Love Never Dies

Chapter X

As we walk to rehearsal, Meg is talking about her new number. Her tone of voice suggests that's it an amazing song, but I can see in her face she doesn't like it. Her eyes have a hit of sadness to them.

"Meg." I stop walking and gently grab her arm. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not my father. You don't like it, do you?"

"No." Her shoulders slump, her bright blue eyes dimming at the truth. "I love what your father writes, but I really want to sing something better."

"Well, I write stuff... Tell you what, you help me with Christine and I'll have Papa listen to you sing." She looks up at me slowly. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, you're my family." She pulls me in for a hug. "Thank you. So much." I repeat her words: "Anytime, sweetheart."

As we walk into the rehearsal space, I immediately see Christine and her son. I walk in a line directly behind Meg and wait until the little boy has left. He runs off with one of my father's workers without Christine seeing. She looks a little lost and I wait for Meg to run to her friend's arms. Meg stands frozen, her eyes open so wide I'm afraid they might fall out of their sockets. I push her toward Christine and she stumbles right into her line of sight. I leave them with each other and go looking for Christine's son- my half-brother. I finally catch sight of him looking around at the fly rail.

"Hi," I say, coming to stand next to him. He jumps slightly before realizing I'm not an adult. "Who are you?"

"Not important. I'm around though if you ever need anything. Isn't this fly rail magnificent?" I ask him. "Is that what this is called? What does it do?" His eyes gleam with an excitement of knowledge. "Here, I'll show you! Follow me."

I take him over to a ladder and tell him, "If you go up this, it leads to the ceiling, where giant backdrops hang. Meg, our main star, has a backdrop of a beach, so when she sings that song, the crew people 'fly' it in. From these ropes. Pulling down means going up and pushing up means going down."

"That's amazing! Does anything else fly up there?" I shake my head. "I wish more things could fly, like a chandelier, something like that." He stares up at the ceiling and smiles. "That would be beautiful."

"I know, but pa-" I quickly catch myself. "Mr. Y doesn't want anything too big flying up there, so we just stick to backdrops." I laugh in my mind. I know now why we didn't fly chandeliers. I clear my throat, "I, uh, I should get back to work. But I think Mr. Y is waiting for you." I point behind him to the three workers, turn and walk away. "They'll take you to him."

I walk back to the stage and notice Christine's husband and Meg almost having a staring contest and Christine and Aunt Giry in deep conversation. I catch bits and pieces of the battles.

"You mustn't stay." Aunt Giry's voice is low. Christine looks at her in confusion, "Why would I leave?"

"Why are we here?" Christine's husband snaps under his breath. "Don't play naïve." Meg slaps his shoulder with her music. I watch as Christine is stopped by her husband, "That music. Who wrote it." He says it as a statement, a demand. "Darling, please-" He grips her wrist. "Don't squeeze so tight-"

"I'm getting to the bottom of this. Without your help." He releases her hand and marches away. I back away from the scene.

I'm not really paying attention to where I'm going, but I run straight into Christine. I duck my head. "Oh, pardon me, Madame. I'll just-" I try to move away from her, but she grips my arm and pulls me in close. "Tell me, does he always treat you like that?"

"Who?" I avoid the answer, ignoring the pressure she's using on my arm. I still remember my father's hands there last night. "Don't try that with me. You know who I'm talking about."

"N-no." I stutter. "Not always." She looks carefully into my eyes and takes my hand. I see color blossoming on my arm where she grabbed me. "Come. We're going to my room."

"Wait. Let me get something." I race over and grab a bag with a pair of Meg's old ballerina shoes in them. I walk slowly back to Christine, wondering if she'll like my idea. The entire way there, I stay looking at the ground and don't utter a word. I rub my arm and see a little color appearing. I bruise too easily. The moment we enter the door, I race to the piano for comfort and begin playing. "Would you like some paper, my little composer?" Christine asks, sitting beside me, plinking out her own melody.

"No," I remember what my father told me, so I tell her what I think. "Music is a free thing. Writing it down is like tying it down." I continue playing, letting the music meld with hers. "It restricts the potential. It's better to let it come and go."

There's this horrible discord when someone hits a jumble of keys at once. I look over at Christine and see her staring at her fingers in shock.

"Christine?" I ask, reaching out my hand slowly. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright?" She repeats quietly. "You're just... so much like your father."

"I want to be just like you though. Even the ballerina part." I pull a pair of ballet shoes out of the bag. "These are Meg's old shoes. She doesn't know I have them though. Please don't tell."

Five minutes later, I am dancing all over Christine's room. "I think you're ready for these." She pulls the even more exquisite pair of shoes out of the bag. "These are called pointe shoes. Come here." I sit down on the bed and reach for them. "Here put some cotton in the front. Then gently slide your feet in." Christine helps me set the shoes correctly on my feet and shows me how to tie the ribbons. She giggles slightly. It's like a wind chime, light and pleasant. "What is it?" I ask. "I'd forgotten how small Meg's feet were! Oh, I used to make fun of her all the time. Anyway, try standing." I place my feet on the floor and put my full weight on my feet.

"Oh. That's very painful." Christine chuckles. "I said the same thing, but this is how Meg taught me. Just try dancing around some and go on your toes a little."

She watches me as I experiment until she stops me. "Try... turning."

I spin slightly, only to have my hair smack me full force in the face. I can see Christine with her hand covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she watches me pull the hair from my face. "Yes. About that, let me put your hair in a bun. For proper ballerinas never have their hair down."

"Let me guess, Aunt Giry said that," I say, sitting in front of Christine. "How could you tell?"

After my hair is properly tucked away, I continue dancing around. "My goodness. You really can do it all!" I walk over and hug her tight. "Thank you, Christine." I feel her arms finally find their way to a hug. "You know, you can call me... mother. Or mom, if you'd like." She finally responds. "Okay... Maman."

"Trying to be as French as possible, I see?" I blush, "Maybe you could teach me-"

Suddenly, the door opens, and a man bursts through. I recognize him: the man coming out of Christine's room last night. I run to hide, and Christine panics and sits at the piano.

AN: Nobody comments so I'm just gonna guess that you guys like what I'm writing... love you guys