Chapter 19

The performance began perfectly. Meg arrived slightly late backstage, and Carlotta was still slightly ruffled from her tryst with Ubaldo, but the musicians' performance was superior to any they'd done before, and, as always, the crowd was enthralled by Christine's voice. The story itself was met with less respect. The tale of virgins being seduced by handsome masked men met with reality in the minds of Christine, Meg, and Carlotta, but the elegant society people didn't like the sensuality of the story.

Neither did Catherine. She knew somehow that Erik was going to do something, hurt someone, and she was afraid it would be Christine. So, she pulled the girl aside. “Christine, something terrible is going to happen out there, I can tell. Come with me quickly. I'm going onstage.” Christine swallowed.

“He won't take you?”

“Yes, he just might. But don't be afraid for me, my dear. I'll be fine.” She had no choice. In the dressing room, she handed over her costume, and when the time came, Catherine went onstage and sang as though she were fourteen and under Erik's tutelage again.

“No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart but dreams of love!” She looked over above the audience to the managers' box. I love you, Richard Firmin, never forget, I love you.

“Passarino,” his voice made her blood run cold, like she knew it would. She was kneeling now. Her long hair dusted the floor. She fought to put an innocent expression on her face, but she knew in her heart that he was singing to her. Not to Aminta, to Catherine Marie Giry. “I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge.” Now she stood. He kissed her hand. “What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?” He spun her, caressed her, held her tightly against him.

It her turn now, she had to sing. The music was cuing her, “Past all thought of right or wrong; one final question. How long should we two wait before we're one?”

They sang together now, crossed the bridge, two birds in flight. He touched her ever so gently, presses a kiss to the pulse at the base of her neck. But now, the music changed. He was singing sweetly, singing only to her, “Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Catherine, that's all I ask of you.”

She had to it. It would break his heart, but she owed it to Firmin. She whirled, and, her heart pounding, fire coursing through her veins, tore the mask from his face. There was no scream issued from her mouth, no lightness or dizziness at her temple. She just stood there.

Vengeance was written all over his face. This he had not planned. There was only one thing to do: cut the rope. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they flew, down, down, through the bridge, the floor, down, down, down, where no screams from the dying theatre-goers who were being hit by the falling chandelier could be heard.

Up in the burning auditorium, Firmin had to find Christine. “Where have they gone?” he cried.
She grabbed his hand. “I'll show you, but for God's sake, do what your fiancee says for once and keep your hand at the level of your eyes!”

Behind them, Meg groaned, clutching her stomach. “Somebody help,” she whispered. Carlotta rushed over. “The baby,” Meg gasped. “Now, it's coming now!”

“Now? Dose baby's 'ava de worst timing! Come on.”

Raoul joined them. “What the devil's going on here?”

“She's 'aving a baby.”

“Oh, god, should I fetch a doctor?”

“No time,” Meg cried, “Oh, Raoul, help me!” He was scared, more scared than he cared to admit. She couldn't go now, not when he finally knew that he loved her! He scooped her up in his arms, surprised that despite the added weight of the baby, she seemed to weigh no more than a feather.


In the lair, meanwhile.....

“You try my patience. Make your choice!” he cried, pulling on the rope around Firmin's neck. His eyes bulged, as he gasped for breath. Tears sprang to Catherine's eyes, as she watched her lover slowly begin to fade.

A voice sang out from behind, and both the Ghost and Madame Giry turned to see Christine walking slowly towards them, through the water like a swan. “Pitiful creature of darkness. What kind of life have you known? God, give me courage to show you you are not alone!” She reached Erik, her gown trailing behind her in the water. She reached up and kissed him, growing more passionate by the ticking second. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back.

They broke apart when Catherine cried, “Please, don't let him die! I'll go with you, but free him!”
Erik seemed to ignore her as he stared at Christine, the girl he had trained and watched over since she was young. It couldn't be possible that he had actually had feelings for her, could it? He loved Catherine! Or so he had thought. Then he spoke to the weakening Firmin, “Take her, forget me, forget all of this! Leave me alone, forget all you've seen! Take the boat, swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the angel in hell.”

Christine rushed to Madame Giry's side, and together they untangled Firmin. Catherine kissed him gently before lowering him into the boat. “Goodbye, Erik. Goodbye.” There was an air of finality about her words. She meant it this time. She would never be entangled in a relationship with him again.

Christine stood and watched them leave, her back to Erik. “You're not leaving, Christine?”
She turned to him. “Not unless you ask it off me, Angel of Music.” His eyes filled with unwanted, unshed tears, he pivoted in the water and walked to his bedside.

“Masquerade,” they sang softly, “Paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you.” He watched as she approached him, the look on his face one of realization. “Christine, I love you,” his voice cracked and wavered.

Christine took his hands, and pulled them to her. “Let me be your freedom. Let daylight dry your tears! I'm here, with you, beside you to guard you and to guide you.”

He pulled her close, lightly caressing her back. “Oh, Christine, how could I have been so blind?”
“Let me be your shelter, let me be your light! Your safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.”

“Marry me, Christine. Love me!”

“I do love you, Erik. All I've ever needed was your love in return.”

“You have it, Christine. Forever and always, I will need you and love you. My Christine Daae!”

“Christine, where is Meg?” came a cry from afar. Christine broke free of Erik's embrace, and ran to the mirror.

“Madame!”

“Where is she? I cannot find her, where is she?” Catherine whispered, her tear-stained face crumpling as thought the rivers were to run all over again.

“Erik!” Christine cried, turning just in time to see him disappear through a tunnel. “Erik will find her. Come, Madame,” she directed, leading Catherine to the bed. She gathered the older woman in her arms and Catherine sobbed. “Oh, dear Madame. Everything will be fine. Erik will return her to you.”

“No, Christine. You cannot be with him.”

“Why not?”

“He has a child. My child, my Meg.”

“Why, Madame?”

Catherine stood and moved away. “We were young, he was handsome, even with a deformity. It just happened. He played, and I sang the music of the night! I felt bad for him, Christine, and came to love hime as he was. Christine, he was treated horribly before he came here. He was with the gypsies, being beaten every night for money. I saw it, Christine. And I saw him kill someone. I saw the man strangled like Buquet. I had to help him, he had to get away! So I brought him here, and we became friends, then lovers, then I ran away. I was afraid.”

She collapsed on the organ bench, weeping tears of shame. Chrstine rose, shocked by Catherine's tale. She crossed the room to where the sobbing woman lay. She knelt, and Catherine crouched farther away. “Madame Giry, the past is behind us. I will not let the mistakes of yesterday affect the hope of a bright tomorrow.” She hugged Madame Giry gently, as she herself began to cry.
“Where is she? I don't get it!” Erik bellowed, coming back into the room.

“You mean our daughter?” Catherine whispered.

He stared at her. “No, I mean your daughter, Meg.”

“Where is she?” Christine wondered to herself.

“I am here,” Meg said, entering through a mirror. Raoul was carrying her.

Catherine rose to embrace her daughter. Then, giving her and Raoul a second glance, she cried, “What happened?”

“It's time, though, Mother. The baby will be born any moment, I can...” she paused, a contraction tightening her womb painfully. Blood spurted on her dress. “I can tell! Oh, god, Mother, help me! I insisted my....” she stopped again, muffling a scream in Raoul's stained shirt, “the baby should be born here, where I should've been! Augh!”

“For heaven's sakes, Monsieur le Vicomte, put her down! Over here!” Catherine took charge. Erik became ill in the lake, and Meg screamed again. “Hot water, and towels, lots of them.” Catherine's voice was low and serious.

“Get... Carlotta,” Meg panted.

“Hot water, towels, Carlotta. Hot water, towels, Carlotta,” Christine mumbled as she scurried through a passage. She could see Carlotta ahead, through the mirror. “Carlotta, quick!” she screeched, opening the door and motioning to her. “I know you don't like me, but will you trust me this once, for Meg?”

“I 'ava de 'ot water and towels. Where isa she?”

“Down here. Follow me.”

“Meg,” they could hear as they hurried down the passage. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “Christine, Carlotta,” Meg's voice was weak as they approached, “Ki Lee de Chagney, the future Vicomte de Chagney.”

Christine's eyes welled up as she looked at the very new-born baby. “Ours will be that beautiful,” Erik whispered.

“Christine, he doesn't look like Andre,” Meg's voice was tearfully grateful.

“No. 'E's perfect,” Carlotta whispered. Christine smiled. She couldn't help it; for once the two divas agreed on something.




~ Thanks for reading... to read more of Christine, Meg, Raoul, Catherine, and Erik, visit www.pointofnoreturn-inluvwitheb.blogspot.com.

I hope you enjoyed the fanfic! ~

Chaper 18


They opted to perform Don Juan. Christine couldn't believe her ears when Catherine pulled her out of ballet rehearsal to whisper, “Go change, Christine. Put on something comfortable. Monsieur Reyer wants you in rehearsal in ten minutes. They've cast you as Aminta!” She gave her a loving shove before returning to the stage.

Aminta? The lead? Miracles did happen, even to opera singers! The few months before the performance flew by without a hitch, but the day before the opening night, there was a big one.
“Raoul, I can't marry you.” Like when he had first proposed, they were on the rooftop, holding a rare romantic tryst. A summer breeze tickled their faces as they lay on the ground, oblivious to reality.

“What?”

“I said I can't marry you. I can't marry someone who would leave a pregnant woman he loves because the baby is not his.”

“Darling, what are you talking about?”

“Meg. I'm talking about Meg. You don't believe that she is pregnant by rape. But I can see in your eyes that you love her. I hear it in your voice.” She sat up, fumbling with the falling strap on her dress. “You imagine that I am her, just as I am never truly with you. I love you, Raoul, but I've grown past the idea of marrying my childhood sweetheart. That sweetheart is madly in love with my best friend in the whole world while he's engaged to me. She won't speak to me or you because of it, and I'll have it no longer. We'll all be happier this way.” She stood.

“But...”

“No, Raoul. We shall still be friends, yes?” She smiled, turned and disappeared down the steps.
She made her way to the dormitories, a bounce in her step. She was free, free to talk to Meg, free to act, free to be with the Angel if she wanted to. She was finally happy. Meg would talk to her, too. That would help soothe her raw nerves. “Meg?” she whispered, entering the room. She looked around, and, seeing the girl in her bed, approached. “Meg, may I talk to you?” Christine could hear Meg grit her teeth, and knew she was being ignored. She sat on the bed, and Meg looked up. “Meg, I know you don't want to talk to me, that I've hurt you more than you may ever be able to forgive me, but if you'll just listen! Please,” she sighed, “I'm not going to marry Raoul. I can't marry someone who would break off a relationship with you because you are carrying a baby that is not his, even when he loves you. Please, Meg, are you listening to me? I don't want him anymore, not after the way he's treated you.”

“You really think he loves me?” Meg whispered.

“I know he does.”

“Oh, Christine, how I've missed you!” She struggled to sit up (she was now in her confinement and already past the expected arrival of her baby.) Christine pulled her up the rest of the way, and they embraced, friends again.

“I've missed you, too.”

“I want chocolate cake,” Meg whimpered.

“What?”

“Chocolate cake! I want chocolate cake! Christine, will you get me some chocolate cake?” She looked Christine in the eye, her crystal blue eyes wide open. Christine laughed.

“I'll see if there's some in the kitchen. You go ahead and relax.” Meg nodded, and Christine swept out.

It wasn't far to the kitchen. It was a very central place, easily accessed by one and all. Christine slipped through the eastern door and was about to slice the three-layer double chocolate cake that she found in the icebox, when Piangi entered by another door, tugging on Carlotta's hand.
“Come on, Lotta darling, we won't be disturbed in here.”

“You would picka da kitchen.”

“The baby can't find us here, darling.” Christine ducked behind the ice chest where they couldn't see her, and estimated the distance to the door.

“What ifa da baby needsa me?” concern laced Carlotta's voice.

“Nonsense, Lotta.” Christine sneaked a glance at them. Piangi had pulled Carlotta to him and was kissing her fervently. She kissed him back, mangling his hair with her hand. They backed closer and closer to the table until Piangi fell, SPLAT, onto the chocolate cake.

Christine had seen enough. She dashed out the door and back to Meg, where she explained, panting, “Sorry, Meg. No chocolate cake. Chocolate Piangi, but no chocolate cake.”

Meg groaned. Christine chuckled, “You will be there tonight, won't you?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.” They both smiled, and Christine left. “Now for that cake,” Meg mumbled, waddling out the door, intent on her dessert.

Chapter 17

When Catherine found Carlotta in the dorms, she insisted upon finding her a dress for the masquerade. The costume seemed to be something straight from ancient Greece, and Carlotta fell in love immediately. She had to corset herself more tightly than ever, since she still retained about ten pounds from her pregnancy. However, since it just made her luscious breasts fuller and pushed them farther into sight, she endured it.

This is how Piangi first met her, on the way to the ball. She had shoved Megan at Monsieur Reyer's sixteen-year-old wife, and gone to be announced at the head of the golden stair. Piangi stood there, a white-clad chorus girl with breasts larger than Carlotta's hanging onto his arm with a death grip. She was a little poodle of a girl, her age perhaps fifteen or sixteen, but her bust was obviously filled out, her figure perfect under her dress.

A shiver flew down her spine the way it always did when around Piangi. She could close her eyes and picture him as he had been before the baby; warm and loving, even if he was a little overstuffed.

Carlotta opened her eyes to find him staring at her. She saw him mumble to his date, noticed when he patted her on the arm and began to stride over to her. Her heart was racing, saliva building up in her mouth. “Please, please, don'ta do dis to me,” she whispered, unable to calm the tingling sensation that was spreading throughout her body. He kept approaching.

“Carlotta,” he murmured, kissing her hand and bowing slightly. The feathers on her head jiggled as thought they were dancing. Was it just her, or did Piangi's hands and lips feel hot? “As undeserving as I am, Madame, may I have this dance?”

She was speechless, for one of the first times in her life. She nodded, a flirtaceous grin coursing over her lips. She took his waiting hand, and he led her to the floor. “What about your date?” she asked nervously.

“It's just Meg. She'll live.” Carlotta gasped, and threw a look over her shoulder at retreating girl. Was it just her, or was Meg smiling, even if it was a little wistful?
At another entrance, Christine watched silently on Raoul's arm, feeling the cold metal of their “secret” engagement ring thud against her neck. The ring was extravagent, even for her. Five small diamonds flanked a large one, one that weighed at least three karats. Raoul probably spent at least a year's worth of her income on it! All for an engagement ring she wasn't even sure she wanted.

Christine didn't know what she really wanted anymore. The bright spotlight onstage thrilled her, made her voice soar like it never had before. At the same time, though, the deep, dark, dank lair that she knew lay hidden behind her mirror tantalized her, and knowing that there was a man behind it didn't help. Erik was dazzlingly handsome in his porcelain mask and black clothing, almost like a pirate's. Every time she thought of him, her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Wild abandon overtook her, and she wanted to do nothing more than sing what he so poetically called “the music of the night.”

Raoul's voice startled her from her daze. “Come, darling, let's dance.” She smiled and nodded, Raoul's large hand engulfed her small one, and the other one held her close to his massive chest. She closed her eyes and imagined that as they twirled in time to the waltz, it was really Erik that held her. The dance ended, Raoul kissed her, and she kissed him back, still imagining.
The music stopped. They broke apart. Christine stared at the steps. Everyone else looked at her. Then at Raoul, then at the steps. “Why do silent, good messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, good messieurs? I have written you an opera.” Christine felt Raoul tap her lightly on the arm, but she didn't move. It was like she had been frozen to the spot.
He was still speaking. The Opera Ghost. “Here I bring the finished score... Don Juan Triumphant!” The score flew to the floor in its leather bag. Erik's silver sword slashed the air. “Fondest greetings to you all,” he nodded to Carlotta, the managers, and Catherine Giry. “A few instructions just before rehearsal starts. Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting 'round the stage.” Carlotta's eyes glittered and flashed angrily. Ubaldo Piangi stepped forward, looking will but not quite able to defend her. Erik smiled slyly and poked the tip of his rapier at the jewels on Piangi's stomach.

“Our Don Juan must lose some weight. It's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age.” Piangi tried to draw himself up, but just ended up looking pudgier. Erik smirked and turned to Firmin and Andre, pointing his sword at each in turn. “And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts.” Catherine laid her hand on Firmin's arm, squeezing it gently. An ice-cold stare met her eyes, but she mirrored it perfectly in her ice-cold gray eyes and Erik had to turn away.

“As for our star,” Christine's heart pounded wildly, “Miss Christine Daae.” He was approaching her. The velvet costume clung to him in places that she could only see in her mind. “No doubt she'll do her best. It's true, her voice is good; she knows it. Still, should she wish to excel she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher, her teacher.” His fingers grazed her breast. She closed her eyes, felt his fingers encircle the ring around her throat.
Erik yanked the ring away, shrieking, “Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!” Christine opened her eyes, startled, to a flash of light. Then he was gone.

Chapter 16

Meg passed Raoul and Christine many times in the next three months, but she never spoke to them. Instead, she stayed close to her mother, their relationship and Catherine's hope growing stronger day by day. In truth, even if Meg had wanted to, she couldn't be with many people. Carlotta had mysteriously disappeared from the Opera Populaire, many said to kill herself. Others said she left to give birth to the Opera Ghost's child, and still others said that she roamed the Parisian streets, searching for young men to take her on, even in her expectant state. She was over five months into her term when she disappeared, so when she returned with a healthy baby girl at her breast, Meg had no clue why she was shocked. She herself was nearly four months along when Carlotta came back, the day before the masquerade.

The day was cold and windy. The rain pattered against the glass, creating a meter nearly akin to the one the musicians were using to rehearse the ball music. Meg sat unnoticed and alone on the stage. As of yet, Raoul and her mother were the only ones who knew about her baby for certain, but Meg was beginning to understand why Carlotta had left. Rumors were beginning to swirl, undoubtedly started by the ballet rats in the dormitories. Meg had begged her mother to let her move out of the dorms and into a special room all her own, but Catherine had insisted that only the managers could reassign rooms.

Meg sighed, amazed at how wrong everything could go in such little time. It all started when Firmin and Andre took over management and the Opera Ghost resurfaced after a year of slightly appeased silence.

She shivered, a little more afraid of the Ghost than she had been before she had met him, been with him. She was sure that it was not as all of Buquet's stories had discribed. Indeed, why would he be? Enchanted tales of noseless, mummy-like men were child's play. The Opera Ghost was a real person, that she was now sure of. He made her nervous. She knew that it was he who had strangled Joseph Buquet that day, and just remembering how his diseased body had quaked and quivered in silent agony and mental contortions sent chills down her spine.

She looked up, aware that even now she might not be alone. Her deep blue eyes could see no one where the lights were shining, but it was the shadows that worried her. No one knew what might be lurking in the shadows.

Her gaze came full circle to light on the silouette of a woman offstage. “Who's there?” she called, rising uncomfortably in her very tight corset and long lemon skirt. “Mother? Is that you?” The silouette moved as a baby's piercing cry rose to the rooftops. “Come out! I won't hurt you!”
“I knowa you won't,” was the whispered reply. Meg moved closer as Carlotta stepped out of the shadows, the baby in her arms wailing uncontrollably. “She's Piangi'sa child, to be sure! All she evera does is eet!” She huddled the tiny girl close, jostling her rhythmically. Carlotta's hair was still hennaed red, Meg could see. She also saw that Carlotta was ghastly thin, the skin on her arms and face pinched. Her breasts, however, were as full as ever, perhaps swollen from nursing her child.

“Oh, Carlotta,” Meg whispered, running awkwardly to embrace her friend. “Where've you been? I've so much to tell you! Oh, and you must tell me about this beautiful baby you have. A girl, you said?” Her smile was forced when she spoke of the little one; it reminded her of her own coming fate.

“Well,” Carlotta began her prideful explanation, “She was born a month early on December thirteenth. She'sa named Megan Christine, for you and Christine. She'sa very small for 'er age, only seven pounds, but she's mine.”

Meg chuckled, although her laugh was barely audible above Megan's cries. She reached her the wailing child, her muscles a little tense. “Can I help?” she asked.

“Only until I canna feed 'er,” Carlotta sighed. “She does eat all de time!”

Meg smiled wistfully as Megan nessled into her arms, pawing at her breast. Her little face was red from crying, but even so Meg could see that she had Carlotta's eyes. She gazed at the frighteningly black hair. It wasn't chestnut, like Carlotta's roots were, nor a deeper bronze like Piangi's. No, instead it was black as a raven's wing, and stood straight on end.

They reached the dormitories, and Carlotta took her daughter after baring her breast. She baby latched on and sucked noisily. Meg smiled a little nervously, knowing that that would be her in less than five months time. “Does Piangi know?” she asked. Her voice sounded a little wary, perhaps afraid of how Carlotta would react.

Carlotta's eyes darkened angrily. “Yes. 'E named 'er. 'E believed dat being named for two stars, one singing, one dancing, ees lucky. Obviously, 'aving parents who sing isn't enough.”
“So you are speaking with him? He's taken you back?”

“'E's tried, but I resist. Ifa 'e could not 'ava a baby den, 'e canna not now.” Carlotta smiled at her daughter, who's dark lashes were beginning to flutter against her cheeks. Meg smiled too. She had been afraid Carlotta's unexpected pregnancy had taken all of the diva spark from her, and she was glad to be proved wrong.