Chapter Twenty-four
Departure and Arrival
“Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life.” --Ann Landers
“Again!” Erik said angrily, shaking his head and folding his arms.
Alana looked away in frustration. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t sing this part of the song without making any mistakes. For once, Erik wasn’t helping; there was something strange about his presence today. He was unusually gloomy and had never been so cross with her during a lesson.
“Sing it again!” He commanded.
Suddenly irritated by his tone, she shot him an angry glance. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
He smirked. “I’m your teacher. What else am I supposed to do?”
“You could be a little nicer about it.”
He sighed. “You’re right. I…apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” Alana said, grinning slightly as she realized she’d won. Something was clearly bothering him though, and that troubled her.
“We’ve done enough for tonight, I suppose. Tomorrow, before we meet again for our lesson, I want you to keep practicing these songs vocally and on the piano. I hope you will give a better performance tomorrow evening, especially if you plan on singing in the choir here.”
His words stung a little, but she already knew she hadn’t done well at all. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I know I’ve disappointed you…but I couldn’t help it! There’s something off about you today…I could see it and it was making me nervous. What’s wrong?”
Erik sighed again. “I’ve had better days.”
“So have I.”
“What happened to you?” He looked concerned.
Alana wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him about what had happened between her and Damien. Or about the warning the Comte’s housekeeper had given her, and what she’d said about Erik having many enemies…that had been bothering her all day. “Nothing worth mentioning. But waiting for that letter from Madame Marguerite is eating me alive.” That had been bothering her as well. Whenever she had a spare moment, she paced the floor, willing it to come sooner. “Something’s eating at you, too. What is it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Erik said, unfolding his arms and looking at one of the stained glass windows with a pained expression on his face.
She knew that would be his response. She sighed. “It’s all right. I understand. But wait! I have something that might make you feel better! At least, I hope it does.” She took the little envelope from the stack of papers she had brought with her and handed it to Erik.
“What is it?” He asked, confused.
“Open it and see,” Alana said with a grin, hoping with all her heart that he would like what he found.
Erik opened the envelope and took out the invitation, scanning the page. “A ball?”
“Yes, to celebrate the Comte’s birthday.” As she spoke the words she saw his eyes darken mysteriously, and her heart sank. “Oh, please come. It will be so much fun. And it’s fancy dress, so you can come and wear your mask and everything will be all right! You’ll fit in perfectly.”
“I highly doubt that,” Erik said. “I’ve…I’ve never been to a ball before. At least, I‘ve never actually been invited to one.”
“Neither have I,” Alana confessed. “It would be something new for both of us.”
Erik looked over the invitation again and again. “I don’t even know how to dance, really,” he said miserably. “Not real dances like people do at balls. I’ll only make a fool of myself.”
“I don’t know how to dance, either.” Alana was determined to win him over. He was coming to the ball whether he liked it or not. It would be good for him. “We can learn. Or both make fools of ourselves,” she added with a laugh.
He looked up at her, his expression unreadable.
“Please,” she begged.
A sigh. “Very well.”
“Yes!” She exclaimed, beaming.
“But only if,” Erik said, holding up a finger, “You play and sing better tomorrow evening than you did tonight. If you pass my test, then I will accept the invitation, and get to work on our costumes for the ball.”
“Oh, will you?” Alana was so happy she felt she could burst. “Thank you so much! I didn’t think you would come! I’m so glad you are, and I’ll do better, I promise!”
He smiled slightly at her enthusiasm. “Good. You should run along now, Alana. It’s getting late, and I have something I must do before the night is over.”
They parted ways outside the church, and Alana quickly made her way across the street and into the house. When she reached her room, she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. It had been a long day and she was exhausted, but not too tired to dream.
All night long she dreamt of walking through a maze, with many different paths. She couldn’t find her way out, and at one point she realized that she didn’t even know what she was looking for anymore. Then she dreamt of scores and scores of letters, with thousands of different answers written upon them, and she didn’t know which ones were true and which were lies.
The letter came in the morning, and was waiting for Alana in front of her plate at breakfast. She sat down in her chair; a chill fell over the room as her aunt, uncle, and cousin looked at her expectantly.
“She’ll probably say that everything’s just fine back in Détente,” Cerise said nervously in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence, but she was promptly hushed by her mother.
Alana took a deep breath and tore open the envelope, unfolding the piece of paper and daring to read the words.
Dear Alana: Words cannot express how happy I am for you; leaving Detente was the right choice, though Jean-Paul and the customers and I already miss you terribly. I pray you are safe and happy in Paris, and it breaks my heart that I must bring you this terrible news. Your father Andre's temper seems to have worsened in your absence , and though we tried to spread the news to everyone that no alcohol should be given or sold to him, Monsieur Silvain, not surprisingly, was more than happy to exchange some whiskey for your father's money. But your father soon ran out of money, and chaos ensued when Silvain tried to remove him from the establishment. Silvain is now at home in bed with a broken arm, twisted ankle, and two black eyes. Several other bar visitors left with injuries as well. I regret to inform you that your father is now being held in the town jail, and has been extremely uncooperative with the police. If you want to see your father freed, you, and the relatives you're staying with, must come to Detente and figure out what should be done, the sooner the better. Meanwhile, Jean-Paul and I are keeping you and Andre in your prayers.
Godspeed,
Marguerite.
“Well? What does it say?” Raimond asked, looking uneasy.
Alana’s stomach was turning wildly. She felt she was going to be sick. She couldn’t find the words to speak, so she handed the letter over to her uncle, who read it quickly.
He shook his head sadly. “Oh, Andre.”
“What is it?” Amelie asked.
“He’s been thrown in jail,” he said, handing the letter to his wife. “Read and see.” Cerise leaned closer, reading over her mother’s shoulder.
“Oh no,” Alana’s aunt said, bringing up her hand to cover her mouth. “This is terrible!”
“We must leave immediately for Détente,” said her uncle.
“But what about Sunday’s sermon? What if you’re not back in time?” Am interjected.
“One of the elders can speak in my place,” Raimond said. “We have to fix this.”
“But what can we do?” Alana asked, despairingly. “Is there any way we can help him?”
“Of course,” he said. “There’s always hope. Now, everyone, finish your breakfast, quickly. We’ll start packing as soon as we’re done here.”
Alana picked at the eggs on her plate. All of a sudden they seemed absolutely repulsive. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“Please try,” her uncle urged. “You’re going to need all the strength you can get.”
He was right about that. Alana forced the food down her throat, trying not to gag. The contents of the letter were exactly what she had feared. It seemed like God was playing a cruel joke on her; surely this couldn’t be happening. Her father…in prison.
He needed her. Now more than ever. She couldn’t abandon him. She finished her breakfast in a hurry and ran upstairs to pack what little she had for the journey back home, though it didn’t really feel like home anymore. Suddenly her thoughts went to Erik. She couldn’t just disappear without telling him where she’d gone. Quickly, she took a pen to paper and scrawled a note to him describing what had happened. She left the note hanging on a loose nail on the church doors, desperately wishing he could come as well, but knowing there was no time to hunt him down now.
Soon everyone was packed and ready, and they loaded the small carriage and hitched up the horse. They set off on the long drive to Détente, the sun invisible beyond the unmoving layers of gray clouds.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Erik tore the note off the door and read the words Alana had written. She’d gone after her father…if they got him out of prison, what would happen? What if he tried to hurt her again? The thought gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wished he could have gone with her, but at least she wouldn’t be alone. She had her aunt and uncle and cousin with her.
He looked up at the moon, dark clouds drifting past it. Where was his family? Surely he had to have had cousins, aunts, uncles, perhaps even grandparents, out there somewhere…but he hadn’t met a single one of them. Not even his own father. He wondered if they even knew he
Erik folded Alana’s note and put it in one of his pockets, sending a silent prayer up to Heaven for her. Maybe the almighty God didn’t care about him, but He would surely care for someone like Alana.
He hurried into the nearest alleyway at the sound of soldiers’ voices and horses’ hooves coming down the dark street, and once they had passed, he made his way to the Vicomte de Chagny’s…to Christine’s.
When he stood in front of the giant iron fence that surrounded their home like prison walls, he could feel his heart racing. Erik couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so anxious, but there was so much riding on what happened tonight.
He clenched his fists and stared determinedly at the iron gate. These walls couldn’t keep him out. They couldn’t keep Christine in either.
What are you even afraid of? a voice in his head asked him. You’re the Phantom. You always get what you want.
Self-doubt nagged at him, but he pushed the thoughts back. He was intelligent, he was strong, and he was confident. He had no reason to fear; he believed in himself. He would succeed.
Tonight would be the night he got his life back.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Christine lay in the enormous bed alone, tossing and turning. Raoul was out late again, probably talking or drinking with Damien as he often did. If he didn’t come home soon, he might not come home at all. She’d be all right, but the mansion did seem so large and empty without him there. Lonely. Eventually she gave up sleep and put on her dressing gown.
She went down the hall to the room where she’d stayed before she and Raoul were married. Christine had been spending a lot of time there lately, especially those many nights when she couldn’t sleep.
The room had a balcony overlooking the gardens, but what would have been a stunning view was marred by the ugliness of the iron fence. Raoul had had it put up shortly after they’d been married to keep out intruders, he’d said. Though from the beginning she knew it was more specific than that.
She knew who he wanted to keep out.
When she entered the room, her gaze immediately fell on the rose that lay on the end table by the French doors leading outside. She’d found it out on the balcony last night, with black ribbon tied around the stem, which was carefully trimmed of thorns so she wouldn’t cut her fingers when she held it.
She knew who had left it there.
He had left a little love letter with the rose as well; the thought of him both terrified her and thrilled her.
Christine knelt on the floor by the bed and pulled out a large box from beneath it. She took a deep breath, and opened it. There, inside, was her wedding dress.
Not the one with the incredibly long train, a dress studded with diamonds, so expensive it could have fed some poor village full of starving children for months. The one she’d worn for her wedding. She’d loved that dress. But this one was different. It was simpler, but just as beautiful, she thought. It had been made just for her.
A chill went up her spine as she looked at the gown. Just thinking about it, and the one who had made it, was unnerving, and yet…she loved this dress. She took it out of its box and rose to her feet, holding the dress up to herself in the mirror. Raoul thought she’d gotten rid of it long ago, but she’d had it cleaned and hidden under the bed in her old room. For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to part with it.
As she looked at the gown, she had a sudden urge to put it on, and she didn’t know why. I’ll just put it on for a moment…I’ve forgotten how it looks on me, she told herself.
Moments later, as she gazed at her white-clad reflection in the mirror, her mind was flooded with memories. When she’d first seen the dress, when she’d finally worn it. They weren’t good memories, and yet she felt a pang of sadness as she recalled the days and nights of her old life.
I’m happy now, Christine willed herself to believe. I have everything I ever wanted.
Or did she?
She pushed back sudden tears she didn’t quite understand. She didn’t know what she wanted…she‘d never known.
Christine turned to glance out the window, and her heart stopped. She backed up a few steps, a gasp escaping from her lips as she brought her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.
There was someone out on the balcony.