by Kailin Gow
“So you’d like to find out more about your lineage.”
“I was really too young to remember my parents when I was sent to the orphanage, but I do remember the nuns talking about me when they thought I wasn’t listening. I’d always wondered why they looked at me strangely, almost as though they feared me. Well, it turned out they thought my parents were gypsies.”
“You never told me that before.”
She sipped her tea and gazed heavily into her cup. “I’d never really given it much importance. Just the babbling of some old fools who had nothing else to talk about. I was tiny, with long dark hair and I was able to do what many girls twice my age couldn’t do. I knew things; things that a young child shouldn’t know. I thought all this might have spooked them and led them to fabricate some explanation for my strange ways.”
“Do you think they were gypsies who…?” I didn’t even know how to finish the question.
“Performed magic?” she finished for me. “As I got older, I heard more and more rumors. Sometimes even from the girls I boarded with. Some claimed an ancestor of mine had played so much with the black magic that she’d gone crazy. Had completely lost her mind to the potions and spells. Her heart filled with hatred and a need to avenge everything that had ever gone wrong in her life and that of her family.
“She’d been set to marry a rich aristocrat and when her plans failed, she vowed to see the family ruined. Instead she just ended up ruining herself.”
Stunned, I stared at my mother, reluctant to ask the question to which I already knew the answer. “What was her name?”
“Kristine.”
I felt as though someone had punched me in the chest. I choked on my tea and felt the world slip out from under me.
“You okay, ma belle?”
“Hot,” I said, fanning my mouth. “What ended up happening to this Kristine?”
“Her career ended not long after that.” She stopped cold and stared at me. “Do you know that they say she was a world renowned opera singer for the Paris Opera House? And here you are following in her footsteps. I guess you were destined to be famous, ma chérie.”
I guess, I thought wryly.
“Although I certainly do hope you don’t meet the same fate. For all her talent, no one knew her name a year later. She threw it all away in her need to get back at the family of her betrothed.” She tapped the edge of her teacup and glanced at the ceiling. “Now what was his name?”
A wave of nausea swept through me. “Aragon.”
Her eyes were on mine in an instant. “Yes, Rupert Aragon” she whispered in awe. “How did you know?”
“First tell me more about Kristine, Maman. What relation is she to you; to me?”
“I’m not quite certain, but I believe she was a cousin of my grandmother.”
“And what did she do after her career ended.”
“She delved deeper and deeper into the potions and spells. Her life revolved around casting a spell to put an end to the Aragon name. From what I’ve been told, she died, young and alone in the countryside east of Paris.”
“Do you know what she looked like?”
“She was beautiful; captivatingly so. No man could resist her. Some claimed it was the magic, others simply say she was that magnificent a creature. Alluring, seductive and with a way with men few women in her day had. Other than that, I can't really say what she looked like. But if you’re really that interested, I’m sure you could find some old posters from the operas she took part in. Look up the Paris Opera House. I believe she would have played there in the late 1800s.”
“I’m going to take an hour or so to go to the library to use their computer,” I said as I stood and reached for my bag. “I’ll be back for supper.”
As I entered the library, I felt shadowed. Perhaps I should have asked my mother to come with me; offer moral support. The very thought sounded silly. I was grown up. I lived in New York City for heaven’s sake. I could do a little research on my own without… without what? Freaking out? My fear of what I might find was almost paralyzing.
I rushed to the wall of computers before my legs could give out on me. My fingers clumsily tapped over the keys and I was easily able to find something on the Paris Opera House. Finding a poster of a show Kristine had taken part in was a little more complicated, but I finally came upon a poster and without even seeing her name I knew it was her.
She was elegantly dressed in a gown from the 1700s and her dark hair was pulled up with ringlets framing her face. Despite the outdated allure, there was no mistaking the resemblance.
Her cheeks, her lips, her nose and most startlingly her eyes were the same as mine. The poster even had her looking quite charming and demure, words I’d never heard mentioned in the same sentence as Kristine’s name.
I thought of Eric and his reluctance to get closer to me because of my resemblance to Kristine. “My God, Eric,” I murmured as I stared at the screen. “How can this be? How can you have loved her, been betrayed by her?”
Chapter 17
December 22nd, 2009
Dear Diary,
Though I was home with my mom and dad where I’ve always felt secure, I had a restless night as thoughts of Kristine swirled in my mind repeatedly. Nothing makes sense. The connection between Kristine and Eric is absurd. And my part in it all only adds to the absurdity.
Adding to my confusion is a call I received from Judy. Apparently my absence from the opera house isn’t going well.
“What do you mean the Phantom’s back?” I asked. I noticed the odd look on my mother’s face and took the phone out to the terrace.
“Caroline went the way of Marie; freaking out when strange sounds started to interrupted her rehearsals. She tried a few times, but the roar became deafening.”
I remembered hearing the strange sounds that had resulted in Marie leaving the role.
“I mean, I don’t scare easily, but man, I was running out of there shaking.”
“What are they going to do?”
“They’re trying another girl now. She usually plays the role of Vivian and says she knows all the songs. Of course she doesn’t sing like you, but she might be able to pull it off.”
My brain reviewed the cast and tried to find who played Vivian; Midge, an older woman with raging red hair and a portly figure. How in the world was she going to fit in any of the costumes?
I started and almost dropped the phone when a loud crash rang in my ears accompanied by a screech from Judy.
“Judy? Judy? What happened?” I screamed into the phone. “Judy, are you there?”
“Annette, oh my God.” Her voice was shaky and frightened.
“What happened?” I felt on the verge of panic.
“The huge chandelier, the one that hangs in the ballroom for the big dancing scene. It fell. It just fell. Hang on a minute.”
I could hear Judy’s footsteps and with every step I could hear the chaos in the background increase in volume.
“Jesus,” she whispered.
“What?” I said, also in a whisper.
“The damn thing almost decapitated the poor woman. It must have missed her by barely an inch.”
“Is she okay?” I felt frantic and responsible. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left.”
“She fainted, but I think she’s okay. And don’t be ridiculous. You have nothing to do with this. You have every right to go home for a family problem. We all understand.”
A chorus of screams came from a distance.
“What is it now?” I asked.
“Hang on.”
Her heels again clippety-clipped their way to the source of the sound. “Oh, Annette.”
“What?”
“Oh, my God.”
“What?!”
“Damn.”
“Judy!” I screeched.
“Only Annette.” Her voice was strange.
“Huh?”
“It says, only Annette.”
I shook my head and walked to the
edge of the terrace. She wasn’t making any sense. “Judy, please. Be more coherent or you’re going to drive me crazy.”
“Sweetie, the mirror in the dressing room; someone wrote on it in blood red lipstick.”
“Wrote what?”
“Only Annette.”
My head began spinning and I had to sit down. The Phantom didn’t like the other singers. I wasn’t too surprised by that considering what I’d witnessed with Marie. But he knew my name. He’d asked for me by name.
Despite the sun that beat down on me, my skin puckered with bumps as a chill ran through me.
“You still there?” Judy asked.
“Yeah,” I murmured.
“All the girls have left. And I have to admit, quite frankly, that I’m freaking out myself. This is weird stuff, even for the opera house.”
“The Phantom,” I said.
“Annette, I gotta go. I’m going to get out of here before anything else happens. I mean, what if the Phantom knows I’m on the phone with you?”
The line went dead before I could reply. It was just as well. There was nothing more to say.
The Phantom knew my name, wanted me to sing and was frightening everyone away.
My thoughts returned to Eric. My enigmatic Eric. From the very beginning his presence had been strange and unexpected. Dressed as though from another time. Even his pattern of speech had little place in modern day New York. His love of Kristine. His recognition of Aaron as an Aragon.
“My God,” I whispered. “Who are you Eric? What are you?”
The last weeks streamed through my head as I tried to put it all together. All the time I’d spent with him. All the strange emotions he managed to conjure up in me. He’d lured me in so easily. And despite his darkness and his propensity towards remaining elusive, he was the one, above Chace and above Aaron, I wanted to be with.
I sat on the bench that looked out onto the massive live oak in the backyard and stared at the eerie limbs that seemed to call out to me. Curling up on the bench, I remembered how, as a child, I’d been so fearful of that tree, of how the slightest breeze seemed to bring it to life.
Now, that same fear filled me and the thought of returning to New York left me feeling anxious and stressed.
Chapter 18
December 22nd, 2009
Dear Diary,
My return to the Met resembled my very first day in New York. The cab pulled up to the Met and I was once again impressed by the immensity of it all. However, this time, I knew exactly how to get where I wanted. I headed straight to the cast entrance and made my way backstage. The place was deserted, adding to the notion that the place was haunted by this mysterious phantom.
The chandelier still lay broken across the stage, sheets of music and lyrics were scattered everywhere and a shoe still stood center stage where last someone had tried to take my place.
Determined to make peace with this Phantom, with Eric, I walked to the edge of the stage and stared out and up to the last balcony.
I knew I wasn’t alone. Though every seat was vacant, though the lights that glared clearly showed an empty house, I knew I wasn’t alone. Whoever or whatever was out there filled the air with tension and animosity.
“I’m back. I’m Annette.” My voice came back to me loud and clear. “You can stop harassing my friends now.”
The chill in the room intensified and I knew the presence there had heard me. I could hear it, feel it and thought that if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to see it. Aside from the air getting colder still, I saw nothing. It came closer and my breath caught.
“Eric?” I said in a small, feeble voice. While I knew I had nothing to fear from him, I felt apprehensive and ready to run. Perhaps he’d respond to me better in my dressing room.
“Annette.”
I turned with a start at the sound of my name being hushed directly into my ear. My body tightened up and the blood drained from my face leaving me feeling lightheaded and in need of air.
The voice hadn’t been Eric’s; not at all. It had been that of a woman. I rushed off stage and headed to my dressing room. I was being choked, suffocated and I reached for my ruby cross to bring my breathing back to normal. I stumbled to the room, losing my balance and bumping off the doorjamb as I pushed the door open.
Macabre laughter followed me and I began to wonder if I was to suffer the same fate as Marie and Caroline. Was I mistaken in coming back to the Met? Was I going nuts?
Clutching my ruby cross in shaky fingers, I glanced back into the hallway, hoping to see the source of the loud steps I heard nipping at my heels. Nothing. No one. I was alone. The footsteps stopped and for a moment everything went silent. I held up my cross assuring it was visible and in plain sight. The air became damp and permeated with an odor of rot.
The cackling began anew and my dressing room door slammed in my face. Panic was building up and I knew that another minute of this would throw me over the edge.
Again the female voice, vile and dripping with century old hatred, whispered in my ear. “Annette.”
My senses left me as I turned to run. Blinded by fear I followed the way to the piano room where I’d first met Eric, running on automatic. Without thinking, my legs led me there, though I’d not consciously decided to go that way.
Breathing became difficult as the air thickened and cooled. The corridor was dimly lit and while the cackling continued to follow me, I felt a sense of cautiousness in the distance it maintained behind me. For whatever reason, it seemed no longer willing to remain at my side.
The piano room was only a few paces ahead and the air became notably warmer.
Just when I thought I’d perhaps shaken the vile laughter of the female phantom off me, I ran head long and hard, into something big and solid. My breath was pounded out of me by the blow and I barely managed a painful shriek of horror.
As I struggled to back away and get my footing, two large hands grabbed my arms and held me steady. I opened my mouth to scream.
“Annette.”
There was no mistaking his voice and looking up at him in the dim light I could just barely make out his features. The beautiful features I’d missed so terribly these past days. His strong jaw, sure and confident. The gleam in his eye, reassuring and with a touch of concern. Eric; my Eric.
I fell apart and began to weep. “Eric.” My breath shuddered through my chest as tears trickled down my face. I leaned into him, heavily relying on his hold to keep me up.
Effortlessly, he swept me off my feet and I buried my face in the crook of his arm. The panic and fear of the last few moments still controlled my breathing, but my body was slowly warming up to the sensations of Eric’s arms wrapped securely around me.
His footsteps resounded in the cavernous corridors as he made his way to his abode. As I clung to his jacket, I glimpse his visage in the passing light and was awed by the determination in his eyes.
Everything would be alright. Kristine. Aaron. The murder plot. Rupert. Then. Now. The Phantom. The revenge. None of that mattered now that I was with Eric.
We arrived at the elevator and just as the doors were about to close on the dark corridors, I heard a loud screech of anguish.
Eric seemed unmoved by the feminine wail and I wondered if he’d heard it at all.
Candles made the room glow with serenity and peace.
He made his way to the bedchamber and set me down on his bed. His fingers moved slowly as he opened my leather jacket and pulled it off my shoulders. I stared at him, watching the concentration in his eyes as he then reached for the hem of my sweater and slowly pulled it over my head.
I should have felt vulnerable and shy. Where were my scruples?
Vanished, I realized as I was overcome with a powerful sense of well being.
“Eric,” I whispered. I placed my hand on his cheek. “Are you really here? Are you just a ghost or are you really here?”
He stood to tear off his coat and peel off his shirt, then savagely reached for my hand an
d pressed it to his chest. Beneath the soft skin, the powerful muscles, I could feel it. His heart pounded against my hands. His entire body was the response to my question. He sat beside me, pressed his lips to mine and gently guided me down onto the bed, his body covering mine. My lips parted, eager to taste him, while my body felt a chaos of sensations.
When he placed his hand to my bare back, I gasped, the sensation was so raw, so intense.
“I’m real,” he whispered between kisses. The groan, from the depth of his soul, reverberated with passion and urgency. “I’m as real as any man you’ve ever seen, my sweet Annette.”
He pulled away and gazed into my eyes. My lips were aflame and my body raged. Don’t stop now, Eric. Don’t pull away from me now. I couldn’t bear it.
“I shall satisfy you like no man you’ve ever met.” He brought his fingers to my temple and tenderly pushed a strand of hair back. “You’ve no comprehension of the torture these past days have been; how black my days have become without you.”
“I’ve had to live my own torture,” I said. I barely recognized the sad voice that emanated from me. Until this moment I’d not realized, or had refused to accept just how empty my life had become without him.
He brought his mouth to my neck, and his lips and tongue began an intoxicating dance over my skin. I thrilled at the sensation, never wanting him to stop. My hands took on a journey over his shoulders, his back, his arms and up through his hair. I marveled at his strength, the pure masculinity of him.
And for all his strength, for all the power that raged through his solid arms and shoulders, his lips remained tender and soft as they made their way to the valley between my breasts.
My mind reeled. Don’t ever leave me, Eric, I silently begged. I knew I couldn’t bear to lose him again.
Chapter 19
Secure in Eric’s arm, I let go and completely relaxed. I knew no harm would come to me so long as he was at my side. As we lay together, our arms and legs intertwined, I caught the look of concern in his eyes.
