Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Eleven.

ERIK:

Ah, Christine. What a triumph! Though Madame could be the most stubborn woman I have ever know, I thanked her appropriately for throwing Christine just in time. Tonight, she would sing Marguerite and my work would be complete. I would share in her glory and hopefully these new managers would leave me in peace at box five. They had yet to know of my existence in the opera, but I was sure either Debienne or Poligny would tell them where to avoid.

After locking the door, and with the skeleton key in my pocket, I headed for Christine's new dressing room - or more precisely, the mirror which in actuality was a glass door. Before I could even touch the steps, however, the daroga interrupted me, "Ah, daroga," I stood in place and he only stared at me as if I was the most daft individual he had ever met, "Come to belittle me again, my old friend?"

"I was only wondering about the girl."

A deep sigh cleared my chest, but not my mind. The daroga was in the way and I would have to move him along some how, "Daroga, I would not lay a hand on her. Any man who would dare to lay a hand on a sweet angel like that deserves punishment."

"Of course," he stroked his black, scruffy facial hair and I turned my head up to look at the trapdoor leading to the backstage area, "You will be attending her performance, I presume?"

"Well, yes, daroga. It is quite the triumph for both her and me."

"Alright, then. I'll leave you be, Erik. Just don't do anything idiotic."

"Everything I do is based on precise planning, daroga. So far there have been no accidents."

"Yes. Keep it that way, my friend."

I waited until I was sure the daroga had moved on. There was no possible way he could view me with the direction he was going in. I went through each inclined passage and up the large staircase until I reached the glass door. It was my design from the torture chamber within my home - a double-sided glass that acted as a mirror on her side and a window on mine.

The door to her dressing room had been a-jarred and that was left to do was wait for her. I looked to the left, where a large lever could be pulled down that would open the glass door, but that was for later. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw movement and turned to the dressing room to see Christine enter. She shut the door and explored her new place happily. It made me glad that she liked the fashion of it all, for that meant she would enjoy the space I had for her underground.

Before she could reach the mirror, I called out to her, "Rest, my child. Rest with ease."

She shivered at my voice and I relished in the pure power I had over her, "Oh, my angel. There is not a voice in the whole world I would rather hear."

"I am honored, my child. But tonight, I believe it is you who should feel the most proud."

"I am proud," she sighed before continuing, "My first performance is in thirty minutes, angel. I will do you well."

"I know you will. Good luck, my child. I fully believe in you."

"Thank you, my angel."

It mandatory in my mind to be the one of the first seated, so I went in the way that the daroga had gone. The passage led straight to the boxes and I arrived just in time to avoid any confrontation. Ayesha already laid on her ottoman and I sank into chair, grazing over the stage. The orchestra began with the overture and Faust was starting.

I could hear conversation about the ghost and focused carefully on every word. The attendant was speaking to Monsieur Moncharmin, "You cannot go in there, Monsieur. Bad things happen to those who visit box five without the ghosts permission."

"Ghost, hoax. Please step aside."

I became still, waiting for any possible reaction. In complete silence, I heard him shut the door to the box and run off to the attendant, "My God!"

"I told you, Monsieur."

I wanted to laugh, but Christine would be going on at any moment. The jewel aria was directly after this ballet. And, indeed, the ballet ended with gentle applause. Then, the moment I was waiting for, my lovely Christine arrived on stage dressed in the costume of Marguerite. The brass blared and she began, her voice bleeding through beautifully. As soon as she picked up the casket of jewels, the orchestra played through the interlude and I awaited the part of the aria we worked so hard at mastering.

She began with a soft coloratura vibrato and the triumph I felt then compared to nothing. She was beautiful, her voice was majestic and the shock on the audience members faces was priceless. When she hit the B5, my heart just about speed and then she finished down to C. The whole song was too lovely.

I plucked a faux rose from my vest and tied it with a strip of black. It would lay on the awning of the box until it was collected, but she deserved so much more. She deserved a garden of flowers over what I gave her. She deserved to be showered in praise and affection.

Then, it was intermission and I climbed up the side of the box and up to the catwalks. The way I traveled would be a quicker way to the glass door.