caught him by surprise, but I don’t believe it frightened him. Therefore, I rolled a few more in rapid succession, which took his sight away from my direction long enough for me to slip in through the side door of the church. Once inside, I waited behind a pillar to see if he was brave enough to follow the skull-rolling shadow inside. Then, lo and behold, I discovered he was.

  At that point, I wasn’t merely irritated with him; I was also having fun playing with him. Therefore, I continued my little game of ghostly intrigue. When he came in the door and it closed, some of our light was diminished and automatically gave me the advantage. He stood motionless, probably waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, since our only light came in through the stained glass window.

  During that time, I slipped past him close enough for him to feel the breeze I created by my movement. He gasped and swung around, looking in all directions, but by then I was behind another pillar. I again waited to see just how brave he was, and he then started to gain a bit of my respect. He had ventured into my domain, the darkness, to seek out who it was that was playing a violin, which meant he wasn’t as superstitious as the rest of the ones I’d been around recently.

  They all believed me to be some sort of a ghost, or, in Christine’s case, an angel. But this young fellow I believe knew or at least suspected that I had a human nature, although I have to admit a strange human nature. I didn’t give him too much time to collect his senses before I moved again and then again, from behind one pillar to another.

  When I felt he was sufficiently spooked, I moved c
lose to him, close enough to allow my cloak to brush against him. Once more he turned and reached out in all directions, but he didn’t gasp. He knew exactly what he was doing, but he still had no idea exactly what he was up against.

  I narrowed my eyes and thought; all right, my brave little pursuer, let’s see just how brave you really are. I waited until his back was to me and then I quietly moved right up behind him. Then, towering a good head over him, I breathed on the back of his neck. That time, he did gasp and turned quickly to see my black masked face only centimeters away from his. His eyes, at first, widened and his mouth dropped open, but then his eyes rolled back, and he went down.

  I couldn’t believe what I’d just witnessed. I’d watched many different reactions to my masked face in my long career of frightening people, but never had I had such a response, not even from a woman. He’d fainted at my feet, and, as I looked down at him, I had to laugh aloud while thinking, there lies a mighty naval officer. If he was any representation of France’s officers, no wonder she lost the war with Prussia.

  Once my amusement was over, I walked to a pillar and waited for him to come around. But when he didn’t, I had to think seriously about what was to become of Christine’s young de Chagny. Without the protective cloud cover, the night was well below freezing and it could kill.

  He might have fainted away before me; however, he looked physically strong enough to withstand the cold until he woke. But if he didn’t wake shortly, he could be in serious trouble, so I looked around for a place to put him where he’d be found by the first person coming in. The obvious choice was the altar, so, with his heels in my hands, I dragged him through the pews and laid him on the first step in front of the altar.

  I turned and started to leave but then looked back at his vulnerability. I moved back and stood over him, looking down at his fair and handsome face. No wonder Christine was taken with him. He had everything, youth, wealth, respectability, and a good-looking face—complete with a nose. My time of amusement was over, and I was left with the reality that he was a blockade in my quest to capture Christine’s heart.

  I could end the competition right then with just the right pressure under his handsome jaw. I knelt down and slowly moved my gloved hand to his throat, wrapping my fingers around it and applying pressure. He was even more vulnerable right then than when he was in Christine’s dressing room. It would be so easy—so very easy.

  No one was around and he was in no position to struggle. I could take my time and do the job so well that no one would ever know it was a murder and not an accidental death due to the elements. It would be so easy. There would be no more interference from him, no more trying to keep them apart, no more fear that he was going to whisk her away before I had a chance to capture her heart completely.

  But that freedom would come at a great price. It had been a long time since I’d deliberately caused someone’s death. While I was still plagued with guilt over my past actions, they were at least far enough in the past that I could have a measure of peace from them.

  I moved my hand from his throat and let it remain on his chest, while picturing Christine’s excited glee that evening when she entered her room with news about her friend. It was that happy expression on her face, along with knowing that he was going to spoil everything, that twisted my mind into knots. Ultimately, just as I’d contemplated his fate in Christine’s dressing room, it was that look in her eyes that gave me the strength to remove my hand completely from him.

  I couldn’t do that to Christine. If she was that happy to see him sitting in the audience, then I knew how much pain she’d have at his death, especially, if he died in the very cemetery where her father was laid to rest and on the anniversary of his death, no less. I couldn’t do that to my angel. So, once again, it was Christine who saved that heroic naval officer’s life.

  I would fight for the right to have her love me and win her heart, but I couldn’t steal it if it didn’t belong to me. Therefore, I made only one last statement by folding his arms over his chest, and then I got up and went to the door. Before I closed it, I looked one last time at the young aristocrat lying on the steps to the altar, just like a sacrificial lamb before a pagan god.

  By the time I returned Jasper and reached my room at the inn, I was spent, emotionally as well as physically. My leap from the roof of the church hadn’t done my leg any good, and once I removed the bandages, I found the stitches had broken loose, leaving the wound open and again bleeding. I redressed it, gave myself another dose of morphine, and lay down. My thoughts turned to Christine, as I listened to a branch scraping against my window. Then, through the movement of the tree, I could hear her soft sobs, and I began to ache all over.

  “Christine,” I whispered, “don’t cry.”

  Again I wanted to go to her and comfort her. I turned my head and stared at the wall separating us, and then, without thinking about my superb plans for whisking her away on my white stallion, I was on my feet and heading for her door. I gave no thought to anything I was going to say to her. I only knew I couldn’t bear being separated from her any longer and the entire act was going to end right then.

  My knuckles landed on her door, and, in the semi-darkness, I listened to her steps approaching.

  Then, out of nowhere, the little old innkeeper, Madame Mifroid, appeared around the corner, balancing a tray of steaming milk. My instant and automatic reaction was to hide around the corner before she saw me.

  The door opened just as the woman stepped in front of it, and Christine, with a white handkerchief in hand, exclaimed, “Why, Madame Mifroid!”

  The lady was obviously shocked to have the door open so abruptly, and I heard it in her voice. “Oh, my dear, you’re still up. I thought you might like some warm milk to help you sleep.”

  “Thank you. That does sound good.”

  “Would you like some company, my dear?”

  Christine nodded. “Thank you. I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

  They went inside and the door closed, leaving me alone when I should have been in that room with her to comfort her. Her angel, who knew what she was feeling and what she needed, is who could comfort her, not a strange old woman.

  I stood there a moment, looking at her door and feeling so alone. One more time in my life I was left alone with a burst bubble, the bubble that held my position in Christine’s life. I went back to my room, lay down, and, while listening to the faint voices from the next room, gave into the euphoric comfort of the morphine and slipped into sleep.

  The sun was just rising on The Rising Sun Inn when I got up. After the emotionally draining prior night, I’d decided to rent Jasper again and visit the ocean before Christine woke up. Considering her harrowing day and late night, I figured she would be asleep for some time. So, with my hat and cloak on, I started toward the stairs but stopped when I heard Madame Mifroid give stern orders.

  “Get him some blankets! I’ll get some hot tea!”

  A young man stormed up the stairs and around the corner, heading straight for me. I lowered my head, and he flew past me with hardly any notice. I crept down the stairs until I saw a man help Raoul into a chair in the corner. The young man came running from behind me and then past me with an armload of blankets. I was still trying to catch up when Madame Mifroid set a pot of tea and a teacup in front of Raoul, and the young man wrapped several blankets around my rival’s shoulders.

  “You’d better go wake Mademoiselle Daaé,” Madame Mifroid ordered.

  The young man was rushing past me again when I realized Christine would be the next one to pass me, so I moved quickly back into my room. My door was just closing when Christine came out of her room, still wrapping her robe around herself. Down the stairs they went, with Christine asking questions. I moved back down the stairs until I could hear what was being said.

  “Oh, Raoul!” Christine exclaimed. “What’s happened to you? Oh, my dear God in heaven, your hands are like ice and so are your cheeks. Raoul, what happened?”r />
  Through chattering teeth, he responded, “Your angel is what happened, Christine. I met him and this is the results of his angelic nature.”

  “What! What do you mean?” she asked in confusion.

  “You’d better drink that tea while it’s hot, young man,” Madame Mifroid again ordered.

  “Raoul, explain to me what you’re talking about.”

  “I saw him, Christine, and he’s no angel. He’s just what I thought he was, only worse. He’s a man, a monstrous man, and he tried to kill me last night. He’s a mad man.”

  “What?” Christine blurted out.

  What! I shouted in my head. The fool! If I’d really tried to kill him, I would have succeeded.

  “I was there last night, Christine, at the cemetery.”

  With Christine’s voice moving from surprise to irritation, she threw repeated questions at the shivering young de Chagny.

  “You were where? You followed me there? You were spying on me? You don’t trust me, is that it? While I was in agony over my father, you were suspecting me of wrongdoing and spying on me?”

  “No, Christine, it wasn’t that at all. I trust you. I just think you’re being taken advantage of, that’s all. I wanted to protect you from this diabolical creature that’s out to get you for his own pleasure.”

  “Raoul, not again, please. I don’t want to go over this again. I’m not stupid and I’m not crazy. And, furthermore, you don’t have to continue your efforts to make me feel worthless.”

  For the first time I heard true humility in his voice. “Oh, Christine, no. I now understand how you could feel the way you do, believe me. I was also taken captive in that cemetery. For a while, I also believed that your angel was truly an angel. I heard him, Christine, in the cemetery. I heard his music, and you’re right, it is angelic. You know how much I respected and appreciated your father’s playing, but his pales into nothingness in comparison to what I heard last night. When it first started, I tried to locate its source, but you were so right, it was everywhere and unearthly. It filled the very air I was breathing. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was out of this world.”