Blue Rose

Chapter four: Nightmares of the past

The sound of my footsteps is the only thing that disturbs the silence when I travel through the empty corridors of the opera house. Dimmed lamps are unable to disperse all the shadows, and I can't help feeling that something is watching me... The darkness, which has been my refuge so many times, suddenly becomes completely strange to me. I'm almost relieved when I finally reach the first door. But the relief doesn't last too long.

The door doesn't lead to the next room, but to the roof, where, among the snow flickering in the starlight, still lies the abandoned rose.

Without a word, I turn around and grip the doorknob again. I do not want to look at this.

This time the door, however, takes me to my underground home – destroyed, cold and foreign. I move on.

Cage bars. Box five. The cemetery, where fresh blood stains the ground. Giry's empty room. Stage where real flames slowly swallow those that until recently were only decorations... I open new doors and pass the familiar places without paying attention to any of them. I wander through this strange labyrinth of memories, not knowing where I am going or whether I will ever get there.

In Christine's dressing room, I pause, hearing a woman's sob. I call her name, but no one answers. Maybe it's better this way. I doubt I'm the one she's waiting for.

Another door.

The shaky catwalk suspended over the abyss, the loud music and colorful crowd far below me...

I know this scene.

My eyes land on a terrified man who tries to increase the distance between us with all his strength. The wave of a familiar excitement floods me, and I immediately forget about my aimless journey.

Buquet, Buquet... Do you really think you can escape from me?

I follow him without difficulty, gracefully jumping between the footbridges, as if every step at this height didn't threaten death. I don't lose my victim out of sight even for a moment. I relish every stumble and every fearful look. Trying not to laugh, every now and then I disappear from his view just to appear right next to him just when he begins to feel safe. I'm toying with him.

But every game must come to an end.

Buquet doesn't even have time to shout before the noose tightens around his neck. Below, the ballerinas are spinning faster and faster, full of grace and elegance, they attract the audience's eyes... no one sees the last moments of poor Joseph. The man's hands, which a moment ago had been tugging the rope in panic, fall limp. I can no longer stop the victorious smile.

I won, Buquet, I won...

I close my eyes, soaking in this feeling... but I can't get rid of the impression that something is wrong. I look back at the body and the triumphant laughter dies on my lips. My eyes do not meet the bloodshot eyes of a drunkard, but different ones, dark blue with a unique, almost violet shade...

- - - X - - -

I sit up violently on the bed. I can't catch my breath. The vision of violet eyes haunts me. Empty. Dead. Because of me. In blind panic, I helplessly try to free myself from the tangled bedding. I grope for a candle. My trembling fingers can't keep the matches that fall to the floor one by one. First one... second... third... only with the fourth do I manage to light. A tiny flame finally brightens the darkness.

I look around the room frantically. Stone walls instead of the sea of dangling ropes. A stable floor instead of shaky footbridges towering above the amused crowd. When I finally comprehend where I am and, most importantly, that I'm alone, I fall to my knees. I close my eyes.