Christine stared at the mask, disbelief invading her thoughts. It was impossible. How could Meg have the Phantom�s mask? He would never have parted with it, unless...
A strangling cry escaped her throat as she lunged for the mask and closely examined it. There was no mistaking it was his mask. He would never have taken it off--the only two times she had seen him without it were when she herself had removed it--so why did Meg have it? If the Phantom had removed his mask, it would only be because he no longer needed it. And the only time he would no longer need it would be if he was...
Tears suddenly blinding her vision, Christine stumbled out of Meg�s room, still clutching the mask to her heart. She collided with Meg in the hallway.
"Christine! What�s the--" Meg gasped as she saw the mask in Christine�s hands. "Oh no--"
"Where did you get it?" Christine demanded, as a sob overwhelmed her. "Where did it come from?"
Meg�s expression was one of regret. "I shouldn�t have left it out. I�m sorry, Christine, I didn�t think you would--"
"Where did it come from?!" Christine repeated insistently.
"I found it," Meg whispered.
"Where?"
"In...in his...on his throne."
Christine�s face was turning pale. "When?" she choked out.
Meg bit her lip. "I... Two weeks ago. After you left with Raoul."
"You didn�t see...him?"
Meg shook her head.
Christine moaned and sank to the floor, sobs escaping her throat. "It�s all my fault."
"What�s your fault?" Meg asked, sinking down next to Christine.
"I was the only one who could save him. All he wanted was someone who could love him. I was the only one, and now he�s...he�s..." She felt as though her heart was being wrenched from her chest.
"Christine, you don�t know that he--"
"He wouldn�t have left the mask behind if he planned to go on living. Now I know why I�ve been having those awful dreams. He�s gone, and it�s all my fault." She choked on another sob.
"There was nothing you could do, Christine," Meg reassured. "You and Raoul belong together, anyone can see that--you couldn�t stay with the Phantom. He was evil--he murdered Buquet and Piangi, and--"
"Only because he loved me," she whispered miserably. "Oh, why didn�t I see it before?"
"See what?" Meg asked.
"How much he loved me! Raoul�s love doesn�t even compare to my angel�s."
"Christine, he was anything but an angel! He�s just a man--and you don�t even know what his real name is. He could be a long-searched-for criminal--in fact, he probably is! He never loved you! He only wanted--"
"No," she murmured. "Never. He loved me. His love was real and true. I know it now. Now that it�s too late..."
"What could you change?" Meg asked. "You wouldn�t go back to him, Christine."
"I might," Christine whispered.
"Why would you possibly do that?"
"Because," Christine replied in anguish, "I�ve only just realized that I love him."
*****
Madame Giry discovered the two girls on the floor in the hallway thirty minutes later and insisted that they move to the sitting room. Meg had been sent to bring some tea, while Christine collapsed on the sofa, sobbing into the pillows. Mme. Giry sat beside her, attempting to soothe her, but Christine was inconsolable.
"It�s my fault," she moaned over and over. "He�s gone--he�s dead, and it�s all my fault..."
"There now," Mme. Giry comforted. "It�s not your fault. No one said he�s dead. Just because he�s disappeared doesn�t mean--"
"He left his mask!" Christine wept. "He would never take it off unless he--"
"Sshhh," Mme. Giry said. "I happen to know that he�s still alive--or was as of last week."
Christine looked up at the older woman. "How do you know that?"
"He�s been closing up the entrances to his underground house," Mme. Giry said reluctantly. "I tried to go down to check on him, but I couldn�t find a way in. All the trapdoors are sealed, and the passages in the walls seem to have disappeared."
Christine again burst into tears. "He�s making it so no one will find him after he�s died! He doesn�t want anyone else to see his face...It�s all my fault. Why did I ever take off his mask in front of the whole audience? I knew how his face tormented him, and--"
"Christine, dear, he�s been through worse than that."
"What?" Christine wailed. "How could he?"
"Stop crying, Christine. You�re becoming hysterical." Madame Giry rubbed the young girl�s back, then helped her sit up. "It was years ago, Christine. You couldn�t have been older than seven or eight, I imagine. There was a traveling fair in Paris. They boasted about their tumblers, conjurors, human oddities..."
"Human oddities?" Christine whispered.
"There...there was a man, locked in a cage."
Christine�s face visibly paled. "It was him, wasn�t it? They had him on exhibit. They had people pay to see him--his face." She looked at Mme. Giry hopelessly. "That�s what it is, isn�t it? That�s why he was hiding under the opera house."
Mme. Giry nodded. "I�m not sure how he escaped. But he did. I�ve never forgotten his face. I remembered him, when I saw him in the opera house years later."
"You saw him? Before all that happened?"
"Several times. I was the one who secured Box Five for his use. I took a mask from the costume room for him, and kept him up to date on the opera house�s happenings."
"You knew all along?" Christine whispered in disbelief. "You knew, and you never told me?"
"I promised him I wouldn�t. Erik was like the son I never had. I took care of him as though he was my son."
"Erik? His name is Erik?"
"Yes. He didn�t tell me his last name. Said he didn�t even want to remember it. His family sold him to the circus when he was very young. He hated them for that. He was always so bitter."
"Why didn�t he just keep to himself? Why did he have to become a Phantom?"
"I think he actually enjoyed being the Phantom. It was something he could control, making people scared of his demands, playing tricks on singers he didn�t like. He always longed for something...someone who could love him for who he was."
Christine buried her face in her hands. "Madame Giry, what am I going to do? I don�t think I�ll ever be able to live with myself. I could have helped him. I didn�t know...didn�t realize..." She broke down yet again. "And now it�s too late..."
"There now," Mme. Giry said. "It might not be too late after all. As I said, I�m almost sure he�s still at the opera house. You would only need to find a way down to the underground lake."
Christine gasped. "I couldn�t go down there again. That place frightens me so! I don�t think I could stand it."
"It might be the only way to see Erik," Mme. Giry said. "If you want to see him, you need to go now, before it truly is too late."
"But I couldn�t go there. I...just couldn�t. It�s too dark, too frightening. I�d probably faint if I went!"
"Christine," Mme. Giry said softly, "I know it will be hard. But if you want to see Erik before it�s too late, you must go soon."
Christine bit her lip. "I...I..." She took a deep breath. "If he�s sealed off all the entrances, how will I ever find a way in?"
*****
"Miss Daa�!"
Christine looked toward the voice and nearly groaned aloud. "Good evening, Monsieur Firmin."
Firmin strode from the office doorway to where Christine stood near the staircase inside the Paris Opera House and lifted her hand to his lips. "I am ever so thankful to see you. We had been so worried that you would not return... You�re just in time for the dress rehearsal. If you will follow me--"
"Monsieur, I am not here for the rehearsal," Christine said.
Firmin�s expression did not hide his alarm. "I beg your pardon, Miss Daa�?"
"I am only here to...to collect some of my belongings from my dressing room," Christine replied.
Firmin grew more alarmed. "What?"
"I have told you. I�m sorry, but I will not be returning as a singer. Please, I only have a few moments."
"But Miss Daa�!"
Christine turned and walked up the hallway toward her dressing room, ignoring Firmin�s protests. She reached the small room, and anxious to be rid of her former manager, closed the door on his imploring words and locked it behind her.
Only then did she have time to realize what she was about to do.
The mirror loomed ominously on the wall, taunting her. She turned away, but quickly renewed her resolve and stepped toward the mirror.
"There must be a spring or something..." she muttered, her fingers shaking as she examined the outer edge of the mirror. The mirror appeared to be solidly mounted to the wall, yet she knew of it�s capabilities. If the Phantom--Erik--had been able to open it, then there must be a way.
Yet after almost forty minutes of diligently searching for a way to move the mirror, she slumped in despair against the wall. She knew of no other way to reach the lair, if Erik had indeed closed off the other entrances. Besides, the mirror was the only one she could even imagine finding. When the Phantom had taken her from the stage after Don Juan, he had nearly blinded her with his cloak, preventing her seeing how the reached the lake.
Maybe there was no way to open the mirror from this side. Possibly it was only the opposite side, the secret side, that held the latch, or spring, or whatever it was held closed with.
But she must find a way through this side. She straightened and wearily pressed her fingers into the upper left corner, willing the mirror to open. It didn�t--it only stayed and served as proof of her exhaustion and despair. She longed to smash the mirror into a million pieces, but she knew she would never make it open if she destroyed it. There was probably a normal wall behind it for all she knew, one that swung with the mirror but would stay remain in her way if she crushed the mirror.
She moved her fingers to the upper right corner and pushed against it. To her utter shock, the mirror inched away from the wall a couple of inches. She gasped and pulled at the slight opening, and the mirror swung inward, leaving several feet�s space between the mirror and the wall.
Suddenly she wasn�t so certain this was a good idea. What if she found the Phantom, alone and starving, or...or worse?
She bit her lip and gathered her courage. She had come too far to give up. Reaching for a candle from her dressing table, she took a deep breath, then went through the mirror.
