If he’d been anyone else, I would have strangled him for the remark, but considering he had indeed made it possible for me to be here and with Christine, I only scowled and ordered, “Get out. I’m done with this visit.”
“Well, I’m not.” The daroga took his previous seat on my couch, and unless I was to heave him out the door, I had no choice but to join him, dropping my heavy limbs into my chair and glaring unsuccessfully. “I’m actually not here to argue and judge your life, Erik. I…need your help.”
“You sought me halfway across the world for help?”
“I had no other option,” the daroga reported with a solemnity that I quieted to observe, only then noting the tenseness in his small shoulders, the age lines about his features, the weight of dread. “The shah…he knows I was the one to betray him and help you escape all those years back.”
I scoffed in annoyance. “So he never gave up his quest for a scapegoat?”
“No, of course not. You were too valuable to him, Erik. When you were on his good side, helping him murder, he saw you as ally. Then you betrayed him and were set for execution for your folly, and he always knew one of his men had to have been involved in your escape. You weren’t magician enough to poof out of his dungeon. He finally figured out that it was me, and never mind the loyalty I’ve shown since your exit from the kingdom…” He paused, and his desolation was etched into his frown as he revealed, “The shah has my wife and infant son locked in his jail. He says he will keep them as prisoners until I bring you back to fill their place.”
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. “And your platform to capture me into your clutches was to tell me the truth? How unoriginal! You forget that I don’t know your so-called wife or child. Why should I care to help you by putting myself back in the shah’s custody?”
“Because you owe me. I risked everything to save you. And because I’m not asking for your surrender; I’m asking for your help to free them without the shah’s knowledge. You know the inner tunnels of the palace, the secret paths in and out. You built them! You could help me save my family and yourself!”
My mind flashed images of Christine. Her debut was about to be ours, and her heart was so close to my reach… “I can’t go to Persia with you, daroga. I have responsibilities here.”
“You have responsibilities to me as well,” he countered and pleaded his desperation in his dark stare. “Is this about the girl? Because if she knows nothing of you, Erik, then you are deluding yourself to claim real love. My wife knows me and every flaw I possess and loves me still, and now she suffers for that love and because of you. Reality is more important than the fantasies you’ve built in your head.”
“Christine will love me,” I stated with conviction. “You don’t know us, daroga. You don’t know the hope she’s given me.”
“Will love you?” he repeated doubtfully. “And if she doesn’t? If you tell her that you were once a murderer for the shah of Persia, that you have traps all over your underground kingdom to kill for you, that you hurt anyone who doesn’t play by your rules, will she still love you? Will you force love upon her if she refuses? You’re right, Erik; your face shouldn’t matter, but your past does. And until she knows the truth, your little Christine can’t truly love you.” Rising with a huff, he concluded, “Tell her, Erik. Tell her everything. If she loves you as you wish, then she will understand why you must help me and return to Persia. You need to fix your mistakes and atone for your soul. She will agree and wait for your return if she can love you through your truth.”
“Damn you,” I hissed. “I need not listen to a word you say. I may have owed you something a lifetime ago, but I don’t now. And so help me God, if you put any thoughts in Christine’s head, if you even speak to her, I’ll renege our so-called acquaintanceship and you will end like that deviant stagehand in the passages. Show yourself out, daroga. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
He hesitated one last breath and replied, “You know the right thing to do, Erik. Somewhere beneath all of that arrogance, you have a conscience. It’s what convinced you to leave the shah’s service, and it still exists now. You like to pretend you are unfeeling, but that is the greatest lie of all. Tell your Christine the truth and see how she handles it, and then…I beg of you, help me save my family.”
There were tears in his dark gaze, but he left my house without another pleading, and thank God for that! I was struck too deep. I knew the daroga; I knew he was a good man with an honorable soul, and as much as I wanted to be unmoved by his plight, it hit me violently. What if that were Christine in the shah’s dungeons? My love taken away…
How this night had spiraled out of control I didn’t know! It had gone from such hope to such despair in less than an hour. Now I had a dead body in my care and a loyalty I didn’t like in my heart, and I hung my head in my hands and wondered what I was going to do.
Chapter Eight
Christine~
From the moment I entered the theatre, I knew something was amiss. Whispers all around between cast and crew, among the ballerinas, the chorus, filling every direction like a low hum.
Ducking beneath the drone and delving into its cloud, I searched for Meg and found her frantically exchanging gossip in a group. As soon as she saw me, she deserted the throng and caught my arm, pulling me into our own little chatter bubble.
“What’s happened?” I asked, still glancing about at stunned expressions and somber solemnity.
“Joseph Buquet is missing. The managers refuse to say more, but we all know it was the ghost!”
“Ghost…” I shook a doubtful head. “Ghosts don’t exist, Meg. It’s ridiculous!”
“Christine, hush! If he hears you-”
“I will go missing as well?” I finished for her and shook my head again. “Everyone is so keen to pin crimes on a figment of imagination and ignore that something sinister and evil could be the cause. There could be an abuser within the very cast or crew, and no one ventures for reality when the ghost is the more entertaining conclusion.”
“Someone in the cast or crew? That’s…slander, Christine. You’re making accusations.”
“As you do for a ghost,” I insisted and would not back down. Always the ghost, and I refused to listen. The last time I’d hurt Erik with my doubts. I would not let that happen again and put credence to cries of ‘Opera Ghost’. If Buquet disappeared, there were many more reasons than a crime of Erik’s doing.
Meg was upset with my confrontation, and her green eyes shown with hurt as she replied, “Sometimes believing is reality, and if you can’t see it, then you’re going to get yourself into trouble. Ghosts do exist, Christine, and they are more dangerous than anyone ever suspects.”
That was all she said, abandoning me for her more naïve friends ready to regard every tale of the Opera Ghost with wholehearted faith. As I surveyed the many others on edge and anxious as if anticipating ghosts to fly in overhead, I considered at least asking Erik about the disappearance. Not accusing, never accusing again. But a solitary inquiry couldn’t hurt…
Rehearsal was relatively quiet and somber…like we were already a theatre in mourning, and after the main cast was released for the day, the ballerinas were kept and berated a little longer for our lackluster portrayal. It was expected; what wasn’t expected was a summons from my managers.
“Mademoiselle Daaé?” Monsieur Firmin called and received a perturbed glare from Madame Giry to be interrupted mid-scolding.
I lifted nervous eyes to her, but though she scowled, she waved me away with Firmin without spoken protest. …Insult would have been her retaliation, but it was uttered in stare alone as we left.
Firmin gave nothing away until we entered his office where his partner, Monsieur Andre, waited with an apprehensive expression. My stomach knotted at such attention as I devised every possible reason for such a summons. Every one was unpleasant. …Could they know I was taking lessons with their own elusive Opera Ghost?
“Mademoiselle Daaé, is it?” And
re questioned, and I gave a dutiful nod, not trusting my voice. “Well, mademoiselle, we are taking you out of the corps de ballet.”
A gasp tore from my lungs, and without a thought, I dropped propriety and begged without shame. “Please, messieurs. I will do better; I promise. Don’t cast me out.”
“No, no,” Andre bid with defenselessly raised hands. “Not cast out, mademoiselle. We have…another task for you.” He cringed his distaste, and I assumed he was delaying bad news. “We need you to fill La Carlotta’s role.”
“W…what?” I was sure I’d heard him wrong, gaping with wide eyes while my brain replayed his words and could find no suitable variation. What name sounded similar to La Carlotta without being La Carlotta? Because if I’d heard correctly, then that meant… “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do we,” Andre admitted, looking me up and down with a sneer of disdain.
“Andre, …at least be polite to the girl,” Firmin scolded and shifted focus to me with a sugarcoated smile I did not believe for an instant. “There was a little accident in La Carlotta’s dressing room. As she changed her costume, her rather large and ornate mirror fell on her. We can’t say how such a tragedy could have happened. It is not in our interest to run an environment without proper safety, but La Carlotta was so startled that she refuses to perform.”
“Is she…all right?” I spoke but hardly realized my own words as my mind processed every detail in a whirlwind.
“A few cuts and bruises, nothing severe,” Andre reported, “but the Gala night performance is two days away, and without anyone to sing her role, we are ruined. Every ticket is sold, every seat filled, and it is too late to cancel.”
Gala night… I couldn’t reason anything and tripped mercilessly over every letter past my lips. “And…you are asking me to sing her role?”
“We were told you knew it,” Firmin insisted. “Do you, mademoiselle?”
“Y…yes, but-”
“Done then! You will sing!” Andre exclaimed without ever asking me.
“Wait, Andre,” Firmin spoke up. “Shouldn’t we at least hear her sing first? What if she isn’t…any good?”
He seemed to seek a courteous way to question my talent, and I quickly justified, “I take lessons.”
“See!” Andre pointed out. “Lessons and all!”
“We should still test her out-”
“Why? You act as if our patrons attend to hear opera,” Andre bid with a chuckle. “A pretty face that sings on pitch will do, and at least get us through the Gala. After that, we’ll find a suitable replacement.” Eyeing me again, he commanded, “Be ready to sing tomorrow morning, mademoiselle, and…don’t come to rehearsal in that blasted tutu. You are not a ballerina anymore. Dress…like a diva,” he instructed, tossing his hands out as if it were simple.
A diva…and how did a diva dress?
“Don’t worry, mademoiselle,” Firmin called to my growing agitation. “It’s dress rehearsal. They’ll fit you for costumes as soon as we begin.”
“Oh…” I glanced between the two men, unsure I hadn’t dreamed the last few minutes of conversation. Me…the diva. It never occurred to me to question their contention as I dazedly left the office and headed for the theatre.
My mind was a malaise of wandering thoughts. …The theatre was empty; rehearsal was over; I’d bypassed Madame Giry’s scolding; I wouldn’t have to endure her scolding or belittlement again; I was no longer a ballerina; I was the diva…
Terror choked the back of my throat with that single thought. …A diva, and I’d stand center-stage and sing in front of everyone…
“What did the managers want?”
Erik’s question jolted me out of my head, and I stared at his masked shape on the stage as if I could not comprehend for a long pause. “I… They want me to sing.”
“And?” he pushed with a flicker of impatience.
“I can’t come to rehearsal in a tutu.”
“Christine!”
“They want me to sing La Carlotta’s role,” I finally gave the answer he obviously wanted, and when he showed no legitimate surprise, I put the pieces together. “They knew I had the role learned. How did they know that? One of your notes?”
He shrugged innocently, making it seem not to matter. “La Carlotta stormed out, and they were as desperate for a lead as I was to thrust you into their spotlight. Do not be sore, Christine. Take opportunities when they arise and clasp with both hands. I placed something incredible at your feet; the correct response is gratitude, not suspicion. Even I know that.”
“Thank you,” I obediently replied yet still could not claim genuine gratitude when I was so overwhelmed.
“Come. We have much work to do, and with my managers still lolling about, we cannot work here.”
I nodded acceptance and followed him into the wings, drifting in and out of neuroses. My fears attacked in waves as I cast one last glance out at the theatre before we left and imagined it full. …A sold out audience, all eyes on me… Oh God, I couldn’t do it!
“This is to be your dressing room,” Erik called back over his shoulder.
Mine. I’d never had a dressing room, tripping over ballerinas at every costume change in our common room, and now…he opened the door and led us inside and I gasped onward.
“They had it cleaned out before the crew left. Ready for your use,” Erik told me as he turned up lamps, and I observed through wide-eyed bewilderment.
It was double the size of the room all the ballerinas were crammed into. Thick, soft carpet, brocade wallpaper of pink roses and lace, …a full-length mirror that drew my nervous stare.
“The managers said Carlotta’s mirror fell upon her,” I distantly bid as I approached it and set timid fingers to my reflection.
“A freak accident,” Erik replied, watching me through studious eyes I could glimpse in the mirror’s glass. “You should have no worries over such absurd situations; this mirror is bolted to the wall. It cannot fall.”
I walked to the edge of the frame, and as he said, there was no space between the gold trim and the wall…as if it were a part of the wall itself.
“We will run the entire role now.”
I watched his masked reflection in the mirror, and though I nodded agreement, in a small whisper, I bid, “I can’t do this, Erik.”
He held my gaze with all the confidence I could not find and never wavered. “You were born to do this, Christine. What speaks now is only your inexperience, but once you are upon that stage where you were meant to be, you will sing and you will shine. Don’t doubt me, ange.”
“Ange,” I repeated and could not suppress a touch of a smile. “I thought you were the angel between the two of us.”
“I’ll be an angel, and you be a diva,” he gently concluded. “Neither of us fit those roles, not in actuality, but no one else needs to know that. Let it be a secret between the two of us, a secret that exists only within these walls and in our voices. To everyone else, play the role; be the diva, and I will carry the knowledge of your true self just as you carry mine.”
I held his mismatched stare in the mirror and wondered if it could be that easy. Pretend confidence, and breeze onto the stage like a veteran performer and not the ingénue I was. Trick the rest of the theatre and myself until it became natural.
As I breathed an uncertain sigh, Erik came up behind me, timidly setting his palms to my shoulders and making me regard the mirror’s pictures.
“I do not see a diva,” he said and tilted his masked face inquisitively above my shoulder. “No, not yet, but what I do see is a spark that not everyone possesses, Christine. A fire that can become an inferno if you let it out. I want to be burned by your blaze. Light it up and pour it into the music, and nothing else will matter.”
I nodded; I wanted to do exactly as he requested, but I couldn’t help but doubt my ambition. “They’re going to hate me at rehearsal tomorrow. Moved from the ballet to a leading role practically overnight? When there are others who are pro
bably more qualified and seasoned? I don’t blame them.”
“No more thoughts of them,” Erik ordered with a sternness that had me biting my lip. “I only care about you and me. Let them insult and degrade you with their words. Words are all they have, and they only mean as much as you let them. Ignore every single syllable, and recall that they only wound if you drop your shield. And when rehearsal ends, I will raise you up again and fill your ears with the praises you deserve.”
He still kept my gaze in the glass, but his hand rose from my shoulder and fingers brushed a caress down my cheek. I shivered in spite of every other heavy thought in my head and unconsciously leaned closer to those delicate fingers as they outlined my jaw.
“I look at you,” he huskily breathed, “and I see such glorious perfection. Mine should be the only opinion to matter because I know your true heart, and they will only know your talent. Your voice is exquisite, and it will inspire jealousy and bitter envy at every turn. But it is only a piece of you. They will covet its beauty when really they should covet the beauty of your soul. You are extraordinary, Christine Daaé, and I am but another humble worshipper in your shadow.”
I was in awe to have such praises as mine and know he meant every one as they illuminated blue and green eyes and made their glow twinkle. I knew without a doubt at that moment that I loved him.
“Now let us prepare for tomorrow,” he decided and drew away with a reluctance I mimicked. But music had to take precedence, and there, in my new dressing room, we acted out an entire opera. We had no piano, so he plucked starting pitches out of the air and stood back as I walked the blocking with careful precision, imagining the rest of the cast as Erik hummed their lines and his golden timbre soothed any nerves that sought to arise. I did exactly as he’d said; I feigned diva and confidence and played the character with wholehearted conviction. Every glance at his observing approval made me undoubting I could do it.
And in the melee of our rehearsal and my growing fatigue, I forgot to ask Erik about Joseph Buquet’s disappearance. The thought only returned as I entered my small room in the opera dormitories, but with memories of Erik’s voice and adoration to comfort me, I found I didn’t care about anything else. Only opera and music and a masked angel.
Scripted in Love's Scars Page 9