Hello there! This is the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story from the beginning and to all my new readers! I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I loved writing it.
Erik
"...And the Phantom swept down from the rafters to join Lady Christine onstage. His black cape flared large behind him, frightening everyone in sight—except Christine, who knew not to be afraid."
Bedtime. My two children listened to my story, enraptured. I sat on Marius' bed, little boy perched on my knee. Aria lay on her bed a few feet away.
"The evil Count Randall shouted, "Don't let them get away!" and pursued the couple into the cellars under the opera house. The Phantom told Christine, "Go, save yourself. I'll hold him off." But she didn't listen. Thinking quickly, she led the count to a passage that ended in a sewer pit. She and the Phantom hid behind his cape, blending into the shadows. Like... this!"
I covered Marius with my cape, and he burst into giggles.
I freed him after a few seconds and continued the story. "The count, oblivious to his peril, rounded the corner at full speed—"
"And he fell!" interrupted Marius.
"Shhh!" scolded Aria. "He did fall, right Papa?"
"Yes," I said. "The evil count fell into the sewer, defeated by Christine's cunning."
"Did they live happily ever after?" Aria asked, forgetting her insistence on quiet in her excitement.
"The Phantom whisked Lady Christine away, and the two of them were married. And they lived happily ever after."
Marius crawled off my lap.
I kissed his head and tucked him in.
"Papa?" asked Aria, her deep chocolate eyes fixed on me hopefully. "Can I have a cape like yours?"
"Why do you want a cape, darling?"
She set her chin and met my eyes resolutely, reminding me of Christine. "I have to be menencing," she said. "Maman says it makes you look menencing."
I laughed. "I think she said 'menacing,' and I don't think she intended it as a compliment." I watched her struggle with this new knowledge, and then I added, "Though perhaps you wish to be frightening like the Phantom?"
She nodded, looking about as frightening as a newborn bunny.
I kissed her on the forehead. "Then we shall acquire you a cape." She smiled at me, and I knew that if she had asked for all the treasures of the world, I would have found them and laid them at her feet. But a cape was easy enough.
Two days later I had procured it—a child-sized black cloak resembling my own, modified from a regular one by a tailor in town.
She stormed proudly around the house, startling then amusing Christine.
"Come here, little bat," she said. "It's time to get dressed for dinner."
"I'm not a bat," said Aria, twirling. "I'm the Phantom of the Opera!"
Christine caught me watching her and rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile.
I could never have predicted my current joyous circumstances. Before Christine, my life was a dismal, unpaved road to nowhere. Now, the future shone like a brilliant beacon of light, hopeful and promising.
No longer did I sleep in a coffin. Love had seeped into my rotted bones and made them new. No longer did I need a mask. I had nothing to fear and nothing to hide.
This was heaven, and I was a fallen angel redeemed.
...
Christine
When we first got married, Erik only took off his mask when he was alone or with me; the rest of the time, he preferred to keep it on. However, as he grew increasingly comfortable around Jeanette and the children, he took to wearing it less and less. Nowadays, if he never left the house, he may have gone whole days without donning it once.
He left the house more, too. Brief outings as necessity demanded evolved into lengthy excursions. We took strolls on Sundays as a family. He escorted me to fashionable restaurants. And every so often he even braved taverns alone to drink or play cards—a thing that years ago I would've never believed possible.
Of course, his ventures outside were always accompanied by stares and whispers, but with enormous self-restraint he ignored them. Dressed to the nines, well-mannered, and generous with his tips, he quickly assuaged whatever fears most servers had.
One evening, we were preparing for an outing when I noticed Erik staring into our bedroom mirror.
I left my vanity and joined him.
"Look at us, Christine," he said.
I did. Erik was tall and slim. A watch chain hung from his waistcoat pocket, and his eyes were as dark as his jacket. My white and peach dress complemented his attire. "We are beautiful," I proclaimed.
"You certainly are. But I?"
"I think you look dashing."
He chuckled. "Five years ago I would have dismissed that in an instant. Adored you for saying so, but dismissed it."
I hoped he had come to believe me. "And now?"
He appraised our reflections in the mirror again then returned his attention to me. "Now I think perhaps there is an element of truth to what you say. I may not be conventionally handsome, but I do have a certain charisma that could be perceived as attractive."
I tried and failed to suppress a grin. He was so ridiculous, and I loved him.
"You are laughing at me," he observed.
I put my hands on either side of his face. "I adore you," I said.
He bent down and kissed me once, decisively. "I adore you too."
...
Aria held my right hand and Marius held my left. We walked together through the backstage halls of the opera house, the children gaping at the sights around them.
Meg had let us in so I could reminisce and the kids could see where I had briefly worked. I sought something I couldn't name—closure?
A few stagehands whirled past us, cleaning up for the day, but I ignored them and continued calmly to my destination. Caught up in my musings, I barely registered their movements.
I halted at the door to the prima donna dressing room. Taking a deep breath, I eased open the door.
Meg had assured me that the room would be empty, and she spoke true. Though the room smelled of a different perfume than in my time, it was remarkably unchanged. Glittering dust hung in the air. A changing screen stood in the corner, and a dresser and vanity occupied another. And there, directly across from me, rested an ornate, golden, floor-length mirror.
My children released my hands to explore, and I moved toward the mirror.
I still had no idea how I had come to be here, or why, but I thanked for the thousandth time whatever force made it possible. I loved my new family and friends. I didn't regret for a second leaving my old world behind.
I wouldn't have recognized the angsty college girl I had been; she seemed so far removed from my current circumstances. Looking in the mirror, I saw a different person entirely.
"Aria, dear," I said, "would you hand me the rose?"
I'd given it to her to carry, but now she handed it back.
I thanked her and set the rose in front of the mirror with an air of finality. It seemed fitting somehow. "Thank you," I whispered to the mirror. Thank you for my children and my friends and Erik. Thank you for the chance to live this life.
Peace.
"Come along, children," I said. It was time to go home.
As we hung up our coats in the entry hall, Jeanette informed me that Erik was out having a drink with someone.
"Did he say who?"
"No, madame," said Jeanette.
That was odd. He rarely left the house without some sort of explanation. I put the children to bed, promising that they would see Erik in the morning, then went to the parlor to wait up for him.
I didn't have to wait long. My curiosity peaked as I heard the door open and shut.
Erik exchanged a few words with Jeanette that I didn't catch, then he entered the parlor and closed the door behind him. Barely-suppressed excitement colored every feature.
I sat up, eager for an explanation.
"Christine," Erik said. "I apologize for the sporadic behavior, but I do have an excuse. I met a gentleman the other day—one I had never encountered before but who intrigued me immensely. I arranged to see him again tonight. I found him terribly interesting and thought you would too, so I invited him to meet you. Forgive me. He is waiting outside."
This was extremely out of character. Erik did not make friends in a few nights then bring them back to meet me. "What's his name?"
"Ah," Erik said, "that is the interesting thing. His name is Gaston Leroux."
My jaw dropped. The author of The Phantom of the Opera was here, in our house? "But how..."
Erik shrugged, smiling at my stupefied expression. "I don't know. He doesn't appear to have known of me before I introduced myself. I do not think we should tell him about your adventures through time, at least not yet."
That seemed logical. "Agreed."
"May I let him in?"
"Absolutely." I readied myself as best as I could.
Erik opened the door, and Leroux stepped into the room. He had a square face and stern eyebrows. He wore a mustache and spectacles and looked so much like his portrait in the back of his book that I had no doubts as to his identity.
Neither Erik nor I had touched the book in years. It was collecting dust in the back of a drawer. But now, impossibly, its author stood in front of me.
"How do you do, madame?" Leroux said to me, bowing slightly.
I nodded, speechless.
"I confess this is an unexpected visit," he said. "It is not my habit to barge in on new acquaintances at this hour, but your husband was very persuasive."
I found my voice. "We are honored to have you here, monsieur. Please, have a seat."
Erik sat next to me, and Leroux across from us. Jeanette brought a bottle of Cognac and Erik poured himself and our guest a glass.
"I admit I was intrigued the first time I saw you," Leroux told Erik, "and even more so when you introduced yourself to me. You hardly seemed the social type."
"You guessed correctly," Erik said, "but I had heard of you and was eager to meet you."
Leroux sat up a little, excited to have found a fan. "Oh, you've read my articles in the papers?"
"Yes," Erik lied. "All very...well written."
"Tell me," I interrupted, "do you write fiction at all, or just articles? I confess I have not read much of your work."
Leroux leaned back in his chair, becoming more comfortable as the conversation settled on his writing. "A few pieces of fiction. But I'm still searching for that singular, great idea. I need inspiration. Something unique."
Erik and I exchanged glances.
"What about you?" Leroux joked to Erik, taking a drink. "You are a curious sort of fellow. I'm sure you would make a good story."
Well, it just so happened...
"Actually," I said, not able to help myself, "our tale is rather interesting. I was a chorus girl in the Paris Opera. Erik fell in love with me, so he posed as a ghost to give me singing lessons and persuade the management to make me prima donna."
Both men stared at me.
Leroux abandoned his drink and pulled out a notebook. "Didn't I read something years back about an opera ghost kidnapping a singing girl?"
We were silent.
A grin spread over his features. "This is extraordinary! What else happened?"
"Well," I said, "I was courted by Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny."
Leroux nearly fell out of his seat. "Don't worry about me turning you in or anything of the sort," he assured us. "I haven't been this excited in years! There is a story here; I could sense it the first time I met Erik. Incredible individual."
"Indeed," I said. This was all happening so fast, but there was no point in stopping now. "He is talented and intelligent beyond anything I have ever seen. But with that mask...such mystery. It almost seems like he would make a better villain."
Erik fought back a smile while Leroux stared at me with a look of intense concentration. "Of course, I would have to take artistic liberties, spice the thing up..."
"We would be happy to give you ideas or information if you wanted them," I said.
"Capital!" exclaimed Leroux. He stood up, and we followed suit. He shook first Erik's hand then mine saying, "With your permission and assistance, I should very much like to author a story based loosely on your life."
You would think I'd be used to strangeness by now, but this topped everything. Could we really be planning a book with Gaston Leroux himself? Could this meeting have been the reason for it all?
"I would need to visit with you both on other occasions," Leroux said. "I have taken up enough of your time tonight."
"You are always welcome," Erik told him.
I added, "And a story sounds like a wonderful idea."
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