Chapter Ten

A bit later, in Catherine's room, Madame Giry held Carlotta close to her breast, stroking the brightly-dyed curls soothingly as Carlotta poured out her story. “My poor child,” Catherine whispered. “It's not been easy, has it? Loving someone never is.” She kissed Carlotta's forehead, remembering the pain of her own unwanted pregnancy. It was awful, knowing that someone would always be watching and hating the baby that had been a part of you for so long. To have to pray that your child would never be in the same situation before he or she is ever born.
Carlotta stood, drying her tears. “I'ma sorry I tooka so much time. I leave now.”

Catherine nodded, smiling at her. “Come talk to me any time. I'll answer all the questions you may have that I can. And my shoulder has never been damaged by tears.” Carlotta grinned and left the room, her mauve silk swishing behind her. Catherine was left alone, but not for long.

“Madame Giry!” Catherine recognized the as Christine's, and rushed to meet her.

“Christine, Christine, oh, where have you been?”

“Oh, Madame! I've seen him! I've seen the Angel! My Angel! He's a man, not a spirit! At first, as we entered his home and my voice caused lit candles to rise spontaneously, I wasn't so sure. But then, oh, Madame, as he sang, and he took my hand, he was so warm, so... on fire, Madame! Only a man could have such fire about him, as though he had settled here after a trip to the depths of hell.” She paused, and Catherine took a quick breath before speaking.

“You must be exhausted. Rest now, and tell me more later.”

“I can't. I have to take this note to Monsieurs Firmin and Andre.”

“I'll take it. Sleep now.” Catherine reached out to brush Christine's unruly curls out of her face. She studied the girl, her fingers gently stroking the girl's sunken cheeks. “Are you alright, Christine? He didn't try to...”

“Oh, no, Madame!” Christine cried, jumping back from Catherine's touch. “Although, my pantyhose were gone this morning... You don't suppose...?” She gasped at the wild look in Catherine's eyes. “No,” she whispered, “I would've noticed!”

Catherine's heart beat quickly as she watched Christine. Erik very well might've done something while she was asleep. He knew how to take advantage of a girl's trust. “I don't know, my dear,” she murmured regretfully. “You need your rest, though, that I do know. Go, I'll take care of Firmin and Andre.”

Christine nodded and they parted ways. Christine turned down a dimly lit hallway to her room, where she fell on the bed, not even bothering to get out of her clothes – oh, god, her clothes! She leaped back up again, looking down at herself in horror. How could she have gone in her dressing gown to see the ballet mistress? She couldn't do anything until she put on something decent to apologize in. She opened the chest of drawers in the corner, flinging open a door of her wardrobe at the same time. It would have to be the sage green velveteen, it was the only one she could wear without a corset.

She reached into her drawer for a pair of pantyhose, and her hand landed on a crisp, flat envelope. What the...? She turned it over and gasped, the scarlet skull seal staring up at her. The Opera Ghost. Her heart pounded as she tore into it, taking care not to destroy the envelope's contents. Her fingers trembled as she reached in and withdrew two sheets of cream-colored paper. The precise penmanship was easy to read, and the message of the first note put a smile on her face.

Here are your pantyhose. You kicked them off in your sleep last night, and I only found them this morning. Take this second note to your managers. Do not let them have it at first, but read it to them. Make them listen. I remain, your angel of music, Erik le Fantome.

Erik. That was his name. Christine whispered the name over and over again, “Erik, Erik.” It danced on her lips for awhile, then she remembered the second letter. She read it, and all of the color fell from her face. The room started to sway before her, and she put a hand to the wardrobe to steady herself. Her stomach churned violently, and she fought to keep the bile in her throat down.

Meanwhile, Catherine had stumbled upon an assembly of people in the lobby. Monsieurs Firmin and Andre looked frustrated, Raoul confused, and Carlotta looked positively hateful. Catherine swallowed a sigh before approaching them, the hand that clasped the note growing clammy. “Miss Daae has returned.” They all turned at the sound of her voice, a different look in each one's eyes.

“I hope no worse for wear as far as we're concerned,” Firmin stated, the end sounding more like a question.

“Where precisely is she now?” Andre asked, a little too concerned for Catherine's liking.
“I thought it best she was alone.”

“She needed rest,” Meg's girlish voice piped up beside her, making her jump slightly.

“May I see her?” Catherine felt Meg stiffen at Raoul's question.

“No, Monsieur, she will see no one.”

“Will she sing?” Carlotta shreiked.

“Here, I have a note.”

“Let me see it!”

“Please.” Catherine handed it to the speaker, and Firmin tore the seal open to draw out the crisp paper. He held it before him, studying the signature. He sighed, “Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature detailing how my theatre is to be run.” Christine slipped in behind Catherine, and she closed her eyes, imagining Erik's voice instead of Firmin's. She could see him sitting before his tiny stage, staring at the three-inch-high replicas of the actors and actresses that performed in the Opera Populaire's productions.

“You have not followed my instructions. I shall give you one last chance. Christine Daae has returned to you and I am anxious; her career should progress. In the new production of Il Muto, you will therefore cast Carlotta as the pageboy and put Miss Daae in the role of Countess.” Carlotta's look was priceless. Her eyes popped out, and her jaw dropped nearly to her ample bosom.

“But...”

“The role which Miss Daae plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the pageboy is silent, which makes my casting in a word – ideal! I will watch from my normal seat in Box Five, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, O.G.”

“Christine!” Carlotta screamed, turning to nearly run up the marble stairs. “Whatever next? It's all a ploy to help...”

“Wait!! I have a note, too.” All heads turned to the voice. Christine walked towards them slowly, singing the words of the Phantom. “About your prima ballerina,” she glanced at Meg and Madame Giry, who looked at each other wide-eyed, “Margeret Catherine Giry.” Meg's eyes were questioning, and a little afraid. Christine continued, her voice trembling a little. “The girl has grace and ease. She could go far. But my daughter must learn to soar with the wind. She can leap and she can twirl, but can she fly?”

“What?” Meg whispered. “You lied to me! You said Monsieur Giry was my father!” she screamed at her mother.

Catherine's stomach churned, her worst fears coming true. “It's false, by god, I swear it's false! He's a lunatic!”

“I'm sorry,” Christine mumbled, backing away. Meg looked from her to Catherine and back again, shaking her head.

“I trusted you!” Tears filled her eyes as she ran from the room.

“I'll get her,” Raoul said, adjusting his jacket before leaving the lobby. Firmin, Andre and Carlotta stared at Madame Giry.

“Madame, explain yourself!” were the last words that Catherine heard before she felt herself slipping to the cold floor, reality melting into oblivion.