Page 83 of Angel's Fall

“What does that mean?” The manager demanded even as Erik turned away, a cacophony in his head. “What does that mean!”

Erik descended to his realm, as swift as Hermes towards the river of the dead. He had no souls to guide to the Styx yet, but perhaps soon he would. The brutal chords of an opera never completed thundered in his mind as he rowed across dark waters and entered his home. He lit his candles and looked to the organ... and the shelf beside it. Erik followed the siren’s song, the inevitable beat of the red leather score and all that lay within.

Don Juan Triumphant. His masterpiece of revenge. It was ready to be played at last. He seated himself at the organ and the first terrible chords sang from the pipes, the music of doom echoing in the dark.

––––––––

Christine had slept– moving in between a chair, a chaise lounge, and even the floor in a quest for some sort of peace in this alien place – but she didn’t feel like it. Her body ached, and her soul hurt more. It was a strange thing, to find a mirror in a bedroom, after so long without them in the house on the lake.

She stared for a while at her alien reflection: pale cheeks and red eyes and haunted expression. What had become of the version of herself she had seen in the dressing room mirror, when an angel had called to her from the glass and inspired her to divine ecstasy? Now she would only feel that in her dreams.

She looked at Raoul’s chaotic desk and the letters she had penned there. So many goodbyes to so many people she was afraid she would never see after tonight and a few entreaties for forgiveness.

“Mademoiselle Daaé?” A voice she did not recognize came from outside the door, accompanied by a gentle knock. “Are you decent?”

“Depends on your definition,” Christine grumbled back as she rose from her seat to greet the entering visitor. “I’m dressed at least.”

“Oh, good.” The door opened to reveal, of all people, a young priest. Of course she had made a joke about her fallen moral character to the clergy. “I am Father René.” He held out a hand which Christine did not take.

“You’re a bit early for last rites.”

The young Father swallowed and withdrew his hand. “Your fiancé sent me to receive your confession.”

“So my wanton soul will be cleansed before he lowers himself to take me in holy matrimony? Yes, I remember.” Christine knew she should be playing along, but she was so tired and she did not think it would make too great a difference. “I haven’t been to confession for... a very long time. Does Raoul know I was never even given a formal first communion or baptism? My father grew up among the Roma, and I grew up wild.”

“I-I can’t speak for the Vicomte,” the priest stammered. “I can perform those rights as well, and your sins will be forgiven for you to begin a new life in Christ, embraced by God.”

“It is not against God that I have sinned, I am sorry to say,” Christine said, and Father René went as pale as his white collar. “I have failed the man I love over and over. That man is dangerous and I fear he has been lost to the darkness. But I love him, and for him, I have sworn to marry another. I will say marriage vows and not mean them, and it will be for love of a man who is not my husband. A man who taught me that love is never a sin.”

“Oh,” the priest muttered as he held Christine’s gaze.

“Is that not what I am supposed to say?” she asked with a bitter laugh. “Because I don’t need your forgiveness for my so-called sins of the flesh. They were wondrous and blessed in my mind.Youcannot absolve me for all I have done to protect him, to save him. All the terrible lies I have told and lives I have torn apart. Because I do not deserve forgiveness.”

“Everyone deserves forgiveness, Christine,” Father René replied. Christine smiled because the man truly meant it.

“I am sorry to shock you, Father. I am not at my best today.” Christine sat, finally, on Raoul’s bed. Would that be their wedding bed? What would he expect of her – to just lie there and take him? She did not want to think of it beyond the hope that she could escape into her mind as easily when Raoul fucked her as when he kissed her.

“Mademoiselle, may I be forthright?” the priest asked, bringing Christine’s attention back to him. To her surprise, there was nothing but kindness in his face. Christine nodded for him to go on. “I was told you were under some influence of evil, but I did not fully believe it.”

“He is not evil, the man I love,” Christine protested.

“I believe you.” They were the simplest words, but it astonished Christine to hear them after so many men had told her that she could not trust herself. “I do not think a truly evil man could inspire such love. You are willing, if I understand right, to sacrifice your freedom to save this man’s life?”

“I am, but I cannot believe, in my heart, that it is what he would want. I wish I could see him one more time before I do this.” Tears pricked her eyes again. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I wish I could help,” the priest confessed, and Christine gave a sad smile. “Is there nothing else I can offer you?”

“There is one person I have wronged to whom I should make amends.” Christine crossed to the desk and selected one of the missives she had written. “Carlotta Zambelli. I took everything from her and I want to give it back. Will you take a letter to her for me?”

“The woman who sang like a toad? Who you replaced?” Christine raised an eyebrow. “My congregation is half of the Opera. I know things and I know who you are. The man you speak of, is he... the Phantom?”

“He is the Angel of Music,” Christine countered sadly. “For me at least.”

“Mademoiselle, are you—” The earnest question was interrupted by the opening of the door. Raoul stood in the entrance, perfectly dressed for the opera and smiling broadly.

“I hope you have had time to unburden yourself with the father,” Christine’s ostensible fiancé said. “It’s time to go.”

“Thank you, Father,” Christine murmured and took Raoul’s proffered arm.

---