Possession
by Christi V.
Author’s Note (Or: The Standard Disclaimer of What’s Mine and What Isn’t): As will become clear within the first two paragraphs, this phic takes place during a performance of ALW’s POTO at an undisclosed (and irrelevant) time and place. All the music, lyrics, and other aspects of that show belong to RUG et al., and no copyright infringement is intended. However, with the exception of the briefly mentioned Hal Prince, all cast and crew members of this company are fictitious. Any relationship to any past or current member of the POTO company is purely coincidental.
The song mentioned at the end is “Prospero’s Speech,” music by Loreena McKennitt, lyrics adapted from William Shakespeare’s The Tempest. It can be found on McKennitt’s album entitled (appropriately enough!) The Mask and the Mirror.
There is some swearing here, but apart from that you’re safe. ~LCD
The show had been going exceptionally well. The cast was at the top of their game; everyone was in good voice tonight (even Helen, the current Meg, who had been fighting a cold for days), and the energy was so high as to be almost palpable. The audience responded eagerly to their performance, drawing on the company’s strength and magnifying it back again, spurring them even higher. And now, with the evening drawing to a close, there was the unspoken understanding that this would be a night every person in the house—both the newcomers and those the ushers knew by name—would remember. This was the sort of night theatre people lived for: when it all came together, when cast, crew, orchestra and audience joined together to create something truly special.
When the show almost seemed real…
* * * * *
“His life is now the prize which you must earn…you’ve passed the point of no return…”
He had gotten used to his mind running on two tracks during a performance. On one side there was Heath the actor, marking his way through the blocking, checking the conductor out of the corner of his eye, noting that Robyn and Chad were doing very well tonight and that he was sweating like hell under all this makeup. On the other there was Erik, the Phantom of the Opera: driven beyond the point of grief and madness, ready to kill if it was the only way he could keep the woman he loved.
Cutting words, but tonight they stung even more than usual. The entire show had felt more vivid than it had in weeks, quieting the recent, nagging fear that he was losing his drive and focus. Complacency was a stage actor’s worst enemy; the day you started going blindly through the motions was the day the higher-ups started having second thoughts about renewing your contract. Heath pushed that thought into the back of his mind and rounded on Rob…Christine.
“You try my patience. Make your choice!” He turned his back to her stared angrily into the wings, trying hard not to anticipate what he knew very well was coming.
Robyn paused…much longer than usual. And Heath found out he didn’t have to worry about anticipating, because what happened next took him entirely by surprise.
“Why are you doing this?” It was Robyn’s voice, but the tone was different—softer, more vibrant. Heath whirled to see her staring at him with confused anguish, her eyes curiously bright and brimming with tears. Chad had frozen, one hand still clutching the noose at his neck, and was trying very hard to suppress a what-the-hell-is-she-doing-this-isn’t-in-the-script expression. The conductor was similarly immobile, arms still raised for the cue that hadn’t come. Well, first rule was to never break character….“I beg your—“ he began, but the words ended in a shocked gasp.
It was like the time he’d gone wading in Cancun, and a wave hit him from behind—that same freezing, battering, overwhelming force. He became conscious of a massive torrent of emotions: there was a lot of anger, desperation, burning desire, and a curious mix of pride and self-disgust. But mostly there was the pain—pain that echoed through his entire memory, pain that made him question how, or if, he retained his tenuous grip on sanity.
Heath felt his body straighten in one smooth motion, like a dancer preparing for warm-up, and his eyes fixed a steely gaze on the woman before him.
“I might as well ask the same question of you.” It was his lips moving, his voice speaking the words; Heath knew that with absolute certainty. He also knew with absolute certainty that he hadn’t spoken. Desperately, he tried to move, only to have the sensation of something pushing him towards the back of his mind—not roughly, but with the implication that roughness was an option if other avenues of negotiation failed. Held back by the unknown presence, struggling and frightened, Heath’s self screamed silently: Who are you?
-I’m you. Or more accurately, you are me…in a sense.- The voice came from somewhere inside his head. It was resonant and polished yet very masculine, captivating in timbre and edged with indescribable sadness.
“What can you mean by that?” Robyn demanded—if indeed Robyn was talking. Heath was beginning to have some serious doubts on that score.
What do you mean, I’m you? he thought out to the intruder. Either I’m going crazy or…An insane notion crossed Heath’s mind, and he recoiled from it.
The presence didn’t say anything. The sense of cynical amusement from it, however, was very loquacious.
No. No way…that’s impossible. It’s not real—you’re not real…
-Try telling them that.-
Although motor skills were no longer an option, Heath could still see and hear what was going on around him. Robyn, whose sorrow moments before had been a cunning and familiar artifice, was now weeping openly, the wounded innocence in her eyes far too vivid. Chad, on the other hand, still seemed to be him—wait. A shudder raked the blonde man’s body, his eyes unfocused for a moment…then he cast a fleeting, hopeless glance at the actress between them before glaring in Heath’s direction with pure, self-righteous hatred. -Impeccable timing, as usual.- the intruder remarked acidly, a world of jealous contempt in his voice.
That cinched it. Chad was as good an actor as the rest of them, but never had the animosity he’d directed towards Heath onstage been so potent, so clear and absolute as to be tangible. Something else was projecting that intense enmity. No, not something, someone…Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Which meant that the misery in Robyn’s eyes belonged to Christine Daae. And the presence within his own body….Dear God, I’ve heard of an actor becoming his character, but this is ridiculous…
-Not exactly “becoming.” We’re just borrowing you for a while.-
* * * * *
Shandra, the stage manager, was a bundle of nerves perpetually on the verge of an aneurysm—and that was on nights when the show ran smoothly. Now she was nearly incomprehensible with panic and rage. “What the hell are they DOING? Liz, get that curtain down right now!” she shouted into her headset.
“Okay, Shandra, remember to breathe,” Kevin said soothingly from the other end of the booth. The light operator had been with the show twice as long as any of the cast members, and for the first time in years was watching the onstage action with rapt interest.
“Easy enough for you to say. Jesus, Hal’s going to have a heart attack and die when he hears about this—and then he’ll fire me. Liz, where the hell is that curtain?”
“Ummm…” Liz’s voice crackled hesitantly over their headsets. “I don’t want to alarm anyone further…but the curtain’s stuck…”
“WHAT?” Kevin winced as Shandra’s voice went up several octaves.
“Well, nothing’s broken, everything checks out perfectly fine—only when we tried to drop the curtain, it wouldn’t go.”
Curious, Kevin tested one of the switches in front of him. It moved smoothly at his touch, operating quite normally, apart from the fact that it produced no reaction whatsoever from the lights it controlled. “I think Liz is on to something,” he told Shandra. “The lights aren’t responding either.”
“Motherf—okay, okay, we can handle this.” The initial shock passed, Shandra began to attempt some semblance of calm. “We can salvage this…”
“Liz, maybe we could get the other cast members—“ Kevin suggested.
Another voice, one belonging to the newest crewmember, responded. “I don’t think that will work, Kev.”
“What do you mean, Dan?”
“Well, you know what’s happening onstage? I think it’s spreading…”
“Spreading?” Shandra regressed back into panic.
“I just talked with Audra—you know, Mary’s dresser? She’s in tears right now…apparently Mary went ballistic and gave her seven kinds of hell—“
“Mother Mary threw a tantrum?” Kevin exclaimed incredulously. Mary was the resident Carlotta, but she was so unlike her character in every aspect that the company called her “Mother Mary” for her tendency to nurture everything within a fifty-yard radius. “She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word!”
“Try telling that to Audra.”
“Okay, this is starting to get creepy,” Liz said. “First Heath and Robyn break into a spontaneous improv session, then everything stops working—“
“Technically everything still works, it’s just not responding to anything right now,” Kevin pointed out.
“Same difference. And now Mary, who couldn’t be more the anti-diva if she tried, suddenly starts acting like the ultimate prima donna—which, by the way, is exactly what she plays onstage. Is anyone else very weirded out right now?”
“It’s a prank…it’s got to be a prank…” Shandra didn’t say it so much with conviction as with a desperate desire to be right despite the evidence. “You know what Chad’s like…”
“Chad’s a joker, no question, but I doubt he’d have the audacity and the balls to do something like this in performance—and the others definitely wouldn’t,” Kevin theorized. “Besides, how would that explain the tech lockup?”
“Fine, whatever it is, we’re all going to hell in a handbasket right now,” she snapped. “What do you suggest we do about it?”
Kevin shrugged philosophically. “What else can we do? Sit back and enjoy the show.”
* * * * *
“Will you not answer me?” Robyn said—or rather, Christine Daae said through Robyn’s lips. “Do you mean to accuse me of cruelty?”
“Your behavior towards me can hardly be considered cordial, my dear,” Erik replied coldly.
“And what would you know of cordiality, monsieur?” demanded the vicomte, twisting Chad’s lip into a contemptuous sneer. Heath felt a sudden urge to hit the younger man, and for a moment wondered exactly who had felt it.
“You are in no position to say such things, and would be wise to remain silent,” Erik said. “But then, wisdom is a trait you hardly seem to possess.”
“Cut me down and say that, and we will see who is the wiser and better man!”
“I think not.” His voice was contemptuous. “I rather enjoy the sight of you trussed up like a rabbit in a snare.”
“Stop this, both of you!” Christine cried with surprising vehemence. “I won’t have this anymore—I won’t!”
She approached Erik, and Heath was stunned by the immense sorrow in her eyes. “You speak to me of love, yet you would destroy what I hold dear in order to keep me with you—and you wonder why I run from you! And you,” she turned just in time to see the smug look on Raoul’s face, “you are just as bad as he is. I tried to warn you…I told you what would happen if you insisted on confronting him….”
“Forgive me,” Raoul begged. “It all sounded so extraordinary…I thought perhaps you were exaggerating…”
“You didn’t believe me,” Christine wept, “and you didn’t listen, the way you didn’t listen when…God in Heaven, Raoul, what made you think I was lying?”
“Christine…” Heath wasn’t sure if the youth’s voice was comforting or condescending.
“Did you think I wanted it to come to this?” Erik snapped. “I did try, Christine, I tried to approach you as a normal man might, and in return you—“ he broke off with a strangled sob.
“Don’t lie, Erik,” Christine said coldly. “I know I’m not as clever as you are, but I’m not that dense.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know what you were trying to do up there—you were trying to manipulate me, using your voice to seduce me into loving you.” She shook her head. “And it almost worked. But I can’t—I won’t allow you to do that to me anymore. Don’t you see, I had to put a stop to it…”
“That’s why you—“ He brought one hand up to the ruined side of his face. “Is that what you think I want—to know you were at my side only because I’d tricked you?” He reached out and seized her arm, forcing her to face him. “Don’t you know that if that was what I wanted, you would have been mine long ago?” he hissed.
Hey, watch it! Heath sent out to the other presence. That’s my costar you’re manhandling!
-Stay out of this. I’m in no need of assistance, - the voice returned.
Don’t tell me to stay out of this; you’re the one who pulled me into it in the first place! Heath thought angrily. Why me, anyway?
-It would hardly make sense if I inhabited someone playing Hamlet, now would it? -
Is that supposed to be funny?
There was the sound of a weary sigh. –If it makes you feel any better, this incident took me by surprise as well. Now, would you mind not distracting me? I have some things to do, and I can’t leave until they are finished. -
How do I know you’ll let me have my body back at all?
-Trust me. -
Heath wanted to comment on that, but decided against it.
“Leave me be,” Christine said, pulling away from Erik. “I don’t know what you want anymore.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Erik asked sadly.
“I know what you want me to believe you want, but it’s not the same thing,” she said. “I’m going to ask you a question, Erik, and for once I want a straight answer—no riddles, no tricks, no lies.” She drew a deep breath and faced him bravely.
“What do you want from me?”
* * * * *
Chaos reigned backstage—not the everyday hectic, somewhat cluttered activity that usually passed for chaos in the theatre, but authentic, one hundred proof disorder. Dan threaded his way through the halls, dodging perplexed techies in black and even more perplexed people in nineteenth-century costume. He heard a tirade coming from one of the dressing rooms, and he shook his head. When Mary finally came back to herself, she was going to be apologizing for a month.
Dan still had no idea what was happening, but the pattern was clear enough. And if the pattern held true, there was only one person who might be able to explain what the hell was going on…
He found her standing alone in one of the hallways, black dress mingling with the shadows, head bowed and elegant fingertips pressed to her temples wearily. “Susan,” Dan called. The woman didn’t respond. “Madame Giry?” he ventured.
She raised her head, eyeing
him warily. “Yes?” Her voice was neutral, betraying nothing. “Do I know you?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Dan replied. “What’s happened to Susan?” he
demanded suddenly.
“Susan?” The woman who normally answered to that name frowned, and her eyes went distant for a moment. “Oh…the other one.”
“Other one?”
She pressed her hand to her head again. “Don’t expect me to explain. This is very difficult…they meant to be here, yes, but I and the rest came by chance…and now we’re not certain of what we should do…”
Dan started to realize that a) yes, there was an explanation to all this and b) he was not going to like it one bit. Nevertheless, he persevered.
“Maybe you’d better start from the beginning…”
* * * * *
“What do you want from me?”
The question, direct and unusually blunt considering the woman who posed it, brought a tense silence. After a moment, Heath threw his mental hands up in frustration. He might have been demoted to spectator in this little scene, but he’d be damned if he was going to take the position quietly. Well? he prompted.
-Well what? – came the irritable reply.
The lady asked for the truth. I think now would be a good time for her to get it, don’t you?
Heath could actually feel the other spirit squirming inside him, as uncomfortable as a frightened child. –I…cannot, - he said, resigned and hopeless. –She wouldn’t understand… -
She might not, I’ll give you that, Heath replied, but not for the reason you think.
- Indeed? And how do you know what I am thinking? –
Two words: character study. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a pretty good view of your thought process from where I’m standing. This has nothing to do with being…different. It has to do with being human. It’s always a risk, opening your heart up to another—there’s never a guarantee that they’ll return your feelings. But you learn to take that risk…otherwise, you’ll never be ready to accept their love in return. He paused. Besides, who knows? She might surprise you. You’ll certainly never know if you keep behaving like an ass…
There was an enraged gasp, and the first burnings of intense rage. – You dare? –
Yes, I dare. Heath refused to be intimidated, on the grounds that he was too necessary at this point for any harm to be inflicted on him. I like you; I always have. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you need a smack upside the head on occasion.
The anger went away, and the voice became hesitant, almost humble. – What should I do?-
Tell her how you feel. You should have told her long before you threatened to wring pretty-boy’s neck, but there’s nothing to be done for that now. Let her know what she means to you—now, and not when she’s walking out the door. A revelation hit him. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? It all went sour on you before, and now you have to find a way to fix it…
“Erik?” Christine’s voice was nervous and expectant. Erik sighed, drew a deep breath, and began to speak.
He spoke of his long pursuit of secrecy and isolation—the determination to reject the world which had rejected him, to protect himself from the malice of humankind by cutting himself off from it. He spoke of the walls that he had built—both physical and metaphoric—to conceal himself from others, the methods by which he had prevented associating with the outside world more than absolutely necessary, his determination to quiet the nagging pangs of loneliness through music and academic study. Bitterly, he recalled his arrogance in his success, his foolish belief that he lacked nothing and needed no one. And he spoke of the day that belief had been torn to the ground…the day he had first seen her, the day he suddenly realized how worthless and empty his life had been with no other soul to share it with.
He explained his reasons for loving her—not only her voice, though that extraordinary instrument had been what first drew his attention to her. Her warmth and her kind spirit, so rare in a profession—indeed, in a world—that was callous and harsh. The resolve, so quiet yet so absolute and unyielding, with which she pursued her craft, even through the devastating loss of her beloved father. Her simple and deep-abiding faith, which he had shamefully and cruelly used to his own ends. A thousand little things like the sparkle in her eyes when she laughed, the little frown that crossed her face when she was working very hard on something—intangibles which he could hardly describe, but which his memory held close like cherished keepsakes.
Hesitantly, groping for the words, he spoke of his desire for her—a physical hunger in part, yes, but more profoundly a need for her presence, a need to know that she was no dream or shadow to vanish when he reached for her, as Eurydice vanished from Orpheus’ grasp. A need to share existence with her, to know that she belonged to him as he wholly and truly wished to belong to her in turn.
Sorrowfully, fighting against his instincts, he told her of his fear—the fear that if he failed with her there would be no second chance, that he was too old, too much cut off from the rest of the world to even hope another might fill the void she would leave in his soul and life. The fear which, in turn, had caused him to fear and envy everyone close to her, and (he cast a brief glance at Raoul) which had driven him to any extreme in the desperate need to win his cause.
Silence fell when he had finished, the profound, heavy silence caused by a great revelation as the audience (both the two onstage and those somewhere in the darkness beyond) took in what they had heard. Heath suddenly felt a strange sense of release, as if a massive weight had been pulled from his shoulders. – Incredible, - the voice within remarked with a touch of awe, - she hasn’t even responded and…I still feel relieved. –
Amazing how good it feels not to keep all that bunched up inside, isn’t it? he remarked.
- Don’t press your luck. – But Heath could feel his gratitude.
“Erik…I never knew…” Christine’s eyes became soft with sympathy, but soon hardened again. “Then why did you behave as you have done?”
He shrugged. “I suppose perhaps…because I did not believe I had another alternative. My life has not been an easy one, Christine; anything I have desired I have had to obtain through trickery or force. I did not think this should be any different.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked. “Did you think I wasn’t—capable of understanding you?”
“If I did, don’t you think I would have tried a more conventional approach to gaining your affection?” he retorted. He drew a deep breath. “You asked me a very difficult question, so I think it’s only fair I be allowed a similar concession. Tell me, then: if I had approached you as…a normal man might, with everything I am, everything I have done, would you have been able to accept me?”
* * * * *
Liz’s voice, just barely this side of sheer panic, crackled over the headsets. “This is bad, Shandra,” she said. “Dan’s been talking to Susan.”
Kevin started. “Susan’s acting normally?”
“No, Susan’s acting like
Madame Giry, but in the circumstances that’s as normal as we’ve got.”
“Whatever,” Shandra said irritably. “Did she say anything about what
exactly Heath, Robyn, and Chad are doing onstage?”
“That’s just it—according to her, Heath, Robyn, and Chad aren’t doing anything.”
“I’m watching them, Liz; Heath is spilling his guts right—“
“But it’s not him—not mentally, at least. If Susan—or Madame Giry—is right, the entire cast has been taken over by the…I don’t know, the ghosts or essences or whatever you’d call the characters they’re playing. The stage has become a sort of paranormal hot spot—I think that’s why nothing’s working.”
“Wait, back up. You’re saying the actors have actually become their roles?” Kevin asked incredulously.
“Not exactly. Apparently the actors are still themselves, but whatever it is that’s acting through them has overridden their conscious for the time being. Or something like that—Dan said Susan was being kind of cryptic, hardly surprising given—“
“This is ridiculous,” Shandra said flatly. “People do not get possessed by fictional characters!”
“For the sake of the argument, though, let’s say they have,” Kevin, ever the pragmatist, replied, drumming his fingers on the light board. “Liz, did Dan find out why this is supposedly happening?”
“It has to do with those three onstage,” Liz said. “There’s something they’re trying to sort out, I think. But when they entered the actors, it created this kind of…vacuum, and everyone else in the cast got drawn into it.”
“How do we stop it?” Shandra demanded.
They could almost feel the anxiousness in Liz’s pause. “Shandra…I don’t think we can stop it.”
“What?”
“You guys don’t know what it’s like back here! It’s about all we can do to prevent widespread pandemonium. Besides, we’d need the help of the cast, and I don’t think we’re going to get it. Most the chorus is confused and frightened—except for the ballet dancers, who seem to think this is a great joke. Susan’s keeping aloof, Mary’s on a first-class ego trip, Brian and Scott are pretty much useless, and Lucas and Edward—“
“Oh God,” Kevin gasped, “don’t tell me Lucas and Edward are actually dead now!”
“They aren’t—and that’s part of the problem. The spirits inside them know they’ve been killed by this point in the plot, and yet are quite obviously inside people who aren’t dead. They’re finding it very disconcerting—and are drawing a pretty big crowd in the process.”
Kevin sighed and leaned back. “I hate to say it, Shandra,” he said, “but I think Liz is right. If Susan—Madame Giry, rather—is to be believed, then I don’t think this can end before whatever is happening on stage is finished.” He looked through the light booth glass into the house. “Besides, there’d be a riot.”
Shandra frowned. “You don’t
think the cast—“
“No, not them. You’ve been with this show as long as I have, you know what
some of those groupies are like…but I’ve never seen an audience this into it.
There’s not even some guy dozing off or flipping through his program—every
single person in that house is absolutely glued to what’s happening right now.”
“So do we just sit here?” Shandra said, throwing up her hands.
“Maybe not.” The showman in Kevin was considering options. “Liz, get in touch with the conductor—who’s doing it tonight, Harold?—and round up the rest of the crew. We’ll play this out somehow…”
* * * * *
It was a little like a virtual reality simulator, now that she’d gotten used to it. There were sounds and visuals, and the sensation of movement, but there was also the sense of detachment, of being separated from what was happening despite the emotions which ran vicariously through her body. It had been disturbing at first, but now Robyn was almost enjoying herself.
She listened as that which was the Phantom poured out his soul in Heath’s familiar, expressive voice, laying out—“an immense and tragic love,” hadn’t that been the expression in the book? When he demanded to know if she could have learned to love him, Robyn found herself tense with expectation, breathlessly awaiting an answer. Suddenly, she realized this was how it must be for them, those devotees who returned time and again and yet remained deeply affected by every word, every note…
There was a pause, and she heard her own voice answering. “I don’t know anymore,” Christine began. “So much has happened between us, I can hardly make sense of my own heart now. But I know this: that once when I was alone and in despair, a man came to me who was extraordinarily gifted, wise, and passionate, a man who brought music and life back into my existence. In my innocence I called him ‘Angel,’ and perhaps in a way he truly was. But since then I have watched that man vanish, replaced by someone hard and cruel, someone I scarcely recognize as the one who taught my voice.” She blinked away tears. “I’m not sure if the man I once knew exists anymore—I’m not even sure he wasn’t just another illusion. But…I think if he had come to me, even with the face and the sins of a monster…I think even if he still lives now, somewhere in the darkness, that I would love him.”
“Christine!” Raoul exclaimed, shocked.
She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, Raoul, but it’s true.”
Erik stared at her, hard and suspicious. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened with horror. “You…you’re not lying, are you?” he whispered. “You truly might have come to understand me…to love me…” Without warning, he collapsed into the throne, harsh sobs wracking his body.
“Erik!” Christine ran to his side, vainly reaching out to comfort him. “Please…don’t cry, I can’t bear it…”
“I must,” he gasped through the tears. “I have treated you in the most shameful and unforgivable manner possible…a crime made all the worse because I wanted to show you kindness, I longed to honor and esteem you as you truly deserve. But I, weak, blind fool that I am, I could not—I would not believe that you could accept me as I am; I did not trust your better nature as I should have, and so I deceived and manipulated where I should have been honest and gentle.” He buried his head in his hands. “And now it’s too late…too late…”
Suddenly, Robyn heard the other’s voice ringing in her head. – Help me! – it cried. – I don’t know what to do! –
Robyn had seen a few emotional breakdowns in her time, and was in her element. Don’t let him beat himself up like this, she thought back. He has every reason to be ashamed of himself right now, but you need to let him know you still love him. She paused suddenly. You do love him, right?
- I do. But… - A sense of discomfort. – He is right, in a way. There’s been so much anger and fear between us…it would be difficult. –
And what makes you think life with Raoul would be a cakewalk? There was a stunned silence. I hate to be the one to tell you this, Robyn continued, but there is no perfect mate, no perfect love. No matter who you end up with, it won’t be a “happy ever after”—you’ll fight and struggle and change and learn every day. You’ll have to take the bad with the good; some people might even say that’s what love is really all about.
- And yourself? – the other inquired. – What would you say? –
I’d say…think carefully. If you decide to throw in with Erik, you’ll be in for a hard time of it. You’ll have to grow up in ways you might not even have thought of yet; you’ll have to be there to help him fight his demons—with no guarantee that he will be able to conquer them.
- And if he cannot? –
Then you’re going to have to find the courage, cruel as it may seem, to leave him. But…if you truly love him, that’s a risk you’ll learn to take. And I think that if you gave him reason to, Erik would take on all Hell in order to be the sort of man you deserve—and I think he’d have a fair chance of winning.
- What makes you say that? –
Well…he does have a point. If he’d wanted to, he could have just killed your vicomte, kidnapped you, and to hell with what you wanted. There’s some honor yet in that man…it’s a bit battered and warped, but it’s there all the same.
Another short silence. – Thank you…I know what I will do now. –
“It is not too late, Erik,” Christine then said aloud, “not while there is breath and will within both of us. The shame which you feel is only a sign that you are capable of being more than you have been, that you can fight the darkness to which you fear you’ve been condemned—“
“I’ve tried, Christine,” Erik said miserably, “don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“I know you have…but you were alone, with nobody to guide you or support you along that difficult road. You are a remarkable man, but even you cannot fight this battle alone.” She swallowed hard. “And…as God is my witness, you will no longer have to.”
His eyes widened as he realized what she was implying. Then he shook his head. “Christine, after what I have done I can no longer pretend to have any right to your hand—“
“I’m not speaking of that,” she insisted. “I don’t think there can be a question of marriage between us...at least the way things stand now; what may be is uncertain. But…I would be your friend and companion; I will help you along the road which you must take. Will you let me do that, Erik? Will you allow me to be your angel, as you were once mine?”
“You…would do this?” he asked, disbelieving. “You would forsake—“ he cast a glance back to the stunned vicomte—“everything you have known to risk an uncertain future at my side?”
“Yes,” Christine said simply. “I would…not out of pity or mercy or fear, but out of the love of the man you were, and for the hope of the man you may yet be.”
“Love…?” His voice broke on the word. “Then you might…you can still…”
“I can…I’m not sure I could stop even if I wanted to.”
Erik sighed, an aching, shuddering breath. “You drive a hard bargain, my dear,” he said. “I do not know if I have the strength to live up to your terms. But so help me…I haven’t the heart to refuse them.”
“Christine!” Raoul’s voice was indignant. “This man is a murderer!”
“I know that, Raoul,” Christine snapped, rising and turning to face him, “do you think I could forget it? And not to long ago, you plotted his death as fervently as he planned your own.”
Raoul flinched. “That’s different—“
“How is it different?” she challenged. “Is this not a man, Raoul? Is his life so much less than yours, that you could kill him with an unstained conscience? You may hate him and fear him, and I dare say nobody would fault you for doing so. But don’t pretend that you’re the better man for it.”
Yes! Robyn couldn’t resist a cheer.
- Please don’t gloat, - the other said. – It had to be said, but I take no pleasure in the act. –
Sorry, Robyn apologized, he gets a little too self-righteous for his own good sometimes. I do feel sorry for him, though…he did the best he could, and he is a decent enough man.
- No better or worse than the rest of us, I think. -
Meanwhile Erik had freed the noose around Raoul’s neck, and calmly gazed on his rival. “You are free to go, monsieur,” he said. “However, if you insist upon carrying this argument further, I can probably bring myself to oblige you…”
Raoul’s voice was sharp and bitter. “I can hardly let it be said that I have less honor than yourself,” he snapped. “However…” he gazed sadly at Christine. “I think I have the right to a personal farewell, don’t you?”
Erik nodded gravely, then stepped aside, allowing the young man to approach the woman they loved.
Robyn noticed that his voice very quiet, so quiet that she had to strain to hear it. “Christine…you know this will not change what has been, what must be…”
“I know,” Christine replied in a voice equally soft. “But for one night…I don’t ask you to understand, Raoul, but please, let me have tonight.”
He actually smiled—a faint, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Tonight,” he agreed, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “You have made your choice,” he continued in a louder tone, “and as painful as it is, I will respect your wishes and pray you may be happy in the path you have chosen. Farewell, Christine Daae.” He didn’t even look back as he left the stage, and Robyn was forced to admit an increased admiration for the young nobleman.
The two who remained gazed at each other in silence, stunned by the magnitude of what had passed. Then, slowly, they reached out to each other and embraced. It wasn’t the last, fierce embrace of two people who had driven each other beyond desperation and almost beyond reason. It was the first, hesitant embrace of a couple standing on the threshold of a new life filled with uncertainty and faith, fear and hope.
“Christine, I love you,” Erik whispered. And he bent his lips to hers—
* * * * *
As the actors onstage kissed the lightboard flickered, and an unseen breeze seemed to ripple through the curtain. “I think that’s our cue,” Kevin said.
Shandra was still irritated by the events of the evening, but she had adopted a businesslike demeanor. “Cue orchestra,” she said into the headset. “Liz, ready curtain—“
The conductor lifted his baton, and the orchestra burst into the climactic bars of “Music of the Night.” For a moment, Kevin almost swore he saw—something rising from Heath and Robyn’s bodies, something between mist and form.
Then Shandra gave the cue, and the curtain fell.
* * * * *
—Heath and Robyn pulled away from each other, stunned.
The latter stepped out of the embrace, flexing her hand before her eyes as if reacquainting herself with her body. “Heath?” she inquired, looking askance at her costar.
Heath’s eyes, which had been intense and bright moments before, were bemused. “Wow,” he said. Then, the grotesque prosthetic lips twisted into a smile. “That was some ride.”
It began very quietly, from somewhere towards the back of the auditorium. But the sound gained momentum and strength like a growing storm, until the entire house roared with applause.
“Jesus Christ!” It was Dan, running across the stage with Chad close behind. “Just when you think you’ve seen everything…you guys all right?”
“Yeah,” Heath said, looking over Robyn’s shoulder at Chad. “You?”
“I’m fine,” Chad said with surprise. “One minute I’m in the wings moping, the next I was back in control of myself.”
Dan began ushering the three of them towards the wings. “Come on, let’s get you guys out of costume before something else weird happens.”
“No curtain call?” Robyn inquired.
Dan managed a smile. “It was an incredible show,” he admitted, “but from what I understand, you guys didn’t have a whole lot to do with it.”
* * * * *
The costumes had been put away, the makeup removed, and the stage pre-set for the next performance. But rather than leaving, everyone had milled around the halls with “what just happened?” expressions on their faces. They had been part of an extraordinary event, so naturally most of them were trying to come up with a perfectly rational explanation for what happened. Shandra persisted in the notion that a gas leak had caused a mass hallucination among the cast, and some of the more prosaic company members were inclined to follow her lead.
Heath knew better. He stayed in his dressing room after it was all over and spent a long time gazing at his reflection in the mirror, as if trying to reacquaint himself with his face. It was a perfectly normal face, the face of a man who was neither remarkable nor tormented, just a guy trying to do eight shows a week as best he could. Heath didn’t know whether the fact relieved him or not.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. “Come in.”
Robyn and Chad entered, both in street clothes, faces slightly red from removing greasepaint. “How’s everyone doing out there?” Heath asked them.
“About what you’d expect,” Robyn said as she and Chad took seats on the old couch beside the door. “Either trying to figure out what happened or pretending it didn’t. Mother Mary’s been in a state of contrition for nearly an hour straight—the fact that she’s technically not responsible for her actions tonight seems to be no consolation.”
“Poor Mary,” Heath said with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t envy her having to cope with the uber-diva.”
“At least her passenger wasn’t practically asking for strangulation,” Chad remarked, rubbing his neck. “That kid was making me very uneasy for awhile.”
“He wasn’t that bad, was he?” Robyn asked.
Chad thought for a moment. “I suppose not,” he finally admitted. “He was just dealing with something he didn’t really understand, and he was making do as best he could. Poor kid couldn’t help that he was out of his depth.”
- Interesting assessment…though I will admit the boy could hold his own when he put his mind to it. - Heath knew the voice. Only this time it wasn’t coming from within his head, but from somewhere inside the room.
Chad’s eyes widened with shock. Then, because he could never pass up the opportunity for it, he engaged in a bit of gentle ribbing. “Angel?” he said breathily, placing one hand to his chest and fluttering his eyes in a perfect imitation of an ingenue.
- Do not mock me. It is…unhealthy. – Something like a cross between mist and shadow formed in the corner of the room. Apart from being roughly man-shaped, it had no really definable features—there was a suggestion of a cloak about the arms and shoulders, and occasionally a glimpse of what might be a mask, but nothing solid.
“Don’t mind him; he’s like that with everyone,” Heath said, quite casual despite the circumstances. He studied their visitor. “I thought you’d left.”
- Strictly speaking, I have always been here, - the shadow replied. – I just have not been in the habit of making my presence so obvious. -
“Am I the only one who didn’t follow that?” Chad asked dryly.
“No,” Heath assured her. “I think we need a bit more information here,” he then told the spirit of Erik. “What exactly are you? I mean, are you a ghost—a real one now?”
He was silent for a moment. – Yes and no, - came the reply. – I am a true phantom in the sense that once I had been a living being, as you are. But I was not as you know me. I had a different name, and my character….I can no longer sort what was from what is, it has been so long. I only know that I was both similar to and markedly different from that which I now am. Those who shared my fate, too, were both like and unlike those you now know as Christine, Carlotta, and the rest. –
“Okay, with you so far,” Heath said after a moment. “What happened?”
- What happens to all of us eventually: I died, and my soul left the mortal plane to the places beyond. But after my death, the story of the Phantom of the Opera was born. Like all stories, it was part truth and part elaboration. And as time passed, the fiction came to overshadow the reality. -
“You mean like Robin Hood, or Sherlock Holmes?” Robyn asked.
The shadow seemed to nod. – That is a good analogy, in fact, - he said. – Essentially, people came to believe in the image of Erik the Phantom, as the truth of what had been passed into obscurity. But most people do not realize that belief can be a very powerful thing, particularly when it is shared by many. In my case, the belief in the legend I had unwittingly engendered came to coalesce around me, as a pearl grows around a grain of sand. And, like a grain of sand, I was irrevocably altered as a result. In short, I—and the others—literally became the characters we had inspired. –
“Wish my college theology prof was here,” Chad remarked. “He’d blow a vein just trying to cope with that.”
Heath ignored him. “So, my question now is: what happened tonight? How is it you were able to take over out there?”
- That, too, was a product of belief. You see… - An uncertain pause. – This is a rather complex matter, but I’ll try to summarize. As actors, you are conduits for the belief which has made me and those like me what we are. And since your own thoughts and feelings are invested in your performance, that connection is deepened. In a very real sense, there is part of you in me—and, I suppose, vice versa. Tonight, the belief in your performance—both from the audience and yourselves—was so strong that the boundaries between us were blurred to the point where they could be crossed. -
“So you decided to—“ Heath began, but was interrupted.
- As I mentioned earlier, I decided nothing. Although I had good cause to be involved in this evening’s events, it was not I who initiated them. -
“It was Christine,” Robyn said. “She told me…it’s been difficult for her. I think because people believe so many different things about what she wants, what she should have done, she was confused. She said she wanted to find out…if things might have been different.”
Erik seemed impressed. – Remarkable…but then, she always has managed to surprise me.-
“But nothing did change, did it?” Chad pointed out. “From what I understand, the story still stands the way it always has, with Christine and Raoul leaving together.”
- That is true. -
“Then…it was all for nothing,” Heath said sadly.
A soft, thoughtful laugh. – Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that. - Although he couldn’t see any eyes, Heath suddenly felt as if he were being very closely examined. – It is a very rare thing to have the chance, however brief or transient, to undo the wrong we have done. Yet for a few moments, I have had that chance…but I could not have seized it without your help. - He appeared to bow. – And for that, among other things, I thank you. Au revior. –
And he vanished.
* * * * *
Later that night, as the three of them left the theater, Chad turned to Heath. “Okay, I gotta ask. What was it like? I mean, actually having him inside you, feeling what he felt—“
Heath mulled it over for a moment. “Intense,” he said finally. “There was this great surge of power, and at the same time almost a feeling of…helplessness. And the pain—“ Tears pricked his eyes at the memory. “I mean, it’s not surprising he pretty much went nuts; I didn’t think any one person could carry that much sorrow…”
“Maybe they don’t,” Robyn mused. “Remember what he said, about you being a part of him?” Heath nodded. “Well, think about it. When you’re out there on stage, you’re tapping into your own anger, your own sadness to play the part, right?”
“Of course—that’s what acting is about, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but don’t you see? That means that your pain has become his—and not just your pain, but the pain of everyone who’s ever played the role, and I suppose everyone who’s ever written about it or even felt their hearts touched by it.”
Heath thought about that. “You might have something there,” he admitted. “That’s a lot for anyone to deal with.”
“It is,” she agreed. “Except…I think Erik carries a bit of hope from all those people as well. The hope that someone will understand us, even when we’re at our worst, the hope that we’re not really as alone as we sometimes feel.”
That brought both men up short. “Wow,” Chad said after a moment. “I guess Christine Daae’s not the only surprising woman around here.”
Heath raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re not going to start fighting over her, are we?”
“You’d better not,” Robyn said archly, with a very un-ingenue-like grin.
Critics of musicals will often point out that the genre is ridiculous, because people do not spontaneously burst into song as they walk down the street. But Robyn would sometimes sing softly to herself, and she did so as she and her two co-stars continued on their way. Heath recognized the song—a song that seemed to embody everything actors lived for, a song that was both old and new:
And now my charms are all o’erthrown
And what strength I have’s mine own
Which is most faint: now ‘tis true
I must here be confined by you
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults
As you from crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free.
c. 2003 by Christi V./LadyCDaae
Return to the Rue Scribe