Hopeful Soul: A Phantom Story

Chapter Twenty-One.

CHRISTINE:

The end of our brief rehearsal was near as Piangi and I sang the sultry duet of Aminta and Don Juan. It felt so wrong to do this with Piangi since each of us were engaged to different people. The tension on stage would be painfully obvious and hopefully Erik would forgive me for such terrible acting.

The real performance would begin in three hours time and everyone was putting on Act I costumes. The opera was put into three acts and I didn't come in until Act III, perhaps for the element of surprise. I wasn't sure, for it was all very confusing.

In my dressing room, an orange gown waited for me. It only went down to knee-level, but it has lovely, black lacing everywhere with floral designs spaced out all over the bodice. Erik was right - the opera burned. It would probably be the most vulgar thing I have ever sung, but I had to do it - they were making me. Then a noise came from the mirror and my gas lamps flickered off - fright, all that filled my mind.

I felt his cold hands around my waist and shrieked, trying to get away until, "Stop!"

He hissed that into my ear and for a moment I thought he would kill me. He knew about the gendarme that protected every corner of the opera. He knew about my plans of escape with Raoul. He even knew of my engagement to him, which was the biggest mistake I could make - putting it out there, "Now," he continued, "if you do so much as breathe loudly I have pleasant surprise for your friends out there."

My best option was to obey and I nodded at his word, "There. Now,  put the ring in the drawer of your vanity and don't say a word to your blasted boy. I want you free of distractions for tonight's performance."

With a nod, I took off the ring and set it into the compartment of my vanity. That didn't end the curiosity that bubbled in my youthful mind, however. How was a mere ring a distraction? How were conversations with my fiancé distracting other than the butterflies they would give me, "I have my reasons for doing this, Christine," he was crying - I heard him sniffle, "I am sorry."

The lights flickered back on and I quickly turned around - but he was gone. Right where he must have been standing, a red rose laced with black ribbon laid on the floor. When the stem touched my hand, someone knocked at my door, "Five minutes, Mademoiselle!"

The show! I had completely forgotten. I had to get the gown on quickly and Madame must have known because she rushed into the dressing room. She grabbed the orange gown and I stepped into it as she laced me up. Something, or rather someone, must have called upon her. She usually wasn't so rushed with tying laces and fingers were shaking with an obvious fear, "I don't have much time, my dear, but I am afraid for you. Something will happen if you do not cooperate tonight. That is what he told me. Christine, please," in a hurry, she spun me around, "Please tell me you'll be safe."

"I will try, Madame."

Never have I seen Madame Giry in such a state of worry. I have never seen her face flooded with this many tears, nor her blue eyes turn this shade of depressing grey, "Alright. Well, it is showtime."

The backstage area bustled with activity, as was usual of a performance. Meg rushed to the costume room with the other ballet girls for a dress change and I heard my que - Piangi's door slam. Though my costume felt very inappropriate, I stepped out onstage with the confidence of Aminta's character. I could already feel the tension of the next song burning in my core, the audience applauding after my soothing lyric.

Piangi didn't arrive in time for the que and I worried - what was happening? I heard the gentle closer of the set door and sighed in relief - he was here and the opera would soon end. Though, when he sang, it wasn't him. Piangi had a thick accent that would make any opera sound like a work of Verdi's, but this was different - it was familiar. That voice - I have heard it before.

Luckily I had stage move just then and was able to stare at the singer for a few moments. He was in the right costume, but it still wasn't Piangi. This man wasn't bulky enough. If anything he was too... thin... Erik!

My mind drew a blank and I wondered why he would do this to himself. Where did Piangi go? How did Erik come up here unseen? Why did he have to use his angelic voice to confuse me like this? I was engaged to be married to Raoul, but his voice... nothing on Earth could even match the glory his voice had to offer. I would have cried at how lovely he sounded, but it wasn't in the script.

It was my turn to sing the vulgar passages and I felt my insides churn at the thought. I quickly glanced to box four, where Raoul said he would be, and he seemed to know by my expression. I had no idea what I was doing. I was playing with fire and I wanted to die in that moment.