Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  I could see her shoulders ease, and she glanced out over the pond. “As always, My Angel, I’ll do as you ask, because I know you want me to be happy, and today I want to be happy. Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for your encouraging words. Your being here is such a wonderful surprise and just what I needed. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear. Now, when you get back to Paris, I’ll have a special surprise waiting for you, a surprise that will open up an entirely new and exciting world for you.”

  She smiled, scrunched her shoulders, and almost giggled. “I love surprises.”

  We stayed at the pond for a while longer, talking. We were both relaxed, and I even laid the paper in my lap as I talked to her. But, when she shivered, I suggested she go back to the inn and get warm. She agreed and started back. In so doing, she glanced in my direction and then stopped abruptly, taking a few quick breaths, while her hand went to her chest. I didn’t raise the paper or turn my eyes away from her as I should have. Therefore, our eyes met for the first time. I held my breath, waiting for her response, because I hadn’t a clue what to do next.

  She took a deep breath, nodded, and smiled. I also nodded and smiled, and then she continued on her way. As I watched her walking away from me, I recognized the look on her face; at first it could have been because of my mask, but I think, more than that, she was embarrassed thinking I’d overheard her conversation with a tree. I smiled again and naturally followed her at a safe distance back to the inn. I’d just laid my cloak and hat on my bed when I heard a knock on Christine’s door. I cracked mine open just enough to see Raoul on bent knee in front of her door.

  I closed my eyes and sighed as she opened the door and he pleaded, “Please, forgive me, Christine. I meant you no harm. I just love you so much, and I fear for you. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, Raoul, get up, you silly fool,” she said, still with a hint of irritation in her voice.

  Without moving from his position, he again pleaded, “Then you forgive me?”

  “I forgive you, Raoul, but I’m still mad at you.”

  He got up and stood in the doorway. Then he continued with his plea, “Please, don’t be mad at me. Treat me as a man in love, not as an enemy.”

  “Oh, Raoul,” she said as her voice turned to that of a sweetheart.

  I groaned inside with envy and anger for him and for her. I might have considered Raoul intelligent enough to see through my ploys, but when it came to knowing when he was ahead with Christine, and when to keep his mouth shut, he was a brainless idiot. Therefore, when he started talking again, he made another blunder.

  “If you want to believe in this angel, then go ahead. I won’t try to prevent you ever again.”

  She quickly flared. “What do you mean, if I want to believe in this angel? You still don’t understand, do you? It’s not as if I want to believe in anything. He’s real and he talks with me all the time. He’s real. It’s not a belief. He knows everything about me, Raoul. He knows about the beach in Perros and my father and his music. He even knows my thoughts and talks to me about things that I haven’t mentioned to anyone—not even Meg—not even you. He knows how I feel inside, and no human can do that—no one.

  “He cares enough about me to always know where I am and what I’m doing. It doesn’t matter where I am, he talks to me. Whether I’m in one of the cellars at the opera house, or in my dressing room, or at the cemetery, or even in that park we were just at. He knew I was there and he talked to me there and gave me comfort that I really needed right then. He’s everywhere with me, Raoul, so he has to be real—he is real.”

  Her voice was raised and she was becoming quite agitated, and Raoul knew he was losing his footing, so he tried to calm her.

  “Calm down, Christine. I understand what you’re saying, so just calm down. I’m not accusing you of having a weak mind. I believe you. And don’t forget, I love you. Oh, Christine,” he said softly as he tried another avenue to reach her. “You look so tired. Let me take you away from all of the business at the opera house. You don’t have to do this to yourself. I can take care of you. Let me take you on a cruise around the world. Or we can go to any place in the world that you’d like to visit. I’ll take you anywhere, just say the word.”

  “Raoul, you know I can’t do that, and I don’t want to go away. I do love you, but I also love my music and especially now that I can finally feel it inside. It’s wonderful when I sing and I feel my own strength around me, and I feel him all around me. It’s such a marvelous feeling when I feel him right here inside my heart.”

  “Oh, Christine,” he said with his voice rising. “Must every conversation always come back to him, your so-called angel? Do you love him and your music more than me?”

  She didn’t fall for that old line and put the blame right back on him. “I thought you said you would do anything to make me happy? Do you call this making me happy? You’re downplaying my music, Raoul, and making me sound foolish for the way I feel about it. You don’t understand me, but he does. And he not only understands me but he also supports me in ways that I don’t think you’ll ever be able to comprehend. And if that makes you angry, then you should just leave.”

  I saw him appear back out in the hallway with Christine’s hand pushing against his chest, but then he stopped, and, after he took a deep breath, he once again apologized.

  “Again, I’m sorry. I love you so much, and it hurts to hear you speak of this angel the way you would a man. I guess I’m just jealous of this other man in your life. Even if he’s only an angel to you, he’s still taking you away from me.”

  His voice was truly sincere, and it had the effect on her that he wanted. She moved out into the hall and up close to him, placing her hands on his cheeks.

  “My Raoul, no one will take me away from you. This is just something I’ve wanted for so long, and, now that I have it, I don’t want to give it up. I don’t want to make you mad or lose you. Please, be patient with me, and let me have this one thing in my life while I still can. Please. I don’t know how long my angel will stay with me, so I want to be with him for as long as I can.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on his lips. Her kiss was so gentle that it wouldn’t have harmed a butterfly, but it was also as sharp as a newly forged sword and pierced my heart clear through. I closed my eyes and ground my teeth. When they opened, I saw him lean into her, preparing for a kiss that would have twisted and turned that sword for a sure death.

  But she rescued me by placing her hands on his chest and saying, “No, Raoul. Not here. Not now.”

  He smiled and kissed the back of her hand. I’m sure he felt the conqueror as he reached past her, closed her door, turned her around, and walked with her on his arm toward the stairs. Her spirit was no longer agitated, but mine was more that agitated. She was being so fickle, and it was driving me crazy, or she was being two-faced and it was angering me. I paced for a few moments, trying to understand her, understand if she was being sincere to both of us or deceiving one of us.

  Whatever the case, I couldn’t stay there any longer. I wanted those moments back when it was only Christine and I at the pond, those moments when our eyes met, those moments that took my breath away. But they were only momentary and were now gone, and I couldn’t bear the thought of watching them together any longer. So, after replacing my cloak and hat, I also left the inn without even looking for them. Within a short while, I was once again on Jasper and heading for the sea and, hopefully, some peace of mind.

  It was a beautiful sunny day, but Perros was still in its winter season, so the wind coming off the sea was icy. I sat on the driftwood for a while, thinking about my father. I walked out on the jetty, thinking about my childhood. I walked the beach, thinking about the first time I saw Christine as a child right in that same spot. I stood on the ocean property close to the cliff, which was still untouched by man, and thought about my past. After a few hours of meditation, my spirit was warmed but my body was chilled, so I mounted
back up and left.

  I had several more hours before the train back to Paris was due to leave, and, since I didn’t want to look at Christine and Raoul anymore, I decided to visit my father’s grave one last time.

  Once there, I gazed around at the additional tombstones, attesting to how many more people had died and lay beside my father. Some of the graves had flowers on them in varying degrees of wilting. I looked back at my father’s tombstone and gave thought, only momentarily, to putting flowers on his grave. But then I thought better of it. What’s the point? Within hours, they’d also be wilting and eventually die, just like my father. So, instead, I ran my fingers over his name, told him I still loved him, and left, with only one more glance at his grave as I passed the gate.

  I then took a detour down my old street. I stayed up the street from my old house and looked at it much the way I had the last time I’d been there. That seemed like a million years ago. So much had happened since I started construction on the opera house, especially during the last weeks, with Christine in my life.

  As I looked at the house, and felt the memories surface, I couldn’t help but think about my sister—and my mother—just as I’d done twenty years earlier. I wondered how they managed without my father. I knew he’d left them financially secure, so that wasn’t what I was questioning; it was their emotional stability. My mother was never sure-footed in that department, and I’d often speculated about her. Perhaps she’d remarried, and, with me out of the house and out of her life, had regained what my father had seen in her younger years. Perhaps.

  I wondered about Gigi. Along with all the other guilt I had, I still carried guilt because I’d never contacted her over the years. Those were the last words I spoke to that tearful child when I left her room for the last time. I’d promised her I’d contact her soon, but I never did. First, it was because my life was such a mess, and, then, I just didn’t know what to say to her after so long a time. Perhaps now that my life resembled a form of order, I should write her and see where she was in her life. Maybe I should go to the door and see if my mother still lived there, and, who knows, maybe Gigi was also there.

  Some of my questions were answered when a couple walked out the door and locked it. It wasn’t Gigi and it wasn’t my mother. Someone else lived there and my questions multiplied. I watched them enter a carriage and leave, and I watched the carriage disappear around the corner. Then I looked back at the house with a strange feeling inside me. Someone else was living in my home, a home I felt I should feel nothing for, but I did. It was the only home I ever knew, such as it was, and it held a strong connection to my father. I felt hurt.

  I was being driven by my questions as I looked down the street at Celeste’s home. I wondered if she still lived there. The need to find answers to my mounting questions gave me the strength I needed to seek her out. I was impelled to keep going until I found myself standing at her door with my gloved hand made into a fist and ready to knock.

  With the knock, I heard her friendly voice respond, “One moment, please.”

  I smiled, as a flood of pleasant memories associated with her surged through me, and then the door opened. She, at first, took a step back, covered her mouth with her pink hand, her eyes widened, and she shouted my name.

  “Erik! Oh, merciful Father in heaven, it’s you—Erik.”

  “Good evening, Celeste,” was all I was permitted to get out before she rushed me and wrapped her arms clear around me.

  She kept repeating my name as if she was trying to remember it. After only a moment of staunch resistance, I gave in to the feel of human contact and returned her embrace. She’d hardly changed at all. She was still the friendly and smiling Celeste I remembered. Oh, she’d put on a bit of weight and perhaps a few wrinkles, but, other than that, she was pretty much the same. Her hair was still golden, her cheeks still rosy, and her smiling eyes still crystal blue.

  She finally backed away from me, looked me up and down, and started chattering like a squirrel defending its nest.

  “I can’t believe this is really you, Erik. Look at you. My, you turned out nicely. You’re so tall, just like your dear father, and so strong also. And your mask, quite an improvement from the one you left here with. And that smile, you still have that incredible smile. And your eyes, still so soft and warm. Yes, you’ve turned out nicely. You could use some more weight, though, but then you were never a big eater. Actually, you’re quite stunning, Erik. But I’d imagine you have all kinds of lady friends telling you that—now, don’t you?”

  She didn’t even give me a chance to respond to her enthusiastic compliments before she started in again, while pulling on my arm. “Oh, where are my manners? Come in, Erik, come in out of the cold and sit down. Here, give me your cloak, and I’ll get you some hot tea.”

  It wasn’t until she disappeared into the kitchen that I had a moment to catch up to her words, but then she was back around the corner with a tray containing a teapot, teacups, and a plate of cookies. Then she started in again.

  “Sit down, Erik. Now, tell me, what have you been doing with your life. Tell me everything. I want to know everything.”

  She started pouring the tea and took a breath, which gave me my opportunity to ask my questions. “I really didn’t come here to take up your time with my life story. I know how busy you probably are, considering how you’re always helping someone, so I’ll be brief.”

  “Nonsense, Erik. There’s nothing more important to me right now than to visit with you. Now, tell me, what brings you back to Perros?”

  “I’m here on business, and, when I came down the street, I couldn’t help but wonder about my old home. I see someone else is living there now. When did my mother sell it?”

  The teacup at her lips slowly lowered, and her eyes took on an expression that made me wish I hadn’t given into my need to have my questions answered. She took a deep breath as she watched her teacup nestle down in its matching saucer. Her eyes returned to mine, and her lips, which always had a ready smile, were solemn.

  “Your mother didn’t sell the house, Erik. She died before she had that chance.”

  Fifteen

  I never thought it would hurt so much to hear those words, but then I’d never actually given any thought to hearing them. As a small boy, I feared my father’s death to an extreme, but I never considered my mother’s death or how I would feel about it. It hurt and I didn’t understand why. It hurt inside just as if she’d been a loving mother who’d been with me all those years. The woman who I thought I hated, the woman I swore I hated, died, and I felt an emptiness within me that I couldn’t understand.

  “Erik—Erik.”

  I raised my sight from my cup and looked into the compassionate eyes of Celeste. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Erik. You obviously didn’t know.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, and then she continued, “I wasn’t sure just what you might have heard over the years.”

  I shook my head slightly and returned my sight to the tea in my hands. “There was no love lost between us, Celeste. You know that. I suppose I assumed everyone would be the same, only older. I never gave any consideration to death, although I should have, considering . . .”

  “Considering what?” she asked softly and without the excited flare that had started the conversation.

  I looked back up at her innocent and tender eyes. She had no idea who was sitting in her drawing room; no idea at all. She had no way of knowing that at one time I was a skilled assassin, a cold-blooded murderer, and an experienced executioner. If she’d known, then she also would have known that death was somehow always associated with me. I could see in her crystal blue eyes that all she saw was that child prodigy with an angelic voice and a tortured soul.

  I took a deep breath and started on just another act in my long career of half-truths. “I should have known there was a possibility of someone dying, considering how long I’ve been gone.”

  She held out the small plate o
f cookies in my direction, and, to be polite, I took one, although eating anything at that time was not on my list of wants.

  “What happened, Celeste? How did she die?”

  She started to get up and throw another log on the dying fire, so I jumped up, threw the entire cookie in my mouth, and did the job for her.

  While stoking the fire, I asked again, “I would like to know what happened, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  “Certainly, Erik. Your question just caught me off guard. I’m sorry.”

  She poured me more tea and sat down before she started. “You understand, it was a most disturbing time for your mother when your father died and then you left. Poor Anna. She loved you both so much.”

  I poked the log one more time. “Yes, I saw their love often.”

  “And you, Erik. She loved you very much. You need to believe that.”

  “It’s all right, Celeste. I reconciled myself to my mother’s true feelings a long time ago. There’s no need to sugarcoat anything for me.”

  I sat down and she held her small hand out toward the fire, obviously enjoying its warmth. “I’m not, Erik. Your mother truly loved you, and, once you left, she became obsessed with finding you. I don’t think she realized where you were those days leading up to the funeral. I don’t think she realized much of anything during that time. But right after the funeral, everything changed.

  “She was sitting right where you’re sitting now, along with the doctor. I think there were maybe ten of us here, when your mother got up and headed for the door. Then she walked out without a wrap and without saying anything to anyone. We tried to stop her, but she said she had to go get her son. That was the first time she’d mentioned you, and I didn’t know how to tell her that you were gone.

  “The doctor took over and tried to tell her that you’d left and were on your way to the conservatory in Venice. She said, no, that you were still in Perros, because she could hear your violin and your voice. We tried to reason with her, but she was becoming hysterical, so the doctor said he would go with her and help her find you. Charles and I also went with her back to your house, but, once we reached your gate, she said you weren’t in the house. Then she headed down the street toward the cemetery. She kept saying, I think to herself, that she could hear you, while neither the doctor nor Charles nor I could hear anything.