Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  She sat back on her heels. “No, it’s not that either.” She stared at my leg and shook her head ever so slightly. Then she massaged her forehead with her fingertips and looked at the door leading to the lake. “I understand now.”

  “Understand what?” I prompted her.

  She looked at my leg again and then in my eyes. She took a breath and then stopped again.

  “Christine,” I started, “you’ve seen the worst of me this day, so there’s nothing you can say to me right now that would offend me. Please, either go back to bed or speak your mind, because, in case you haven’t noticed, patience is not my strongest personality trait.”

  She lowered her eyes and started feeling the silk ribbon of her gown. That was such a familiar gesture of hers, and it made me relax, but her words brought the tone in the room back to one of a serious nature.

  “I was so frightened last night after the chandelier fell. I first thought my angel was dead and then I thought I was dead.” She looked back up at me. “When I heard your angelic voice singing, and realized what you were singing, I thought for sure I was among those who’d died. I thought you were calling me home to be with my father.”

  With true curiosity, I questioned, “Why? What was I singing?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I also was in shock, Christine. I don’t remember parts of that evening, and what I was singing is one of the missing pieces.”

  She gazed into my eyes for a moment before she answered, “My angel . . . I mean, you were singing the redeemer’s lines. ‘Come to me and believe in me. Whosoever comes to me and believes in me shall live. Come to me. Whosoever believes in me shall never die.’ I thought I was dead and that my Angel of Music had turned into the redeemer. My room did strange things around me. My mirror wavered, and I followed your voice through it. Then I was behind the mirror, and I knew I had to be dead, because I’d just walked through a wall. It was so dark, and I couldn’t see anything, and I thought my eyes were closed in death.”

  Her sight went to her hands lying on her legs. “Your hand was so cold when it grasped my wrist, and I remember thinking that angels aren’t warm blooded as we are, and I wondered how long it would take me to turn cold. At that time, I didn’t want to go with the angel. I didn’t want to be dead; even if it meant I could be with my father again. But your voice comforted me, and I felt safe with your arm around me, so I willingly followed you.

  “But then you turned your head toward a distant light, and I no longer saw a bright white angel as I’d imagined. I only saw a black cloak and mask, and I instantly thought the ghost of the commune had me, and I was going to die again or be imprisoned in his cellars.”

  She paused, and I uttered my heartfelt thoughts. “I’m so sorry Christine. I never meant for any of that to frighten you. It was supposed to be beautiful and take your breath way, but not like that.”

  She nodded and went on. “I remember screaming, and when you put your hand over my mouth, I . . . I . . . I smelt death. This smell, Erik,” she said as she pointed to my wound. “Then I thought you were the angel of death. I thought you were going to take my soul away. The next thing I remember was the smell of death again—all around me. When I opened my eyes and saw your mask again, I wanted to scream, but then I saw a white horse, and I thought I was in heaven. I was so confused. My mind was so tired, and I no longer wanted to think or fight what was happening to me.”

  I looked at her with tenderness. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded slightly and went on. “I remember telling myself not to fight, to let go and I would soon be with my father in heaven. I just wanted to sleep, and I felt as if I’d had too much to drink. All I could think about was to lie down. Then I kept changing places between being in your arms and in hell with the smell of death around me, and then on the white horse and in heaven.

  “At one point, I even felt as if I was floating on a cloud. I felt weightless, and I could see its white mist moving around me. Then it was dark and I again smelled death and you were carrying me to hell once more. Then there was a bright light and many colors and I thought I’d arrived in paradise. I was so confused.

  “Then, when I saw you standing there among the bright flowers and candles, I couldn’t breathe; my mind was reeling. You looked so human, so tall and strong, and yet the way you moved wasn’t human. You were so . . . I don’t know how to describe it. So fluid . . . weightless . . . graceful . . . almost like a beautiful angel in black, and I again thought you were an angel and that I was in heaven a . . . a bright colorful heaven, not at all what I’d pictured all my life.”

  She rinsed the cloth and laid it over my leg again. “Well, you know the rest of the story. When we began talking, I came to understand who you were and why I was here. So you see, it wasn’t the sight of your wound that caused me to gasp, it was the smell of it that brought back all those fearful feelings.

  “Now I understand why I smelled what I did. You were injured, and you had to have been in such pain. At the time, I wondered why you put me though such an ordeal, but now I’m wondering why you put yourself through the pain that you must have been experiencing.”

  I couldn’t answer her right away, because I was so taken by her rendition of what had happened that I could only stare at her. She rose up on her knees and again rinsed the cloth in the hot bowl and once more gently laid it over my leg. Then she sat back on her heels and looked up at me.

  I shook my head. “I love you so much, Christine, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express to you the amount of love I have for you. I would walk through fire for you, so a nasty hole in my leg wasn’t going to stop me last night. I’d watched you for months, and I so often wanted to tell you exactly who I was and how much I loved you, but I was so afraid.”

  Her eyes widened. “You were afraid? I don’t see you being afraid of anything.”

  “My worst fear, Christine, is never having you return my love. But I’m prepared to face that fear if that’s your decision. You’ve probably seen me at my best and my worst; everything in between is just filler.” I knew I shouldn’t ask what I was thinking, but I had to. “Do you think the day will ever come when you can see me for who I am, and love me just a little?”

  She sighed and warmed the cloth again. “I don’t know, Erik. I honestly don’t know.”

  I closed my eyes and laid my head back. “Well, I imagine an indecisive answer is better than a negative one, right?” I opened my eyes and looked at her, and she smiled. “You need to go back to bed. I can finish dressing the wound.”

  “I want to finish the job. What’s next?” she insisted.

  “This next step is really—really repulsive. It’s much worse than the wound. You don’t need to be involved in it.”

  She again insisted on helping, so, thinking she’d seen my face and my decaying flesh so what was there to lose by allowing her to decide for herself if she wanted to continue or not. Therefore, I reached down and grabbed the jar of maggots, and when they came into her view, she scrunched her face and halfway turned away.

  “What’s that?” she grimaced.

  “I told you it’s repulsive. They’re maggots.”

  “Maggots! What do you do with them?” she asked, as if she really didn’t want to know the answer.

  When I explained the procedure to her, she drew back, but I couldn’t blame her.

  “Go to bed, Christine, I can do this myself,” I encouraged her softly.

  “I know you can, but you don’t need to,” she replied while cautiously reaching for the jar.

  She then took the tweezers from my hand and cautiously began. After the first two, you’d think that working with maggots was her vocation. She even continued our conversation just as if she were making me a pot of tea or something else of a normal nature.

  As she was taping the clean bandage over my leg, she looked up at me and asked, “I’m curious . . .”

  “When aren’t you?” I interrupted.

 
She just smiled. “How did this happen?”

  “My leg happened to get in the way of a projectile, and, in my own stupidity, I tried to remove it myself.”

  “A projectile? What kind of a projectile?”

  I looked at her and it was then that I realized how hard it was going to be to always be honest with her. I saw in her, right then, what I’d seen all those weeks when I followed her around and watched her talking to everyone. What she was doing with me was just who she was. She had such concern for others and a true desire to be a part of their lives. It was that aspect of her that I loved the most.

  “As I told you before, there have always been those who want to end my life. Therefore, I sometimes have an injury to contend with. This one happened to be a bullet. You could call it, a bullet wound gone bad, although, I suppose, there aren’t any bullet wounds that are good, now are there?”

  “A bullet? Someone really tried to kill you? Why?”

  “As I said, I’m not always certain why. I just have that effect on certain people, but I’ve learned to accept it.”

  She sat back on her heels again and shook her head. “You shouldn’t have to accept such a fate. That’s a terrible way to live. Who was it anyway? Anyone I know?”

  I took a deep breath and laid my head back on the divan. “Our former chief scene-shifter.”

  “Joseph?” she gasped.

  I nodded. Then she stared at me with concern. After a moment, she looked down at the bandage on my leg and commented in an undertone, “Then it was self defense?”

  My head came up quickly, and I frowned at her while my voice came across too close to the edge of anger.

  Twenty-Six

  “Did I not tell you it was? Did you think I was lying? None of it was a lie—none of it! I’ve told you nothing but the truth, Christine. I’ve told you things that I haven’t even told my best friend. I’ve not lied to you once and I never will.”

  Her eyes were wide again, and I saw in them a moment of fear. I’m sure she was preparing for my full rage once more. She nodded and began speaking softly, trying to defuse the situation.

  “I know you were telling me the truth, Erik. I’m sorry. This last day has just been so much for me to absorb. I feel as if I’m living in the middle of a novel and that none of this is real. I expect to have the book close and then to find myself back as a chorus girl and living with Mummy where nothing has changed. I’m sorry. Please be patient with me.”

  Then I felt terrible again. “No, I’m sorry. I have a quick temper that can be nasty at times. I’m really trying to improve, so I ask you to be patient with me. You’ve been more than kind to me. When I think about it, if someone had done to me what I’ve done to you, I think I would have . . . I don’t know what I would have done, but I do know it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

  She gazed at me in thought. “Joseph died weeks ago. That means you traveled all the way to Perros with this. I could tell by the feel of your leg that you have a fever. You’re really sick, and probably have been for some time. And to think you carried me down here with this leg. Why? Your pain had to be unbelievable. Why did you do it?”

  “As I told you, I would go through anything for you. I’d waited much too long to tell you who I really was. The closest I came was the night before the gala when we were on the roof. At that time, you asked me never to leave you. Do you remember that?”

  She nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”

  “I almost revealed myself to you right then, but I feared it might cause an upset before you could show Paris the true Christine Daaé, and I couldn’t do that to you. I also came close to letting you know who I was while in the inn in Perros. Actually, I was the one who knocked on your door after you came back from the cemetery, but, by the time you opened your door, it was Madame Mifroid you saw.”

  “What? Really? You were in the inn?”

  “Yes, and when I heard you crying, I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to comfort you, so, if it hadn’t been for Madame Mifroid’s sudden appearance, you would have known who I was that night.”

  She slowly shook her head. “I can’t believe this. So much was going on around me and I suspected nothing.” Her eyes widened. “You heard me crying? Then you must have been close. Where were you?”

  “In the room next to yours.”

  “What? I feel like such a . . . such a blind and ignorant fool! I had no idea!”

  “Don’t feel that way. I’m a master at deceptions—illusions. No one would have known I was there unless I let them, so you weren’t a fool. You were in pain of heart—not a fool.”

  She looked at me and again shook her head. “You were right next door?”

  “Yes, but at times I was even closer to you than that. Remember when you were in the inn’s restaurant and Raoul was making you angry, and a man bumped into him and knocked him to the floor?” She nodded. “That rude man was me.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. I was so angry for the way he was talking to you, and . . . well . . . I guess it was a prelude to what happened in my music room earlier. My temper took control, but it was only a hint of what he deserved.”

  Her eyes were wide and her open mouth was covered with her fingers, but then her eyes began to smile, and she whispered through her fingers, “You were protecting me?”

  “Yes. You shouldn’t be talked to that way. He deserved a lot more than what I gave him, and under different circumstances he would have gotten it.”

  “Raoul’s words weren’t nearly as cutting as yours were earlier, Erik,” she said softly.

  Oh, with those words she stabbed me in the heart. I closed my eyes and laid my head back. “Please, don’t remind me. My actions were despicable, and someone should beat me royally for them.” I looked back at her. “I wish I could turn back time. I feel you’ll never forget or forgive my actions.”

  “I didn’t mean that as a reminder. I don’t believe in that. I was only trying to help you understand that Raoul means well, even if he says improper things to me. He’s not a bad person, and I don’t believe you’re a bad person either.”

  “Christine, I don’t think it’s in you to believe someone is a bad person. That’s not who you are. That good trait can make you vulnerable, though, and put you in dangerous positions. That’s one reason why I wanted to accompany you on your trip to Perros. That’s one reason why I watched you the entire way—to protect you.”

  Again she exclaimed, “What? You were on the train with me? Where were you? I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “I was in the back and in the corner, on the other side of the train from you. But as I just said, I’m a master when it comes to being concealed. When you couple that with your trusting and caring quality, then quite naturally you wouldn’t see me.”

  “Just who are you, Erik? You’re such a contradiction. You can be so . . .” she stopped and looked toward my music room, I’m sure remembering her harrowing moments. Then she looked at my leg. “From what you’ve told me, you put yourself through agony just to be my guardian angel—just to make me happy.

  “You shouldn’t be living down here like this. You should see the sunlight and share your smile. You’re a brilliant musician and you should share that gift. You shouldn’t live your life like this,” she said as she circled her hand around the room and then let it rest on my knee.

  With the feel of her hand on my leg, I took a quick breath and felt sensations travel through my body, premature feelings that I couldn’t let begin—not yet. Therefore, after bundling the blanket on my lap to hide any outward signs of my true feelings, I forced myself to think about her welfare and not my pleasure. I looked into her sincere and innocent eyes, eyes that were completely unaware of what her touch was doing to me. With another quick breath and slight shake of my head, I tried to explain my living situation as best I could.

  “It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? Just live my life like a normal person. I explained before why I’ve locked myself down here. I can’t bear . . . I can�
��t witness . . .” I laid my hand on top of hers and tried again. “You’re very young, Christine. I know you’ve seen a lot of suffering in your short life, but you can’t begin to imagine the suffering I’ve seen or . . .” I was about to tell her about the suffering I’d caused, but I couldn’t right then. Perhaps another time, I thought.

  “I know I’ve expressed how much I love you during this day. I’ve also told you that I could leave this place if I had you by my side. While I was trying to tell you the truth, I don’t want you to view it as pressure. Whatever decision you make has to be made because it’s something you want. It can’t be out of pity for me. You must take what I’m saying to heart. I truly want your happiness much more than my own; however, I do believe that you’ll never be truly happy with anyone other than me.

  “You might be happy, but not truly happy. There’s a difference, and since I met you I’ve known that difference. To settle for only love, I now know, would be hollow. We might be able to love many, but what I’m feeling for you, and what I believe you’ll feel for me, is a love without words. It’s not a love you learn or expect just because someone loves you or because you’ve known someone for a long time; it’s a love that captures your heart and takes control of your life—a love that you willingly surrender to. That’s what I feel for you and what I believe you’ll feel for me soon.”

  I removed my hand from hers and leaned back. “Don’t do this for me. I’ve learned to lose loved ones. I’ll survive with or without you, but I don’t want to survive without you. If you decide to leave here and never see me again, I’ll leave this place. I won’t be able to stay here with memories of you surrounding me. But if I’m able to leave this place with you on my arm, I’ll be the happiest man alive, and I’ll conquer the world for you. I’ll share the gifts I’ve been given with the world—for you.

  “But, again, no pressure. You make your decision for you—not for me. And, by the way,” I added with an eyebrow raised, “don’t make it for Raoul either. Don’t let him persuade you into making a decision you’re not 100 percent in agreement with. That’s all I ask.”