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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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One month later...

Little Meg Giry wandered the streets of London. As she passed Trafalgar Square, she made her way towards the small side street where the boarding house was located. Again, she referred to her map. Yes, this must be the correct address.

While London was not nearly as lovely as Paris, Meg found that she liked the city a great deal. Dressed in a pink morning suit with her blonde hair artfully sculpted in a pretty upsweep, the ballerina cheerfully traipsed about the streets, not unaware that many a young man was giving her the eye. An Englishman seemed to be every bit as amorous as an average Frenchman, she noted with amusement.

Again, she pondered with disbelief how her mother could have allowed her to visit Christine without a chaperone. It was so unlike her to be so careless where her daughter was concerned. In fact, her mother had been acting quite oddly as of late all together, almost as secretive and quiet as she had been during those days of the Opera Ghost. It was a little unsettling. Yet Meg did nothing to hint of her mother’s carelessness lest she change her mind or even worse decide to come along. Thus she cheerfully enjoyed the sights of the city and the prospect of visiting her friend all to herself without being under the eye of a stern parent.

Coming upon the rather dull looking boarding house, Meg wrinkled her nose. Even if Christine was fortunate enough to live by herself, it was quite a come down from the Paris Opera House. Even the dormitories were nicer than this ramshackle building. Making her way up the dark staircase, she found the correct room number, tentatively knocking on the door.

After a few moments, her friend answered.

Meg almost gasped for she barely recognized Christine Daae. The friend that she had been so close with only a few months ago now looked painfully thin and worn. Her tired eyes had circles underneath them. Dressed soberly in a black plain gown with her dark hair tied up in a knot, she carried little resemblance to the colorful diva she had been in her days when she was engaged to the Vicomte. She no longer seemed a young girl with laughing eyes but a sober woman with much sadness in her expression.

“Christine!” Meg cried out, attempting to sound jubilant.

“Meg!” Christine nodded, reaching out to embrace her.

“My, Christine, you look so...grown up.” Dowdy was the word that Meg really wanted to say. Was this what a month of living in London would do to a girl?

Christine smiled wanly. “I suppose this is my effort to look like a stern singing master. My pupils want to think that I am older than they are, although truth be told, I think most of my students are older than I am. Besides, being a young lady living alone, I do not wish to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. But I’ve forgotten all of my manners. Please come in and sit.”

“So things are going well for you then with your teaching?”

“Yes,” Christine explained as she straightened the room a bit as she motioned for Meg to sit down upon a comfortable looking settee in a floral print. “My adjustment has not been as harrowing as I had feared. I only had to put up a few small notices in the different opera houses and music schools. Already, I have enough students to give me a steady income. I’m afraid my notoriety has even crossed over to England as all of the time I am dodging embarrassing questions about my past in the Opera Populaire. While I tried to be discreet, word travels and the rumors are already flying fast and furious. I should make it a stipulation for none of my pupils to delve into my personal life, I suppose. Still, if my reputation is what gets them to come to see me, I suppose that is a start. And once I save enough money, I shall put an ad in the newspaper. Then I shall really succeed.”

Meg looked about curiously at Christine’s new home. Her living space consisted of two rooms: a sitting room with a small piano serving as the dominating piece of furniture, and another room off to the side which Meg assumed was her bedroom. She had no kitchen for she was to take her meals with the other boarders in the main dining room on the first floor. Meg knew that from Christine’s letters.

Christine lived a Spartan existence, even more so than she did in her days in the corps de ballet. In the old days, Christine’s room would be full of whatever inexpensive knickknacks she could collect along with small stuffed dolls and toys, almost the room of a little girl. Now all of those youthful extravagances were gone. There were a few tasteful paintings of the London skyline, a small portrait of her father smiling as he played the violin, and simple white lace curtains. Along the walls were a few bookcases filled with sheet music and books.

“My goodness, Christine, you’ve been reading quite a lot while you’ve been away.”

For the first time since she arrived, Meg saw her friend give a hint of a laugh.

“Most of them are not mine,” she admitted. “I was fortunate enough to find this particular room already furnished with the piano, the music and the books. Apparently, an elderly musician used to live here before I came along. When he died, he had all of this remaining and no relatives to collect the items. The landlady of the boarding house said that I could sell them if I wished for she had no use for them. But I decided to keep them for myself. It makes it a little more comfortable; and I have an endless supply of reading material as you can see.”

Christine caressed a book lying on top of her piano.

“I’ve even discovered the popular Brontë sisters,” she revealed. “Have you ever read Wuthering Heights? It’s really very good.”

“You know I never read much, Christine,” Meg chided. “Life is too short to have your nose stuck in a book!”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ve been rather enjoying living a quiet life for a change.”

“But don’t you miss all the glamour of the stage? All of the costumes and makeup? The wild applause of the audience?”

“Not so much. Should I?”

“I don’t know,” Meg shrugged. “Perhaps I would say anything to make you come back to Paris. But honestly, it does seem to me that teaching others to sing is a poor substitute for actually performing.”

“Oh, no!” Christine answered quickly, her eyes lighting up. “I have the knowledge that those singers need so desperately. It is quite rewarding to see them learn and accomplish their goals. It makes me feel useful. In fact, when I’m teaching, I feel so at peace. And it was almost as if he were still here...”

There was such a wistful expression in Christine’s eyes. She looked as if she were far away.

Meg wrinkled her brow with confusion.

“Who do you mean? Your father?” she asked.

“Oh,” Christine started, hesitantly. “Yes.”

“Well, it is certainly different than attending all of those fancy affairs with the Vicomte!” Meg joked in an effort to lighten the mood. Then suddenly, she shot a hand over her mouth. “Oh, damnation!” she cursed. “Here I swore I would not mention his name to you while I was here, and then I have to bring him up within the first ten minutes! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Christine smiled. “There is no sense in pretending that the past didn’t happen.” With a plaintive sigh, she sat down at the piano and began to play a tune. Meg did not know it but it sounded terribly depressing.

Meg cursed herself yet again for her big mouth.

“Do you think that you will ever go back to him?” Meg asked curiously.

“Who?”

“Raoul, of course,” she laughed nervously.

“No, Meg,” Christine shook her head as she continued to play. “I am quite sure that I shall not. It wasn’t meant to be.”

How different Christine looked as she spoke of Raoul now! It made Meg sad to contemplate it. Why, she could still remember how the couple had looked at the Masquerade Gala several months ago. Dressed in a pink glittery dress with a blue velvet overthrow, Christine looked like a queen in her sparkling tiara. And the Vicomte had been quite dashing as always. They had waltzed about gaily, laughing as they whirled about. Meg recalled that vividly as she had been quite jealous actually of Christine’s good fortune to have such a handsome date at the event and no bothersome mother along to spoil her fun.

But then the party had come to an abrupt end...when Red Death made his appearance...

-----------------------------

Why so silent, good Monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?

The large mocking skeleton swathed in red silks and velvet descended the ornate staircase with a threatening gait, glaring at all of the guests about the party. There seemed little human about him at all, except a large pair of beautifully shaped hands that gestured dramatically as he spoke. With evil glee, he made his threats, promising destruction on them all if they did not perform his opera, Don Juan Triumphant, with Christine as the lead.

Oh, how well Meg recalled the event as if it were yesterday! Her heart had beat so fast as the sight of the infamous Opera Ghost. She wanted to scream. She yearned to faint. But all she could do was watch with intense fascination as the Phantom of the Opera pointed towards Christine, gesturing her to come to him. Like a magnet, her friend had walked towards him, unable to resist her strong attraction towards him. All of the room was captivated by the strange couple as they neared each other. Even with his commanding presence creating such fear, his eyes seemed eerily desperate as he looked at her friend. Although he stood unmoving, it seemed as if he were really on his knees begging for her to come back to him.

Then violently, he snarled and ripped off Christine’s necklace holding the engagement ring of the Vicomte.

Your chains are still mine! You belong to me!

-----------------------------

And so Christine did belong to him, Meg thought. If not then at the Gala, then she certainly did now for she almost seemed to be becoming just like her Angel. Shut away in her quiet dark room, teaching people how to sing, playing sad songs on her piano, wearing black...

Although Meg had promised her mother that she would not mention the Phantom to Christine, she was unable to resist. And besides what was the point? She was obviously thinking on him right now.

“You miss him, don’t you, Christine? The Phantom, I mean...”

Abruptly, she stopped playing the melody.

“He is with me all of the time,” she confessed softly. Although Meg could not see her face, seated as she was upon the settee, she could clearly hear the pain in Christine’s voice. “More so than when I thought he was my Angel of Music. I can’t seem to forget him. Ever since I read of his death, he has haunted me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Christine. He was mad!”

“Even so, I could have...” But then Christine shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes. “I don’t know. It was all so complicated.”

“You cared for him, didn’t you?”

“Oh, Meg,” Christine shook her head as she contemplated the bold question. “I don’t know. Sometimes, I felt like he knew me better than anyone else on this earth. Then other times I think that I was simply trying to make him into the father that I no longer had. I am never sure, you see? For a time, before everything went wrong, he was my friend and my teacher. And he had been so dear to me. I had been horribly alone when he had come into my life. Why, Mamma Valerius was the only person who would have known if I’d lived or died.” Then with a quick glance at Meg, she added, “Of course, we were not friends yet.”

“I know,” Meg responded with a nod.

“But then when I found out the truth, everything changed. I saw him as a man and not as some ethereal angel. Things became so confused.” She sobbed slightly as she kept talking. “Suddenly he was not who I thought he was. Yet I knew he wanted me as a man wants a woman. And I was scared of him.”

“Because of his face?”

“No,” Christine shook her head fiercely. “He always thought so, but that was not true. Maybe at first, his face startled me, but it was not that. And back then, I had no idea that he was capable of committing murder. It was not that either. Maybe it was because he seemed to need me so much. He was after my very soul. And I was only a woman.” Then Christine stopped with a faint laugh. “No, not even that. I was a girl. Just a young foolish girl who knew nothing of life but music and grief. And I was angry at him for having deceived me and...if I could only go back, I would do so many things differently...”

“Would you, Christine?” Meg asked. “It is easy to say that now, but Maman says hindsight is the most perfect vision of all.”

“Perhaps your Maman is right,” she nodded. “Madame Giry is a wise soul.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned him, Christine,” Meg apologized. “I did not mean to make you sad. My mother always did say that I had the curiosity of a cat. More sage words from the ‘wise soul’.”

Reaching for a handkerchief, Christine delicately blew her nose.

“Nonetheless, by being here and teaching, I do feel better. And I know I did the right thing by coming here.”

“Really? What makes you say that?”

“Because I am holding on to all of the lessons that my Angel taught me. And I practice them every day when I teach my students. And by holding on to his knowledge, I am holding on to a piece of him. And by teaching his knowledge to others, he still lives on. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, Christine,” Meg said softly, almost wanting to cry herself. “I think it’s nice. He would be so pleased.”

“No,” Christine chuckled as she shook her head. “I’m sure he would berate me most viciously for being such a melancholy fool if he were here now! And so I am, I suppose.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Meg giggled. “I think all of the little ballet girls were a little smitten with the Phantom.”

“They were not!”

“Were so!” Meg argued childishly with a grin. “Even if he was ugly and scary, he was terribly exciting! The place is a horrid bore now that he’s gone. I’ll wager even old Carlotta misses him!”

There was a glint of amusement in Christine’s eyes.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she responded to her friend’s jest.

“And some of the most attractive men are ugly. Why, just think about that statue of Horatio Nelson at Trafalgar Square!” Meg continued. “I know it may sound terribly unpatriotic of me to say so, being from France and all, but he was a dashing man too! Much more interesting than old Napoleon Bonaparte! And Nelson only had one eye! And a bad leg! Or was it a bad arm? I don’t remember which. But in any event, Emma Hamilton must have thought he was the cat’s meow to carry on with him so.”

“Meg, you’re horrible!” Christine broke down in giggles.

Meg was glad to see her friend really laugh. For a second, she could almost pretend they were back in the good old days.

“Oh, Meg! I have missed you so!” Christine laughed as she rose up from the piano bench and hugged her friend. “Come. Let us go out for some tea. As long as you are here with me, the first thing you must know is that all of the rumors about the English and their great love of tea are true! There’s a quaint little shop right across the street.”

The two women left the boarding house and walked through the city streets of London, neither of them noticing the shrouded shadow following their path.
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Do I Dream Again?