At the Opera House

Chapter 19: Triumphant

Christine knew exactly the moment when Erik stepped on the stage.

How could she not? His voice, golden and heavy, was nothing like the male lead. She could hear him, feel the strains of his voice filling her as he sang to her, and she would not look. It was not part of the choreography, she would not look.

But she would look at the boxes above the audience, darkened shadowed boxes that held the twelve men. Would they shoot?

They had not anticipated this, Christine had not anticipated this, the managers hadn't, no one had.

Now that he was here she realized that she, at least, should have seen it coming all along.

The opera had started innocently enough, a minor mistake in the ballerina scene, a flat note here, a dragged scene change there. All the regular mistakes of a show, and Christine doubted the audience had noticed.

The first and second act had streamed by in a blur, with thunderous applauses and cried of enjoyment.

Then they had gotten to the last song, the final scene.

It had always been Christine's favorite. It was beautiful, the most beautiful song she had ever heard, she admitted. It was not a heavy, passionate song like some people thought. It was quiet, tender and in it's own way the most powerful song in the room. Two lovers united, after trial after trial, they triumph. Their love overcoming all.

Christine loved it, she had adored that song.

But then Erik had come, she had heard his voice, knew he had somehow stopped the usual lead from coming foreword. Somehow, the lead was not there, and Erik was singing his part ever so much better than the old one.

She sighed with relief as he reached the climax of his line, crooning for her love, filling her with an unmatched need to fill it.

Behind her, a single cold finger stroked her back that was most definitely not planned, he was supposed to wait for her and not touch her. Shivers ran up her spine, and she spun round and ran her arms around his neck.

Any other moment it would have been romantic, but here it was stiff, planned, it had been what she was supposed to do.

Don Yuan's mask was there, and the familiar black holes in the mask stared at her. She could not look away. Slowly his hand lifted, rubbing her jawline.

Now it was her turn to sing!

She began, but the world was hazy, his voice had overcome her, her voice cracked in the next few notes. It did not take long, however, until she held her own and her mind cleared.

Ten years of instinct drilled into her by near daily lessons, ten years had prepared her for this moment. To push back his voice, to claim some of the hypnotically beautiful music for herself.

And she knew he felt it, he knew that she was as good as him now, they were equally matched partners once again. Except this time there were no other couples to compete with, there was only each other to overpower.

His voice joined her, wrapping his golden strains around her silvery ones. Creating music, creating the thing that she had breathed and lived for since the day she had first began to talk.

Then he began to walk away and some part of her not overcome with music panicked. If he moved away from her, would they shoot him?

They did not, Christine understood why when she looked from Erik to the backstage. There the rest of the cast stood, watching them with a glazed expression on their eyes. None of them would shoot, his voice was too powerful, perhaps hers as well. It stopped them from thinking clearly, and they didn't have Christine's training, her experience from her time with him.