Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine

by Theodora Bruns

  I was halfway back to Paris before the clouds let go and it began pouring. By the time I reached the knoll over the city, I was soaked and chilled to the bone, but my physical condition paled in comparison to my emotional state. My feelings for Raoul stayed steady, while my feelings for Christine fluctuated. At one moment I had myself convinced she’d made her decision and I would never see her again, and then in the next I felt terrible for leaving her alone and frightening her the way I did.

  It was during one of those remorseful times that I made the decision to buy her another gift, a gift of apology. I’d wanted to get her a jewelry box from the first day I’d seen it in the jeweler’s shop. It was made from carved polished mahogany with a red velvet lining and a mirror inlay on the lid. When the top was opened, a man and woman in evening attire popped up and began twirling to a Strauss waltz. With the inscription I had in mind for the mirror, it was just perfect.

  Trying to keep that remorseful feeling in my heart, instead of the possessed one, after I returned my faithful mount, I caught a brougham and headed for the jeweler’s shop. It was dark inside, and my heart sank. I really wanted to get that box for her before going home. Sadly, I prepared to give the driver new instructions, but then I saw a faint light move in the back of the store, so I jumped out quickly and began banging on the door.

  “I’m closed,” the man shouted.

  While pointing to the box in the window, I shouted back, “I’ll pay you double for that box.”

  That did the trick, and before long I was crossing the lake with the music box. The opera had ended, and I was hoping to find Christine in my home so I could be freed from my self-torture. But when I opened the door to complete darkness, I knew she wasn’t there.

  I turned the lights on and searched my home, not for Christine but for some sign that she’d been there. When I found nothing that indicated she’d spent part of her time there, my fears increased tenfold. Quickly, I placed her wrapped jewelry box on her dressing table, dropped my wet cloak and saddlebags on the floor in the music room, had a dry cloak on, and was up the passage from my music room and heading for her dressing room.

  I found it just as dark as my home, and again my fears grew. Her dark room meant she wasn’t in the house at all, but, just in case, I walked through the shops she frequented. Then, with a heavy heart, I finally gave up looking there. Next I thought about Madame Valerius, so, with my stomach turning with anxious anticipation, I was back in a brougham and heading there.

  To keep from being detected, I had the driver stop two blocks away, and I ran the rest of the way to her home. Then, like a thief in the night, I crept around the exterior of the house, looking for the back door. Once I found it, I let myself in through the locked back door. I sneaked through the upstairs and where I thought Christine’s room was, but, other than the two ladies in the parlor and a maid in the kitchen, the house was empty.

  I can’t explain the amount of dread that swelled in my heart as I left and headed back to the brougham, with only one explanation left—Raoul. Refusing to believe the worst, I told the driver to take me past the nicest restaurants. After an hour of searching for his carriage and matching stallions with no results, great apprehension surged through my gut. With my jaws clenching, I told the driver Raoul’s address, and then I had him drop me off two blocks away from the de Chagny estate.

  I didn’t run to Raoul’s residence, I walked slowly, and by the time I neared it, I was convinced he was going to take her away from me. I just knew it. I also knew if he hadn’t taken her to his bed yet, that I couldn’t allow him to make her his own that night. But then what in the world did I expect to do once I got there? What if she was there? Was I going to drag her out by her hair? What if he’d already taken her to his bed? Was I going to strangle him in his sleep with her watching on? What in the name of everything sane was I doing?

  Trying to keep my steadily growing cough under control, I made my way around his home, looking for a lit window. When I found none, I went to a back door, and, for the first time in my life, I found a lock I couldn’t unlock, which made me feel defeated before I really began.

  I started searching for a way inside and shortly had my sights set on a pair of French doors off a balcony. Without stopping to think of what I was going to do next, I put a lasso between my teeth and started climbing a lattice until I reached the balcony. As I climbed, a faint little voice, somewhere in the deep chasm of my twisted mind, was telling me I was acting like a madman and to leave and go home. But I didn’t listen; instead, I stepped over the railing and took a few steps toward the doors.

  It was then that the words I needed stopped me. They were my own words to Raoul, and they shouted painfully loud. Don’t force the rose open or the flower will be ruined. That was my advice to him, and yet what I was about to do could damage Christine beyond repair. That one thought forced some part of my insanity to respond to my sanity, so I turned and retreated.

  I was one step away from the railing when it happened, a familiar piercing burn in my back along with the explosion of a pistol and the shattering of glass. I was thrown against the railing, forcing the lasso from my teeth, went down on my knees, and then within the smallest fraction of a second, I searched my options. I could turn on my attacker and chance another bullet in my chest, I could jump over the railing and run and chance another bullet in the back, or I could go up on the roof and hide. My decision was instantaneous and so were my actions. I was up on the railing and on the roof within a heartbeat.

  After a quick moment of rolling in pain, I lay perfectly still, not even breathing. Then I listened to the door open, glass crunching under steps, and Raoul’s voice booming in his true dictatorial tongue.

  “Quick! Get the police!”

  I continued to lie still and listened to him moving around on the balcony and discussing with someone what he shot at.

  “It was him—I know it. I saw his yellow eyes,” Raoul insisted.

  The other person was more logical. “A man with yellow eyes? I think you’re over stressed. It was probably a cat. Look! Its blood is on the railing. And look here! There’s more blood up on the drain pipe. Only a cat could get up there that quickly without help.”

  “No! I’m sure it was him. That freak came to strangle me in my sleep. Quick! Get me something to climb on. Do we have a ladder?”

  “I believe so. But, Raoul, I think we should wait for the police!”

  “No, Philippe! He’s injured. Now’s my chance to put a stop to his influence over Christine. I’m going after him to finish this.”

  “Raoul, don’t be a fool! Don’t climb on that!”

  That was all I needed to hear to stir my anger more and give me the strength I needed, so I held my breath and rolled over. I took a slow breath and held it again as I got to my feet and started for the peak of the roof. I searched the other side of the roof, looking for another balcony to escape to, but I didn’t find one. Then I heard voices again coming from the balcony where I was shot, and I stood still and listened.

  It was Raoul and Philippe again, discussing my fate, and that discussion, along with the growing pain in my shoulder, altered my mental status. I was no longer the one being pursued but the one doing the pursuing. I was no longer just angry—I was in my controlled anger state.

  I headed back toward that balcony, with my hatred for Raoul taking on new and frightening proportions. When I reached a chimney, I stood on its dark side, with my blood dripping from the fingers of my right hand and a lasso in my left hand, preparing for that stupid and arrogant fool. He thinks this is his chance—he has no idea what awaits him if he dares to follow me.

  While I stood there waiting for him to approach, the words of my little trainer began to surface. At first they were faint, and I struggled to silence them. But the louder they became the harder it was to hold onto my anger, the anger he said would blur my vision and lead me down the wrong path. It would be so easy to end his life within the next few minutes, but as I contemplated i
t, another force entered. In the end, it wasn’t the words from my trainer that saved Raoul’s life that night. It was, once again, the vision of Christine’s eyes filled with tears when she heard about his death.

  Her sad blue eyes encouraged me to find the lowest part of the roofline, and Raoul’s conversation about catching me for the police encouraged me to lower myself from the roof with only the aid of my left arm. The thought of dropping two stories was most unpleasant, but it was a picnic in comparison to the vision of sitting in a jail cell.

  The fall took the breath out of me, and the pain in my shoulder and back was fierce, but I managed to get back on my feet, knowing if I didn’t there was a good chance I might pass out. Cradling my right arm with my left hand, I started running away from the house until I reached a wrought iron fence.

  I was feeling faint by then, but I made it over the fence and then started running once more. I ran for three blocks before I stopped and took note of where I was. I was close to the river, so I walked to it. Once there, I sat and tried to decide what I was going to do. Do I go back to my home and take care of my wound, yet another time, or go to the doctor, yet another time?

  While I tried to decide, I examined my wound, or should I say wounds. I had two of them in the muscle between my neck and right shoulder; one in the back where the bullet entered and a larger one in the front where it exited.

  The more I thought about everything that had just happened, the angrier I became. I was angry enough to know I didn’t want to die before I had a chance to play out a final act with Raoul, and that anger gave me direction. Also, I didn’t want a repeat of the last time I tried to doctor myself, so I hailed a brougham and headed for Doctor Leglise’s office.

  When I stepped down from the coach, I was definitely suffering from the effects of blood loss, and by the time I climbed the stairs to his office, I was barely crawling. I sat on the landing, leaned against his door, and took out my watch. I had another hour to wait before he’d arrive, and I honestly didn’t know if he’d find me alive or dead.

  The next thing I knew, there was sunlight coming through sheer white panels covering the window in the same room I’d been in so many times before. I remember groaning and closing my eyes, and, when I opened them again, there was Doctor Leglise standing over me. I blinked a few times and tried to get up, but he quickly pushed me back down, without a word. He laid his hand on my forehead and then pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “I’m glad you’re awake, Erik.”

  I nodded. “I need you to stitch me up again.”

  “I already have,” he responded with a touch of frustration in his normally jovial voice.

  I reached for my shoulder and found the entire area between my shoulder and my neck, front and back, bandaged. I also realized I was without any clothing, not even my mask.

  “Thank you,” I whispered with my eyes closed. “I need to go. Where are my things?”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Erik. You’ve lost too much blood, you have a fever, and you have fluid in your lungs.”

  He wasn’t wearing a smile or his normal sense of humor that morning and neither was I.

  “I have to leave now, so please, where are my clothes and my mask?”

  He stood up and stared down at me. “Erik, what happens to you? Why do you keep getting shot? Are you a jewel thief or something of that nature?”

  “As I’ve told you, Doctor Leglise, I don’t lead a normal life. I thank you for your help, but I can’t stay here, I need to go.”

  “We’ve been through this many times before, Erik. You need to stay here. Your clothes are wet and soaked with blood. They should be washed and dried before you wear them.”

  I looked at him sternly. “I believe you’ve taken liberties that aren’t yours to take, Doctor. Their condition doesn’t concern me, so hand them over.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, since you can’t very well leave without them, if I refuse to give them to you, do you think you have the strength to fight me for them?”

  I closed my eyes. “No, I don’t, but I’ll walk out of here with only this blanket if I have to.”

  Testing me, he backed away, shook his head, and motioned toward the door. “You know where the door is.”

  He was a fool to test me, so I tightened my jaw and managed to get to my feet, while he watched on. Then I wrapped the blanket around myself and staggered toward the door, but he grabbed the blanket and easily pulled it away from me. I groaned in pain and fell against the door, while he wisely moved to the other side of the room. I glared at him and shook my head.

  “Don’t play this game with me, Leglise. It’s not wise.”

  He held the blanket out from his side. “I don’t believe you’re in any condition to fight me for this, so just lie back down and let me care for you.”

  While trying to steady myself, I shook my head again. “You really want to play this game?” Confidently, he just smiled at me, and I nodded. “Then let’s play.”

  When I started to turn the door handle, he cautioned me. “There are people out there, Erik.”

  “They’re your patients, Leglise. I don’t care if they’re traumatized—do you?”

  Forty-One

  I had no intention of walking out there. The most I had on me was the bandage over my shoulder, so I was counting on him giving in before I had to. I slowly opened the door about 6 centimeters, and then he rushed over and slammed his body against it.

  “All right! You win! You’re just crazy enough to do it. Stay here while I get your clothes.”

  When he left, I clutched the blanket, collapsed on the bed, and leaned against the wall. I was in so much pain, and all I wanted to do was take a healthy dose of morphine and never wake up. It seemed that all my battles of late I’d lost, and I was so tired in every way possible. I really wanted to cry.

  As he came back in the door, he asked, “Are you sure you want these back?”

  When he opened my brown shirt that was half red with my blood, I replied softly, “Yes, they’ll help me find my way in the days ahead.”

  He looked at me as if I’d truly gone mad, but he didn’t question me since he already knew I was a bit off center when it came to sanity. He only frowned at me, helped me sit up and put my clothes on. He made a sling for my arm and gave me familiar instructions. There was one new one though. I couldn’t rest in one position for too long. Since there was fluid in my lungs, I needed to move around so it wouldn’t settle in one spot and cause additional problems. I took everything he said without argument; I was simply too weak and tired to argue.

  Eventually, he wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and helped me to my feet. That movement made me start coughing, and I felt as if my neck and shoulder were tearing apart, so, while he steadied me on my feet, I told myself not to do that again. He then helped me down the stairs and into a brougham.

  He closed the door and then slapped it as he said, “I would give you advice, Erik, but you’ve heard it all before, and I know you’ll do just what you want to do anyway. So all I can say is, take care of yourself.” He nodded. “Until next time, Erik.”

  On the way back to the opera house, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, trying to relax and listen to the rhythmic sounds of the horses. I tried to clear my mind and think of what I’d done and the stupidity of it all. I was angry with myself for losing control, angry with Raoul for a number of reasons, angry with Christine for what I felt was her betrayal, and just plain angry with the world in general. My mind was twisting in a crazy fashion, and I knew I had to do something about the situation the three of us were in before it was too late and someone died.

  Nearly my entire life I’d felt as if I was walking a tightrope without a net and ready to topple off to my death at any moment. While I had a long pole in my hands to keep me balanced, what sat on its ends either helped me or hindered me. It was only my awareness of what balanced on its ends that prevented my death.

  What sat on my lef
t side was that happy and inquisitive child who looked at his passion for music and the beauty in the world with fascination. That child loved to laugh, to experiment, and to play tag with his horse. Along with that child sat my father and our loving relationship. I’d feel warm inside when I remembered his eyes and his instruction about life and especially about construction. To this day, when I think about him and all his guidance, I have to smile.

  But on any balance beam there has to be a counter balance. So on the right end of that pole sat my temper and anger for the world, along with my unique mind, which was capable of conjuring up anything it desired, good or bad. However, I believe even with those negative attributes, if I’d had a normal face that was accepted by the world, I could have made a success of my life.

  While I had my issues with my mother, it was that attack by Franco and Pete Jr. that gave the most weight to that right side. That was the true turning point in my life, and it increased my hatred and anger to a place that I’d never been able to come back from. Then, with my attack against those boys, I gained abnormal confidence in my ability to use my mind to control others, along with the beginning of the skills I used to defend myself throughout my life.

  I meditated on all that had happened in my life and how that balance beam had tipped to one side or the other, with good times or horrible times as a result. That was especially so once I met Christine. She sat like a shining star on my left and gave me hope, but when Raoul entered and sat on my right, my world darkened and my real battle to keep that pole balanced began.

  I’d almost let my hatred and anger tip me completely off that tightrope the night before, and, considering that Raoul had managed to put one bullet through me, I honestly felt, if it hadn’t been for Christine’s counter balance, both Raoul and I would have been dead before sunrise. That would have tortured Christine and ended her indecision in the process.