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Three Spirits	By : BellaLaura Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Crossovers Views: 3412 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, Halloween, or A Christmas Carol. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4

I marvel at the ability of the human mind to form this....one minute I am conversing with my former teacher, arguing over the direction I choose for my life and the next I find myself here.

“May your next visitor have more luck convincing you.”

Well....

I look to my left.

To my right.

I turn in a full circle before I feel the laughter bubbling out of me. My arms extend as I continue my whirling dervish, around and around and around again, until the dizziness takes over and I land upon the soft grass in a laughing heap.

Oh it feels wonderful to laugh again and it is an easy day to do so, surrounded by beauty and sunshine and absolutely no hint of another ghostly specter visiting me!

Really Christine...it is simply due to nerves. Who wouldn’t be a nervous wreck with all I have been though these many months? They finally caught up with me...that is all there is to it, plain and simple.

I turn over on my stomach, delighting in watching a butterfly alight upon the bright petals of a blooming tulip. Its legs, so thin, so fragile, amaze me as I watch it dance upon the petals before settling to its meal of nectar. The breeze that barely ruffles my hair offends the insect much more, flying off in search of a calmer meal. I wonder for a moment what he thinks about such an interruption.

“What does he think?” Madame’s words repeat in my mind.

NO! I refuse to let memories spoil my moment, certainly not memories from a ridiculous dream! Certain that a stroll will clear my head and calm my nerves, I rise and stretch and then begin to explore.

The park is crowded. (Indeed on such a fine spring day what else can one expect?) A veritable plethora of people are assembled here. There are couples, young and old, strolling the paths as the admire the flowers along the borders. The little lake has its own occupants, a funny mixture of graceful swans and gangly young suitors, both attempting to impress their respective female companions. Here and there an artist sits oblivious to the world concentrating only upon their masterpiece.

As I stroll through such an idyllic setting I realize that I am tired. Odd sensation I think, to be tired when all I have done is dream. Ah...but dreams like the ones prior to this...surely such intensity can drain a person even while she sleeps? Simply enough I do want to rest a bit and at least here I can do so. No hemorrhaging, no screams, no aristocratic arguments.

One will takes a moment’s peace where she can find it.

I glance around again, but all the benches in this area are occupied and even in a dream I find myself desiring to sit like a proper lady rather than to fall upon the grass again.

Lady? I nearly laugh at the thought. What lady walks around the park in her nightclothes? I think about a suitable dress intently....willing it to appear, but my powers apparently do not extend to conjuring up clothing. No matter, since it seems that no has taken notice of my current state of dress.

I walk on, glad that this path is shaded, the overlapping branches forming a cooling canopy against the warm midday sun. There is a small crowd ahead, and for a brief moment I wonder what has caught their attention. It is then I hear the violin. The surrounding ensemble of listeners are enthralled by the music.

Music

Melody

Phrase

Tone

Even in the smallest increment I hear your touch upon this...this this hypnotic flow of sound. Morbid yet peaceful, simple yet so emotionally complex...such music can only come from one source.

“No!” I scream with all the power my trained lungs can provide. The crowd, startled by the interruption, turns and observes me as if I am someone who has escaped from the local sanitarium. I can only stand there, shaking as I wait for the inevitable.

The crowd parts, watching me as they move back. I cannot blink, cannot force my gaze from whom I know I am about to see. Truly a ghost this time, not of the past, present, or future, but the ghost who has consumed my thoughts since the last time I lay eyes upon his form. It is apparently time to pay the piper for this macabre dance I have found myself whirling uncontrollably to.

What can this tell me about my future...other than it shall be one of bland and frivolous entertainments of the aristocracy...simply a life to be...

Not Erik.

An old man holding a worn violin stares curiously at me as the crowd begins to disperse.

“Is there something you would like to hear mademoiselle?”

I shake my head dumbly, wondering if I have imagined the music heard just moments before. He begins to play again, a simple dancing tune that in no way resembles the masterpiece or the virtuoso I swore had just been playing.

A small monkey comes from behind the man, jumping around almost in time to the music before picking up a pair of toy cymbals and clacking them loudly. The children around the scene laugh as I can gape in pseudo horror at the little animal so similar to the one upon that music box.

Enough! This is my dream...no requirement for me to stay and be tortured by useless memories.

I turn and walk away, leaving the shadows, the music, and the damned monkey as I find my way back into the warm sunshine.

Yes the light counters the darkness, the looming shadows that have plagued me for so long. I do not believe there is anything that could completely remove the gloom that lingers in my soul, save for what I know is utterly impossible. But this temporary respite is a blessed relief, particularly after the horrors of earlier. Each step down the gravel path relaxes me more and more and finally a smile finds its place upon my face.

My smile echoes the laughter I hear. So many forms...a soft chuckle from couples arm in arm, a guffaw and teasing from old men engrossed in a chess game, children’s high pitched squeals as they run in a game of tag. Laughter is such a balm to hurts, such a ...

Through the laughter around me comes the faint sound, the unmistakable sound of a child’s attempt to hold back tears. I look around in an attempt to locate the source, wondering if someone was hurt in the game or perhaps not allowed to play.

Ah there she is, standing away from the group still running like mad around the grassy field. Even facing away from me I can see her arm bend as she wipes at her face.

“Petite fille!” I call. “La petite fille viennent ici”

Her only acknowledgement is a tightening of her posture, a cringe. Ridiculous! I only want to help! I walk towards her as I call again. “Ma petite...”

It is then she breaks into a run.

My clothing hampers me, the garments becoming heavier with each step as I try to close the distance. The people who I had but moments before been observing as leisurely park dwellers are now diversions, barriers in my chase.

“Wait!” I call over and over as I try in vain to reach her, her sobs so audible...so familiar to my ears. I push past more people in a now desperate effort to gain some ground, almost falling several times, the gravel bruising my feet through the soft slippers I am ready to quit, the burn in my lungs and limbs mirroring the hurt in my ears from the girl’s continued cries. And then...

She has stopped. I do the same, staying several feet away in an effort not to startle her again. I want so badly to help this girl, for what reason I do not know, but it is a compulsion, a necessity that I do something, anything. No one else seems interested or concerned... perhaps this is my chance at redemption?

“Ma jeune fille...” I walk slowly, keeping my voice as calm as I possibly can (considering I am well out of breath, this is no easy feat). I gently place my hand upon her shoulder, this caress rewarded only by the sound of harder sobbing.

“Little one...what is it?” The cries, a horrid contrast to the bright and beautiful day, muffle her answer.

“Please...surely I can help.” Of course I can...this is my dream I can make everything alright. “Nothing can be so bad...especially on a day like this.”

“What is so wonderful about a day I will never have?”

“Never have?” I cock my head in bewilderment at this statement. “You are here now...so how can this day be something you never have?”

“Because you never have me...” The gray green eyes meet mine as she turns.

“You....you are...” My words fail me as I behold a minature of myself and .... “this is not real...not possible.”

“Why?” The face before me holds too much knowledge. “Is it anymore impossible than traveling with your father to see your own birth, or to hear the truth of your fiance’s intentions after he passes through your form! How can it be any less realistic that I could exist...given the chance.”

“I am not with Erik....”

“By your choice...and your choice is what decides it all.”

“It’s too late!” My voice rises with the wind, the dark clouds sweeping in as my anger pours out. “I can’t go back, there is no undoing what has been done!”

Her tears start again as she shakes her head at me. “Don’t you see? It is not the undoing of the past...that is impossible...but the acknowledgement of mistake...the rebirth...a new chance...for me it is the only chance.”

“No! I won’t be guilted into this foolish idea by some...some product of my imagination! You are not real!”

“I could be.“ Her tears slide down the youthful cheeks, and I watch in horror as this time they burn her skin, taking the flesh with them.

“Stop!” I reach out to her but she backs away.

“I could be, Maman.”

“Don’t call me that!” The skin is gone now save for a few tattered edges and yet the acidic tears continue, burning now through the cloth they fall upon.

“Don’t deny me....” Her words are hoarse, the holes in her throat punctuating the words with wheezing gasps of air. One step back, then another before her body gives way and she falls to the ground.

In an instant I am holding her, shaking as much as the frail form trembling in my arms. “Oh God....forgive me forgive me.”

Those beautiful eyes, the only beauty left in a face now so marred the white of the bones are visible. “Forgive him....then forgive yourself.”

“I can’t...I don’t deserve forgiveness after what I did to him.”

The muscles pull the mouth into what may have been a smile. “He loves you despite all. Love yourself enough not to go down this path.” Her last breath is taken in, the exhalation of it bringing a blinding squall of wind. The body of my daughter disappears into dust, carried by the howling gales.

The dust surrounds me, obliterating my view of the serene park. I cannot tell if the wail I hear is that of the wind or the disembodied cry of the child I had just held in my arms. The grains pellet me mercilessly and I wonder if my sins, now weighing against my soul, are the indicator of the strength of the cyclone around me. Now I can only crouch down, hiding face and eyes from the horrid assault, and pray for mercy...for relief...though I deserve none.

It is several long moments before I realize the noise has dissipated, the swirling storm gone with it. I stay in my crouch, hoping to remain hidden from whatever torture may yet await me. Through the thin material of my dressing gown, my skin tells me I am no longer in my warm, relaxing park. It is cold here, wherever here has become, and the chill seems a warning unto itself

A hand settles lightly upon my shoulder only the barest hint of weight upon me, and yet I cringe from the coldness of the touch. I will it to disappear.

“Come. You must see this.”

I refuse, shaking my head as I begin reciting a long forgotten prayer, hoping it will shield me from further torment.

“Maman, you must come.”

This child, my child, stays stoic and solid beside me, though moments before she was dust in my arms. Ashes to ashes...dust to dust... who knew that God’s Angel of Death would be my own flesh and blood, here to lead me to my final judgment? If it is His will what choice do I have against a higher power? For all the pain, for every deception and untruth, there is always a price to pay.

Christine...I love you.

I had hoped to make amends before now...Erik. For my sake as well as your own...

Love conquers all my daughter...

It is too late, Mama. Love cannot conquer the pain I caused him.

My daughter...

I turn and meet those familiar and beautiful eyes, the only beauty left in a ravaged shell of a body.. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Her voice tells me even in this acknowledgement I am still expected to follow where she leads. Resigned to my fate, I stand and nod at her.

We travel in semidarkness for an unknown length of time, the only sounds my footsteps upon the narrow gravel path. My guide makes no sound, vocal or otherwise, and her solemn nature takes away my desire to question her intentions. Unlike the visits from my father and Madame, I have no lingering curiosity to learn what she may have to teach me.

The cold air has developed an accompanying dampness, moisture fusing to my form as I carefully tread through the thickening fog.

“Wait!” I call out to her as I realize she has vanished. “Wait! Where are you? Where do I go? Where are y---” I hit the ground, my pleas silenced by my collision with the hard object in front of me.

“Dammit!” I rub my bruised leg, trying to alleviate the sting as I gingerly stand. “Can I not just be struck down by lightning or something? Or am I to fall over everything until I break my...”

Viscountess Christine Elise de Chagney... Beloved Wife

“neck.”

My body is a container of lead, sinking to the damp ground that seems to be the final resting place of my mortal remains. Perhaps I am meant to just lie down and go now....surely that is to peaceful an exit for one such as me. I reread the words carved there in the marble, hoping perhaps there is another in this world with my name.

My guide is watching for my reaction, I feel her intense gaze upon me. Does she expect me to wail and scream...beg for another chance...there is no need. When one is already dead inside does the confirmation of the end of your mortal days have any importance?

I shrug at her. “It is what I deserve.”

“YOU think everything still revolves around you?” The venom in the question startles me. “You’re right! IT does but not in the way you think! You had the chance to be the one to heal, to love, to give someone else a chance at redemption...to give me a chance to live...yet you are afraid...afraid to live...to enjoy...to make full use of your opportunity and your gifts...you selfish bitch!”

“How dare you! You...you know NOTHING! You weren’t manipulated...lied to...threatened...”

“EXCUSES!” Her broken face is a hauntingly familiar reminder of another’s. “Your excuses! Did you ever think about telling him the truth? Telling anyone the truth? Start with yourself!”
“I KNOW what I’ve done!”

“You won’t admit what you feel!” Her laugh is dry, hoarse...horrible. “Everything you have or haven’t done is caused because you lie to yourself!” She turns, an ethereal glow from her palm illuminating the headstone beside my own. “You are not the only one affected.”

I stare in horror as the engraved words meet my eyes....Viscount Raoul Michael Charles de Chagney, beloved son, brother, and husband.

“What? When?” I brush away the cobwebs and debris from the lower part of the tombstones. “When??”

April 17 1871

“No...that’s ...”

“A week after the wedding.”

“What?”

“You marry, you go on a honeymoon, and you die...both of you.” She gives a macabre smile. “And myself of course....though technically I don’t exist do I? You accused him of so many sins...but who is the real murderer in the grand scheme of it all?”

The ground opens suddenly, a rush of heat and flame exploding from it. I scoot back, my skirts twisting, impeding my escape.

Her death’s head leers at me. “What’s the matter Mother? You were so eager to give up moments ago...surely the fires of hell are what you wanted?”

“No!” The ground trembles, disintegrates beneath me. My hands flail wildly for a hold, tangling in dirt and roots as she comes to loom over me.

“How is this different from the hell you create by denying love?”

The sulfurous fumes burn my throat, the heat growing more and more. “Deny...I tried to save him!”

“Then admit it!”

A rush of fire singes my back, but she does not shy away...her eyes...his eyes...burn me far deeper. “YES...I love Erik! I am dead without him...nothing at all...without him nothing else matters.” My anger flares then. “So let me burn! There is no pain greater than what I have already seen...already done!”

She smiles as a tear slides down her marred cheek. “He loves you too Mother, and love conquers all.”

My tenacious grip evaporates and the burning ring of fire swallows me.

TBC
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Three Spirits