Phantom (60 page)

"Erik, please, please don't be so angry—"

"Angry…
angry
? Why should I be angry? You have a perfect right to run off with whomever you please, do you not?"

"I never meant to hurt you—never!"

I leapt off the couch and walked away from her. This was too much! I was honestly afraid I might do her a very serious injury if she continued to treat me like a poor idiot.

"Really?" I sneered. "You were going to let me wait here all alone tomorrow night, walking up and down, up and down, staring at the clock? You were going to let me drag up all those hundreds of stairs to your dressing room to find you gone—no word of regret, no letter, nothing—
and you didn't mean to hurt me
? You'll forgive me, my dear, if I have to say I find that rather difficult to believe."

"I didn't want—"

Control was slipping rapidly from my grasp as I swung round upon her.

"I
trusted
you! I trusted you to treat me like a civilized human being and come back with your answer. All these months I've worshiped you as though you were some sacred vestal virgin. I've never even
touched
you! And you wouldn't come back… you wouldn't even come back and say good-bye. There was nothing I would not have done to make you happy, nothing at all. My God, I even killed to please you! I don't suppose you remember the spiders, do you? Poor creatures! There they were, doing no harm, minding their own business and hoping to be left in peace. Spiders are useful, don't you know that, you ignorant child? But it wasn't enough simply to have them shut away out of your sight, was it? No, you wanted them killed, crushed out of existence, because you hated the sight of them, they were ugly and they frightened you! Well, there's someone I hate, too, someone I've been afraid of for a long, long time, and tonight I'm going to kill him so that I won't ever have to be frightened again. It's all right to kill if you're frightened, isn't it, Christine? You showed me that! Yes… on the roof of the world you showed me the way. God helps those who help themselves, you know… and if God can't be bothered, there's always Someone else who will. But generally speaking I've got rather used to shifting for myself. It was something my mother drummed into me very early… I couldn't have been two when she began to refuse to fasten my buttons and tie the mask in place. I remember her throwing a pile of clothes at me one day in a temper—she had a terrible temper, Christine, I daresay that's where I get mine from—'Do it yourself!' she snapped. 'You're simply going to have to learn to do things for yourself!' I sat in my room all day because I couldn't fasten that bloody mask and I didn't dare to go downstairs without it. Sasha would have helped me, if she could, but poor Sasha didn't know how to do it either. All she could do was lick the tears off my face. Dogs like tears, did you know that? I suppose it must be the salt. You'd think I wouldn't remember it, but I remember everything,
everything
. I was cursed with these extraordinary powers of recall, you see… Sometimes I would have given anything simply to be able to forget, as other people do. Anyway… I soon learned to do what was necessary—and that, my dear, is precisely what I intend to do tonight. I don't want to remember how he took you away from me, Christine, so I'm simply going to take him away instead. I'm going to make him disappear from your life. I'm a wonderful magician, you see, I can make anything disappear, if I really want to."

I lapsed into a silence which Christine seemed unable or unwilling to break. Her eyes were half closed, as though she was slowly losing consciousness, and I wondered detachedly if she was suffering from concussion. Beating her head against a stone wall couldn't have done her any good at all… Perhaps I ought not to let her go to sleep.

Just as I was leaning over to shake her, an electric bell rang jarringly in the silence and her eyelids snapped open in terror.

"Don't be alarmed, my dear, it's only our guests ringing the doorbell. They're late, 1 expected them before this… but better late than never, I suppose. Oh, now, please, don't get up. If I draw back the curtains you will have a perfectly good view from the couch."

The touch of my finger on the master control was sufficient to cause the wall paneling to slide back, and when I drew the full-length black velvet curtains aside, the torture chamber revealed beyond was immediately flooded with brilliant light.

"A word of explanation, child, to spare you confusion. This panel is a two-way mirror—we can see them, but they cannot see us. They can, however, hear us, as you will observe… Good evening, Monsieur de Chagny… Daroga. You come here tonight to my private theater without invitation, but there, I let it pass, I'm not one to stand on undue ceremony. I would point out that all valuables— including your lives, incidentally—are deposited here at your own risk. The management cannot be held responsible for any damage that may be incurred during the entertainment. Ah, monsieur, I beg you, do not mouth at us like a ridiculous codfish. I'm sure your passionate entreaties are very moving, but I have taken the precaution of ensuring they cannot be heard on this side of the wall. Daroga… a word with you, if you please. Step away from the young man, right away, and approach the mirror nearest to you… Yes, that's better, you've learned, haven't you, you've learned that it's always best to do as I say with some alacrity. I'm sorry… I appear to have startled you. You never saw this particular little trick, did you? I have to confess that the idea was the khanum's. So easily bored that woman was, so insatiable for novelty! She thought it would be amusing to separate two victims within the same illusion, allowing one to die first while the other watched the fate that lay in store. You will find that the caging is entirely resistant to heat and permits you to observe the entertainment without suffering the least inconvenience. When it's over you will be free to do exactly as you will. I sec you've brought a pistol with you. I hope you'll be considerate enough to use it when the time comes, rather than send for the police. It would save a great deal of trouble all around, wouldn't it? But for now let us concentrate on the diversion in hand… I'm sure the young man will prove a fascinating subject for study. These aristocrats always know how to die with dignity. It's all those years of practice, you see… What is it, three revolutions in a hundred years?… something like that… we're in the Third Republic now, aren't we? England made do with one civil war, of course, but then the English have so much more self-control. Now… Monsieur de Chagny…
Raoul
—you don't mind if I call you Raoul, do you?—1 trust you're not going to disappoint me. No, of course you're not… I'm sure you're going to die very beautifully! You have that look about you which promises a tasteful death. I wonder if you'll look quite so handsome when you've hung yourself from that tree in the corner. Ridiculous suggestion, isn't it, you can't begin to believe you would do it, but you'll be surprised what a difference a few hours in a high temperature will make. By the way, you might be interested to know that I have your little bride here watching. Speak to him, Christine, give the young man a little encouragement. Oh, my dear, you'll really have to cry harder than that, or he'll never hear you—and you have such a special
talent
for crying, it would be a dreadful shame to waste it!"

I turned away from the window and sat down, breathing heavily. I was beginning to feel very odd, as though it were me and not Chagny who had been locked many hours in that furnace of illusions; me who was beginning to hallucinate, slipping involuntarily out of my appointed time and wandering hazily through spinning memories. Past and present seemed to have merged indistinguishably together, showing me all at the same time a mirror smashing, a knife plunging up into vast expanse of gut, a girl tumbling soundlessly from a parapet, a child lying limp in my arms…

And suddenly… the Master's awesome frown of displeasure!

Something was wrong, something was going badly wrong, but I didn't know what it was, I didn't understand why it wasn't working. Mortar's very difficult to mix that first time, it's not easy to attain the perfect consistency required to cement the stones of pure evil in place. This was a very advanced art and suddenly I was a clumsy, uncertain apprentice, blundering with hopeless ineptitude beneath the Master's stony eye; suddenly I was terribly afraid that I'd set my hand at last to the one skill I couldn't acquire.

Panic and fear began to eddy around my brain.

I did the chandelier
. . .
the chandelier, that was good, wasn't it, that showed promise…
?

But it was no use making excuses, trying to bolster my failing courage and sense of imminent failure. The chandelier was just for practice.
This
was my Master's piece… and if I failed tonight I'd never be a master, I'd never be a master after all… immortal, invulnerable to human pain.

I felt His anger beating against my skull, and suddenly I could see that He, too, had lied. It wasn't beautiful here beyond the edge, it wasn't beautiful at all… It was full of ugly, leering shapes that filled me with sudden terror…

You lied to me, Sir… Why did you lie?

"Let him go, Erik… please!"

I opened my eyes to find Christine kneeling on the floor at my feet. Had I fallen asleep for a moment so that I never saw her leave the couch? But suddenly her voice was all I needed to anchor myself once more to the present, to raise anger enough to overcome that moment of spineless self-doubt.

"I'll marry you," she continued feverishly, when I remained silent and unyielding. "Erik, if you let him go I swear I'll marry you in any church in France."

I started to laugh quietly.

"Oh, I sec—you've determined to be the noble martyr! And he's going to agree to that, is he, this nice young man of yours… he's going to come out here, shake my hand, and say '
Congratulations, Erik, the best man won'
? Oh, no, my dear, I don't think that will do somehow. Even an opera has to have a more convincing plot than that!"

"We'll go away," she said urgently, "just turn everything off and I'll go away with you. You don't have to let them out now—all it will take to free them is a letter to the management."

"You're really thinking this out very carefully, aren't you?" I said bitterly. "I honestly think you'd be quite prepared to go through with this horrible farce. Are you listening in there, Chagny… are you overcome by the astonishing nobility of her suggestion? My God, boy, you
should
be!"

"Erik—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you so rudely, my dear… please continue. Do tell me how this wonderful little opera of yours resolves itself… I really don't think 1 can be bothered to wait for the opening night. What happens when we've had this very civilized wedding? Do you throw yourself under the wheels of a cab as we leave the Madeleine? Or are you going to make the truly grand romantic gesture and stab yourself in the bridal suite? I've got one or two excellent knives that would be admirably suited to the purpose, not too heavy for a lady's hand. You might like to have a look at them while we're waiting."

"I don't understand," she sobbed. "Why are you mocking me like this? Only a few hours ago you promised it would be enough simply to call me your wife."

"Well, I've changed my mind!" I shouted suddenly, throwing the organ stool across the room with a savage force that brought the red hangings down upon the coffin. "Perhaps I don't want a Druid sacrifice after all, a petrified little girl who shrinks from my touch and tries to commit suicide the moment I leave her alone. Perhaps I don't want a dead wife lying in a glass coffin. I don't want you, Christine, are you so vain, so stupid that you can't comprehend that? I don't want your pity or your fear—I don't want you!"

Silence fell upon the room as the last echo of my demented rage died away, leaving us staring at each other with disbelief.

Christine had stopped crying; her eyes were suddenly wide and glazed with shock.

"What do you want?" she demanded uncertainly. "Erik, please… tell me what you want."

If you don't tell me what you want straightaway, you will have nothing at all.

I felt myself shrinking and shriveling before her clear, candid gaze. I was once more that small boy, twisting a napkin around my finger in absolute terror that my request would be denied. Such a little thing really, a kiss… most people don't give it a moment's consideration. They kiss on meeting, they kiss on parting, that simple touching of flesh is taken entirely for granted as a basic human right.

I've lived on this earth half a century without knowing what it is to be kissed… and I'll never know now.

It's not my birthday… and I haven't been good…

I drifted toward the hearth and ran my fingers absently across the mantelpiece. Somewhere along here was the location of the switch that would connect an electrical current to the old Communard powder kegs stored in the cellar.

It would be very quick, and very merciful. They wouldn't even know what hit them… if I could just remember where I sited that switch…

A movement behind me made me turn sharply, a reflex born of a lifetime's wariness.

Christine stood there.

She had shrouded her face in the wedding veil, and seeing this I suddenly knew a moment of intense remorse. I'd totally dismantled this child… taken her to pieces in my crazed determination to make her heart tick in harmony with my own. I'd taught her to sing like one of God's own angels, I'd loved her more than anything else upon this earth… but my love had destroyed her, reduced her to a pitiful creature barely aware of her own actions… made her as mad as I was myself.

As I watched, she slowly lifted the veil back from her face, just as a bride does, and I was able to see the black shadows beneath eyes that brimmed and overflowed with tears. With trembling hands she removed my mask and let it flutter to the floor between us; then her fingers crept hesitantly to the smooth lapels of my dress coat.

A moment longer she stood, like a terrified swimmer on the top of a dizzying cliff, contemplating a plunge that was utterly beyond her courage.