Beneath the Porcelain Mask

42. I am Don Juan Triumphant

"Pardon me, excuse us, yes, can we get through? Oh, I beg your pardon sir, was that your foot?" I ignored the gentleman's pained seething and dragged Jeremy further into the row.

"Full house," he noted, a slight air of sadness in his voice as he glanced around the auditorium. His eyes sparkled in the light of the lamps, and over our heads, the great chandelier chimed with the vibrations of voices. "They'll be excited in the scenery department, probably planning their after-show drinks or wishing each other well for the new performance."

The reminiscent gleams in his eyes dulled as they met me, replaced with the usual tenderness and soft smile.

"Uncle Jean promised to send a man to fetch Nevel home tomorrow."

I frowned at him for that. Jeremy, despite having worked with that horse for so long, despite all the good and bad times they'd shared over the years, did not own Nevel, I knew that much. He must have noticed my confusion even with my polished silver mask hiding my expression because he added:

"I'm going to buy him, Nikki! Marius gave me the money for a deposit! Isn't that wonderful?"

I grinned, squeezing his hand as the lights dimmed slightly and a round of applause for the conductor went up. But despite my smiles, I fiddled with my dress. The sight of Jeremy and Raoul at the police station earlier had set a stiffness in my shoulders that hadn't eased in the twelve hours since I'd witnessed it. Neither did the memory of Erik pinning me against the wall, a wicked cackle in his throat as he threatened further involvement with tonight than simply composing the score, make me feel any better. I squeezed Jeremy's hand again, soothed only when he smiled back.

Choruses of muffled chuckles and scoffs, mingled with admiring sighs and little squeals of delight arose from the audience as Christine appeared on stage in a dress no one but Erik could have designed. But regardless of their opinions of her, of her engagement to Raoul, of her lessons with a murderer, she focused on the very back of the theatre, as if the hundreds of people were not even there, and opened her mouth.

The sound that filled the Opera House was nothing short of ethereal, as if an angel truly had given her heaven's song. It was a sound that silenced every scoff, fixed every wandering eye on her. Christine danced around the stage, her years as a ballerina taken into consideration, and knelt by a treasure chest. I didn't fail to notice the reference to my favourite opera.

Unlike the captivated opera-goers, I'd heard the score a thousand times through various revisions and my gaze trailed to the Vicomte in Box Five, who sipped his champagne with a proud smile. Once, the sight had stirred a rush of anger in me. Now, I couldn't care less.

It was the moving shadow in the background that caught my attention once more. Murmurs arose around me, talk of music teachers and murderers. I gritted my teeth and kept my eyes on the oblivious Aminta, to whom Christine gave all the grace I'd imagined the young woman might have possessed when I'd helped revise the scene. Her words flowed like a stream of innocence, not realising the attention she was receiving for such naivety. In a way, Christine was the only person who could truly satisfy the role.

Jeremy shifted uncomfortably as Erik emerged from the shadows, mirroring a number of Christine's stage directions behind her with his own words of awe and desire.

"I'm not so sure you should be watching this sort of thing," he stammered under his breath to me. I couldn't help but give a cocky grin.

"That's not what you said last night."

Behind us, a gentleman's eyes went wide. I made a point of playing with Jeremy's hair, showing off my 'wedding' ring.

Christine gave a gasp of surprise as a hand snaked down across her chest, and turned. Erik pulled away and shot offstage. I frowned; Don Juan should have swirled his cape through the air with a cry of lust and determination to win Aminta over and disappeared stage right for a scene or two, but that hand part hadn't been in the script. A last minute revision? I shuddered.

Jeremy had turned a deep shade of crimson. I comforted myself with the thought of another train journey and the wedding and sat back in my seat. It would all be over soon enough.

~•~•~•~■~•~•~•~

So it was, that on the night of Don Juan Triumphant, Erik sang his heart out. His voice alone sent rushes of ecstasy to the women sitting around me, and not even their husbands could protest. But Jeremy sat with tense shoulders, constantly glancing around or biting his nails. Once or twice, his gaze would lift to Raoul and I'd catch them glancing at each other at certain times in the show. More than a few times, Christine would seek me out in the audience, looking as if she was begging for something I couldn't understand or provide, but Erik would be at her side in moments, touching, singing, luring, and once more, she was Aminta.

"What are you doing?" I hissed as Jeremy stood from his seat and edged out to the aisle with muttered apologies to the rest of the theatregoers. I tried to catch his hand, but he moved too quickly, not looking back but walking calmly down the aisle to the side of an officer in the middle of the auditorium. I chewed my lip.

Erik sang on, his proud, strong voice booming around the auditorium, so sensuous it would make even Don Juan quiver. Christine tried not to grimace as she fought the trance he was putting her in, but the creeping of his fingers over her shoulder snatched her breath away and her eyes closed at his words.

I glanced back at Jeremy, whose hissed conversation with the gendarme I couldn't hear from my seat.

"Aminta!" Erik sang, "The angels weep in ecstasy! Hark, we shall away to—"

With one deft flick of her hand, Christine ripped his mask off. I couldn't help but gasp. The crowd was silent for a split second.

Then, it happened. The place erupted into deafening screams of disgust, and everyone around me turned their faces away or shielded their eyes from the repulsive sight, the face that was not even a face. After all, what face has no nose and no eyebrows, or cheekbones that protrude alarmingly, with skin covered in bumps, folds and scars?

I stood from my seat uselessly, unable to get to the aisle with everyone panicking. The woman beside me was violently sick all over her dark dress. Another in the row ahead screamed until she went hoarse and fainted in her husband's arms.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy struggling with the guard, wrestling something from him. Erik spotted me at last, his shadowed, sunken eyes wide, and followed my gaze.

Jeremy took careful aim, a steely look in his eyes. Erik ducked as the shot went over his head and splintered the set behind him.

"Shoot to kill!" someone cried. "Shoot to kill, men! Fire!"

A volley of shots rang out from all directions, accompanied by hundreds of horrified screams. I barely caught sight of the gendarmes hiding in the boxes and gallery, filling the auditorium with gunshots, before a surge of people desperate to escape almost trampled me. I jumped onto my seat. Erik scurried across the stage to Christine with a ferocious bark of rage, where she was making a break for the wings. He made to catch her, his fingers so close to her arm and yet—

Jeremy fired the pistol again.

Blood splattered the stage. Erik gave a scream of pain and clutched his arm. He fixed his fiery glare upon Jeremy, amber cinders suddenly ignited into a raging blaze. Christine's steps faltered in horror, a tragic mistake.

Grabbing her in one hand and his sword in the other, Erik fled with a cry of anger as more gunshots followed him off-stage, leaving thick drops of blood on the sets. The torrent of people swallowed Jeremy up.

"Shoot him!" Raoul screamed, jumping about in Box Five. "Shoot him! And watch out for Christine!"

I struggled against the crowd, fighting to get to the aisle. With my heart in my throat, the screams of hundreds of people in my ears and Jeremy out of sight, I couldn't help but panic. Another chorus of raised voices arose and fingers pointed to the ceiling. I followed their direction. That was the moment my world stopped.

The chandelier was coming down.