Duplicity

By: Calypso

Based on the Susan Kay book and The ALW musical

This is inspired partly by hearing Michael Crawford sing 'a mask, my first, unfeeling scrap of clothing pity comes to late turn around and meet your fate…" and by a piece written by Humming Water. I enjoyed his/her writing and decided to move it into a different context please don't be made at me for it. J This is what may have taken place had Raoul not interceded at The Graveyard.

Christine

He shouldn't have stood out in the rain like that; watching me as I mourned for my father. Though his clothing was wet when we returned he wouldn't change out of it, choosing instead to move about until it dried. He wouldn't heed my warnings, utterly ignored my begging him not to put himself at such a risk, and as if tearing a knife through my heart he ignored me, adding to the pain which only seeing him hurt afforded me. "No!" His screams scare me, never have I heard the painful magnitude of emotion with which he said that word. The emotion itself was sorrow, sorrow so deep that it brought tears to my eyes.

He's burning up from fever, trashing about in a way that frightens me. "Please, don't lock me up in there." His tone was pleading, pitiful. "Mama no… don't do that, please!" My tears fall onto his face as I attempt to hold him down, trying to break his fever. What kind childhood did he live, to have to beg and plead with his own mother in such painful tones? "Mama it's too dark in here… why won't you let me out?"

What? Did he just say that… was he locked up as a child… by his mother? Oh Erik, what were you put through? How could any parent treat her child so? Or was I simply fortunate to have a father who loved me. At my touch he settled slightly, whimpering a little as I brush his hair away from his face with the back of my hand. I let my hand rest against his forehead for a second… trying to tell his temperature through his mask. Always this cursed mask. "Maman?" He suddenly raises his arm, taking my hand is his. "Why can I only come out here at night?" He sounds so trusting, so confused and I suddenly wish I had been there for him, been there to comfort him the way his mother should have. "Maman, why do you always hide me away when there's company…Maman?" His hand suddenly tightens on my own, his breathing becoming more labored. His grip is painful, but not nearly so much as the look on his face, a look of utter and complete anguish.

He is in pain, but the pain is not from his fever, it is from his memories. I attempt to cool his brow with a wet cloth my left hand still caught in his. This doesn't do any good, I can't cool him through his mask, nor can I feed him the water he requires. I need to remove it… but he would hate that, he would hate me seeing his face. "Mama, why can't I take this off?" That startles me, did he read my thoughts? I hesitate, a million thoughts, fears, and emotions running through me. But I've decided, before I can hesitate I take off that damned mask and fold it carefully before putting it aside. Looking him fully in the face, forcing myself to ignore the revulsion that threatened to overwhelm me. That mask has always been a barrier between us, a line that he wouldn't let me cross but now I've crossed it and I pray he can forgive me for doing so. Tenderly I reach out for the glass of water I put on his dresser table. I need to lift his head but so long as he holds my hand I can't. Disentangling myself from him I clumsily try to move him into a position where it will easier for him to drink, but the moment my hand lets go of his he begins to thrash about once more. "Maman no! Please don't go… don't leave me here!" I think my heart is going to break, what kind of hell has this fever thrown him into? I pray that my presence, my touch, is enough to bring him out of it. As soon as he's upright I pour a little of the water into his mouth, and then a little more forcing him to swallow.

Like a child I tuck him in as warmly possible, allowing only one of his hands to poke out the side of the coverlet I've placed on him, holding it in my own so that his inner turmoil might cease. Sitting beside him on the bed that he'd meant for me, I brushed aside a strand of his hair suddenly loathing myself for deceiving him so. He had given me nothing but his music and his trust, had never harmed me or touched me without my permission. "Please don't do it." He doesn't shout this time, just whispers softly into my hand and I think that I am going to die. How could I betray someone such as this? How could I be ready to send a man who loved me as if I were an angel into the hands of those who would harm him?

I'm so weary… so tired of lying and being lied to. You'd never hurt me my angel, so why now do I betray you? Blowing out the candles I bury my tears in the covers and lie my head down ever so gently before close my eyes. You're right Angel… in the darkness it's easier to pretend. In the darkness I can pretend that the truth is what it ought to be…

Erik

When I woke the first thing I noticed was the suffocating heat and the dryness in my throat, the second was a heavy but mild weight on my torso. Looking down, I was startled - indeed I was amazed - to find Christine's upper half lying on me, the fingers of one hand entwined in my own. I was confused, and frowning I noticed that she hadn't bothered to cover her clothing with so much as a shawl. Then with unpleasant clarity I remembered meeting her at the graveyard yesterday, getting sick just to spite her, it must've been worse then I'd intended it to be for the rest was lost to my memory. Shifting her weight slightly I removed the smothering sheets and moved to pick up the glass of water on the table beside my bed - and nearly dropped it when I saw my reflection in the glass. Turning my eyes to her I suddenly realized that Christine had removed my mask once again, yet remarkably she still lay here holding my hand…

It is beyond my ability to conceive how she could take off that mask and fold it away so calmly. She must have seen my face when she did that, so why was she still here? Resting so calmly and peacefully, without the slightest expression of fear in her face. Oh Christine. Suddenly I remember the conversation in the manager's office and find that breathing is far too difficult. How could such a beautiful angel betray me so? I caress her cheek lightly, for when she sleeps I cannot see the look of revulsion that might be there once she wakes. How could this angel be my tormenter? She begins to stir now, and gently I withdraw my hand from her face, leaving the one pinned beneath her arm where it was. As she groggily sits up, I can see her gaining her bearings. Then she sees me, I expected her to turn white and perhaps scream in horror, but what she actually did hurt me nearly as much.

"Erik! What are you doing? You'll get sick again like that!" Jumping up she pushes me back down in bed - too startled and amazed to fight her. She covers me up once again, though this time in not quite so many layers. I keep my eyes on her face as she bustles about me like a nurse. Feeling my forehead and arranging my pillows, suddenly I grasp her wrist and force her to look at me, needing to convince myself that I wasn't hallucinating. She stares straight into my eyes, at first in confusion, and then in embarrassment. Turning a very deep shade of red she lowered her eyes before sitting down. "Forgive me, I shouldn't boss you about so…" She lets the sentence drift off for a moment, and I almost fall over the edge of sanity in disbelief - was I imagining it, or had she not noticed my face? "You ran a fever last night and scared me half to death." She looks at me, smiling in half hearted sort of way. "But I suppose it's broken and now you're likely much better." When I don't respond she tilts her head again confused by my actions. "Your throat must be parched… here, take a sip?" Seeming to forget my improved state she picks up the glass and attempts to feed me the drink as if I were an invalid or a child, gently brushing my hair away before resting the back of her hand on my forehead to check my temperature. Her touch was cool and light on my skin but it burned me none the less, leaving a blazing fire in their wake.

"He's twisted every way…" at the moment I wanted most to forget them, her words rose up into my mind reminding me of the way she truly felt about me. Suddenly the anger returned again and I harshly drew back from her ministrations reaching for the mask. "Thank you Christine, but I'm much better now." As I covered my face once more I saw the look of hurt move fleetingly through her eyes, but the moment the mask was secure so were the memories of her and her lover. Drilling into me like a knife carving at my heart. "I'll be able to tend to myself now."

My voice was nonchalant as I once again I became the phantom, all thoughts of love buried beneath anger and resentment. Quickly she rose, far too familiar with my tone voice to do anything but rise and fasten her cloak. "I'd best be leaving, we're performing Don Juan Triumphant tonight. They'll miss me in rehearsals." Christine smiles at me and it seems to me that she was waiting for me to show her out, but as I make no move to assist her she pales and begins to leave. My heart is breaking as she walks out of the room, dying even as it beat within my chest. Oh Christine, don' you see? Why did you save my life if you're only going to kill me yourself?