Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  I joined her at Molly’s bust and also ran my hands over its mane. “A very long time. Its conception was just after I met your father, and its birth was after I had enough of my home completed to have a place to work on it. So it’s been, probably, close to fifteen years.

  “But then it wasn’t a continual work. Sometimes I’d go for long periods without inspiration, so I wouldn’t work on it at all. Then there were other times when I couldn’t stop working on it, and I’d go for weeks at a time doing nothing but composing. There have been times when I didn’t even eat for days at a time, or sleep for that matter. It all depends on my inspiration.”

  “What is it that inspires you to work on it?”

  I looked down into her innocent eyes and placed one finger under her chin, raising her head up until our eyes met.

  Then I spoke softly, “You do, Christine. You inspire me. You make me want to work only on it so I can start on your tutoring. Perhaps with your nearness, I’ll be done soon.”

  She sighed and playfully turned from me, heading for the drawing room. “Good! Because from the little I just read, it sounds . . . what would I call it?” She stopped, looked back at me, and coyly smiled. “Intriguing. Yes—that’s a good word—intriguing.”

  Then her eyes danced as she looked at me for only a moment longer before she headed for the dining room. I knew the game I was playing with her, but I wondered, was she also playing a game with me? At that moment, I wasn’t sure if she was as innocent to my desires as I thought she was. I wondered how much of the score she’d read.

  I followed her into the dining room. But before she entered the kitchen, she hesitated a moment and smiled temptingly over her shoulder.

  “Please, hurry won’t you, Erik? I can’t wait to have you tutor me for the part of your heroine.”

  I felt my eyes narrow as I watched her complete her journey into the kitchen, and I felt warm inside, but not necessarily in a good way. Relax, Erik. She’s nowhere close to where she needs to be for you to make that type of a move yet. But then, as she came back into the dining room and smiled that same smile at me again, I asked myself—or is she?

  Twenty-Seven

  I leaned against the wall and watched Christine come back into the parlor and replace the book in its spot on the bookshelf. She was talking to me the entire time, but I wasn’t hearing what she was saying with her lips; I was trying to read her eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the score she’d read or just how much I should read into her words about my tutoring her.

  She was staring at me, and then my name came across loud and clear. “Erik!”

  “What?” I replied, as I came off the wall and out of my daze at the same time.

  Cocking her head at me, she asked, “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

  “I’m sorry, Christine. My thoughts were elsewhere, but they were about you, if that’s any consolation.”

  She smiled. “I was asking you if it was time for our supper to arrive.”

  I quickly glanced at the tall clock. “Yes, it certainly is. If you’d like, you can set the table while I step out and get our supper.”

  “Step out? To where?”

  “To where I can get our supper, silly,” I replied while grabbing my cloak out of my music room, turning off the lake’s motion sensor, and releasing the latch for the door.

  “I thought your elves brought it.”

  I smiled broadly. “Touché. You got me there.”

  She started to ask another question about where I was going, but I stopped her and motioned toward the cupboard in the kitchen where the plates were. When she turned in that direction, I pulled the door open. When she turned back and saw me standing there with part of the wall open, she gasped and hurried toward me.

  “What’s this? What have you done?”

  Teasing her, I replied, “It’s a door. Certainly you’ve seen a door before.”

  She looked up and down and out into the dark passage. “Yes, but not like this one. So this is your secret door. I don’t see a knob. How did you open it?”

  While stepping out into the passage and lighting my lantern, I replied, “All in good time, my sweet. If after the four days you want to stay with me, then I’ll show you my secrets, but not until then. My hidden doors are my protection. Without them, I could no longer stay here. I’d be overrun by curiosity seekers or by those wanting my unique head to mount over their fireplace. I won’t be long, only a few minutes.”

  “But, Erik . . .”

  “Hold your thoughts. I won’t be long.”

  I then heard her huff as I closed the door.

  When I approached the dock, I could hear and see rats around the packages, and I feared our supper was ruined, but they hadn’t broken into it yet. Instantly, I made a mental note to get there before the rats the next day. When I returned and opened the door, the first thing I saw was Christine staring right at me. Then she examined the door and the passage I’d just come from.

  “Where does that passage go?”

  I smiled. “You’re so cute. All in good time, Christine. All in good time. Now here, take these,” I said as I handed her two packages, and then I picked up the other four. She watched me closely as I came inside and leaned back against the door until it clicked. Her inquisitive expression was so adorable, and I again smiled at her. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” was her reply, but her eyes and thoughts were still on that door.

  Soon, the table was set with an abundance of food, a linen tablecloth, fine china, crystal wine glasses, burning candles, and a new arrangement of fresh flowers.

  “Before we sit down to eat,” she said, “let me get these roses in water.” She left the room but continued her thought along the way. “You really don’t need to feel obligated to get me new ones every day. A rose lasts longer than one day.”

  “I don’t feel obligated by any means. It’s something I want to do,” I responded as she came back in the room. “Don’t forget what they represent. I always want your present and your future to be as fresh and new as the first roses of a new day. That way, each day will be what you deserve, a day filled with life and beauty.”

  “Well, thank you, but I have an idea. Instead of throwing so many of these roses away, I think I’ll hang them up to dry, and then I can put the petals in a bowl to keep the room smelling sweet.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me,” I replied, while hoping she would be there long enough for those roses to dry.

  I pulled out her chair for her and then sat down across from her. She smiled and the conversation went on about the nice meal we were eating. Then she suggested something that turned out to be a fun adventure for me.

  “Why don’t we make out a shopping list for your elves and then I can cook for you?”

  I stopped eating and just looked at her. I should have guessed she would want to cook for me. That’s who she was, my special Christine. So we did just that, made out a shopping list that I could give to Roland and Obert.

  We ate and cleaned up, and then she made me surrender to her care of my leg, which was already looking better under her attentive nursing. Then, with a nice warm cup of tea, we sat and talked about the different places I’d seen and the places she’d been with her father. I watched her as she talked about him, with many smiles on her lips and some tears in her eyes.

  I was kneeling on the hearth after lighting a fire, rolling the match between my fingers, when a conversation started that I hadn’t anticipated.

  “He loved his music so much, Erik, and I loved to listen to him play his violin. He had such passion.”

  “Yes, he did, I could feel the depth of his love when he played my violin.”

  She nodded. “He spoke about that day often, and I listened with rapt attention every time he told me that story. He tried many times to recreate the piece you were playing that drew him to you that day, but he could never get it right. He was excellent when it came to replicating a piece of mu
sic. But he said you put something into that piece that he couldn’t match. I think that was part of the reason why he thought you were an angel, because he just couldn’t get it right.”

  I looked over at her, knowing what it was that he couldn’t get. My pain. My heart and soul were in that piece, along with tears and incredible pain. I got up and sat in my chair, and, as I crossed my ankle over my knee, I watched her looking down at her fingers running over the brocade pillow on her lap. Then she continued.

  “He finally gave up trying to recreate it, and when I asked him why, he told me that when a composer is inspired to write something, the inspiration goes into the piece. He said the only one who can truly play it properly is the composer, because it’s he alone who can feel what is written between the notes. He told me he could tell that piece was written with pain and love combined, and that he simply couldn’t do it justice, so he stopped trying.”

  She became quiet, and I could tell she was in deep thought, so I sat without speaking and let her have her time alone with her father. I also used the quiet to think about my father and relived the circumstances under which I’d written that music. Eventually, she looked at me and asked something of me that made me lose my breath.

  “Do you remember what it was that you played that day? Do you remember it? If you do, would you play it for me?” I believe I just stared at her for a moment without answering until she spoke again. “I realize it was a long time ago, so you probably don’t even remember what it was.”

  “No, Christine, I remember well what it was.”

  “Then will you play it for me. It would mean so much to me. It would make me feel closer to my father. If you could, I’d really appreciate it.”

  How in the world could I possibly refuse her? I didn’t know how I could play “Papa’s Song” with anyone else around though. I’d only played it twice before, and both times it took everything out of me, and both times my mask was soaked with my tears before I finished. So how could I pull it off with her in the room? But when I looked at her pleading eyes, I had no choice.

  “Certainly, Christine. It would be an honor.”

  While I tuned my violin, I told myself that I could pull it off if I concentrated and tried not to remember the tragic situation under which I’d composed it or the meaning behind it. But I soon forgot about that remedy because it was the emotion I’d put into it that made it special, and it was that special quality that her father was unable to duplicate. So I had to play it the way it was written—with my bleeding heart leading the way.

  I stood by my piano and she was curled in the chair as I laid the bow to the strings and let the first note of “Papa’s Song” emerge. I had to keep my eyes closed, hoping she wouldn’t notice my mask soaking up my memories. I soon stopped thinking about what she was thinking and let myself feel all the emotion that piece was meant to express. My body swayed with the melody until my bow lay still on the strings, and then there was silence. I turned and began putting my violin in its case, without saying anything and neither did she. I used that time to make sure my eyes were free from tears before I turned toward her.

  “Thank you so much, Erik. It was breathtaking. I now understand why my father couldn’t recreate it. I can hear him playing it, and I can see what he meant about what was missing. I can also understand why he tried so hard to play it properly; it’s . . . . it’s haunting . . . it’s tragically haunting.”

  “Thank you,” I barely replied, as I sat down on the piano bench.

  We both sat quietly for a while, and it was then that I realized how much she’d also been crying. I gave a momentary thought to reciting the lyrics for her so she could experience the full meaning, but I couldn’t. Perhaps at another time, I told myself.

  The conversation moved on, as did the day, but as night fell a related subject started. She’d gotten up and left for her room and then had come back out with her hair brush in her hand. I’d taken a book off the shelf and was thumbing through it when she expressed her view about our stroll with our fathers.

  “You know, Erik, one of the things I’ve always admired about certain people is when they’re able to express emotion without fear of what society says about them. I love Mummy with my whole heart, but that’s one of her flaws. She may say she loves me, but when it comes to really showing it physically, she shies away.

  “I think that’s probably one of the reasons why I like the hard workers here in the opera house so much. They’re just people without a hard exterior, and they’re not afraid to express themselves. That’s one of the things that makes me uncomfortable around the rich, even Raoul—their unwillingness to let me see who they really are.”

  By then I was sitting in my chair and she was standing in front of the fireplace and brushing her hair.

  “I know how much that piece of music means to you, Erik, and I could feel every bit of it in every note you played. I’m certain if it weren’t for your mask, I would have seen tears streaming down your cheeks as they were mine. I know you’ve been trying these last two days to let me come to know who you are. What I saw this day probably told me more about you than all the rest of the time I’ve been here. Don’t hide anything from me, Erik. I want to know more; I need to know more.”

  I just looked up at her and was without words to respond. I loved her so much, and every time she spoke or did anything at all it made me love her more. She smiled, and I think I smiled back. Then she walked past me toward her room. As she passed my chair, she laid her hand on my shoulder for a moment before she squeezed it.

  “Goodnight, Erik.”

  I closed my eyes and took a breath with her touch. “Goodnight, Christine.”

  Then she left me alone with my thoughts about her and her words, which filled me with an indescribable feeling deep inside my chest. I laid my book in my lap and my head back against the chair and gazed into the fire. The next day marked the third day, and as she closed her door, I hurt at the thought of her leaving me. I didn’t want to let her go, but I’d promised her that on the fourth day she would be free. I didn’t know what I was going to do without her around.

  With a heavy sigh, I picked up the book again, hoping I could read until my eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer. But with so many thoughts about her in my head, I couldn’t do either, sleep or read. So I’d read a sentence, gaze into the fire, read a sentence, gaze into the fire.

  That was my condition for about an hour. Then, abruptly, my motion sensor for the lake started going off in my music room. I nearly jumped out of my skin, while thoughts circled in my head about the possible trespasser. I turned it off and then went to Christine’s door and quietly opened it. She was still asleep; thankfully it hadn’t awakened her.

  In all the years I’d lived there, it had rarely sounded the warning, and it could mean only one thing; someone was on my lake and near my home. I left instantly and headed for my docking room where I climbed the steps and looked out the observation window. I stared into the darkness and listened carefully, but I saw and heard nothing. After an uncomfortable few minutes, I realized I had to venture out on the lake and find out who was there before they got too close.

  While running back down the stairs, I took off my coat and started looking for the long reeds I’d hid for just such a time. After finding them on a ledge, covered in dust and cobwebs, I placed one between my teeth and took off my shoes and mask. Then I slipped into the water by my boat and went to the end of it. Once there, I went under the water and through the small hole at the bottom of the invisible docking door. After coming up out of the water on the other side, I remained still and listened and watched for any sign of life.

  When all remained quiet and dark, I swam quietly and slowly until I saw it, a faint light through the labyrinth of columns and mist. I kept swimming until I could see a boat, probably my old boat that I hadn’t seen in years. I’d tucked it away out of sight, or so I thought. I swam to a column and hid behind it, waiting until the boat got closer so I could see who was stupid eno
ugh to venture into my territory. I feared it might be the police, searching for Christine.

  I had to strain my eyes to see through the mist, but, eventually, I could see one man in the boat, and, thankfully, no more. My thought then was that the intruder was Raoul. Who else would be dumb enough to attempt finding me? He’d shown his stupidity in Perros, so it was probably him, the idiot. With my heart rate up a notch, I put the reed in my mouth and lowered myself completely under the water, humming and breathing through the reed.

  That was a trick I’d learned from Tonkin pirates during my younger years. I’d used it to hide under water when someone was pursuing me. That trick had saved my life and my pursuers’ lives more than once. The humming disorientated the one chasing me, which always gave me the position I needed, the superior position.

  I came up long enough to get my bearings and take a few good breaths, and then I went down again and swam under the water, occasionally humming through the reed. I watched the light from the lantern in the boat get closer until I was right next to it. Then I saw the shape of a head appear over the edge of the boat. You young idiot, I thought. He’s falling for it. Like so many others before him, he wants to know what the strange and haunting sound is and where it’s coming from.

  Then, like a fish jumping out of water, I came up quickly, grabbed him by his head, and pulled him under the water with me. Along with him, the lantern fell into the water and sank down with us, extinguishing it and leaving us in total darkness. I took him down with my arm around his neck, turning him in circles to confuse him even more.

  He was fighting me and struggling hard, but I kept command of the situation. Once I heard him start to let his breath out, I knew I had to return him to the surface. Once there, I grabbed the back of his collar, looked up and around, trying to locate the air vent and light in the ceiling. When I spotted it, I knew what direction the wharf was in and began swimming toward it, with him gagging and coughing the entire way. My leg, which had been feeling good that day, was beginning to hurt and that angered me even more.