Chapter 3 - Forgotten Remembrance
I am only guessing that I woke up the next "morning". It was only a few minutes before I noticed the "wall" opening again. That didn't give me nearly enough time to think about my situation, as I would have liked. I saw the wall opened more as he stepped in with a tray of food in his hands. I hadn't even had time to think about how hungry I was.
"It's delightful to see you awake, darling. I brought your breakfast so that you would not have to strain yourself to get out of bed. But do not get used to it. I will expect you to get up and eat at the table with me once you have fully recovered." He said setting the small table on the drawer near the bed, "do you need any assistance sitting up?"
He walked closer to where I lay. He towered over little me and I looked up to his mask with wide eyes of a child. I could move again without too much pain, or so it seemed at the time. I was hungry and I was willing to bite through pain to survive with the gift of food. I lifted my elbows back so that they were under my shoulders lifting me upward. My body shook with the new weight on such a small bony surface. My whole body began to ache in protest until I felt myself beginning to fall. Before I collapsed into the bed, two hands caught my back. Thin long hands took my underarms with a caressing strength and lifted my up on the big pillows behind my back.
"Ouw." I let it escape my lips.
"Oh darling! Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?"
"No, no, I'm just… just so weak…" I said with a sigh wondering if I should have admitted that or not.
"You are in need of food, my dear. I tried to bring you something light so that it would not conflict with your stomach." He brought the table to set on my lap, "here, Christine."
I looked down to see a plate filled with apples, peaches and grapes, as well as a roll and butter. It looked wonderful to my hungry eyes and taste buds. I started for the plate, but stopped. Where did the food come from? And who made it.
"I don't know you." I said, "how can I trust you?"
"Christine, you must know me. You said you would… Have you forgotten it all?" he said moaning in sadness
"There was nothing to forget! Nothing happened!"
"Darling please," he pleaded with unearthly sadness, "don't tell me you forgot all of it! Don't you remember me, angel?"
He had taken my hand and shook it with persistence in wanting an answer. Nothing happened! There is nothing to remember for me! I wasn't here living this life! I was living my own life! I wanted to go home- my home. I didn't want to be forced to remember that which never happened to me.
"But it never happened to me. I am not Christine! She is dead- the died a hundred years ago. I'm in no relation to her! I know her story. I read her story- it's not real! It's not real!"
"What do you know then of 'her' story?" he asked intently
"She was an amazing singer who used sing at the Paris Opera House. She lived with her father until he died. He told her and Raoul stories of the Angel of Music and the Phantom of the Opera used those stories to teach her to sing. Then he abducted her multiple times until he forced her to marry him for everyone's lives! Then she left with Raoul and the Phantom died. It's a story that's been told hundreds to times by hundreds of people. It was said to be fiction from the author after he said it was real in every aspect. It was my favorite musical even. It inspired me to pursue acting. But it's not real. Not in this time. I am not of that time!"
He sat down on the bed and looked down.
"Whoever told this 'story'," he said darkly, " was not right. You did not run away with the boy and I am not dead. And a musical!" he put his head back and began to laugh, "what an insane idea! I've never even heard of the term! How low an idea that would be next to a grand opera! And the Phantom of the Opera! I do like it, don't you? I would like to meet this 'author' and have a word with him!"
I looked at him in horror. He was accusing me of insanity. I soon would be accusing me of sanity if things continue as they were. Tears welled in my eyes. I was alone. I felt so terribly alone in the world. I wanted my mom. She would believe me!
He looked back at me and softened his posture.
"You don't believe me! Oh I want my mom! She would believe me! I want to leave! I want to go home!"
"But Christine," he said eerily, "you are home. Remember our agreement now? You must stay with me, my love! The boy will surely die if you do not! We both know that! This author of yours got something terribly wrong! What I am beginning to fear is that this author is you after all! This dream of yours is indeed a dream! It's what you want, isn't it? You want the boy over me, don't you my dear? Well, you're just going to have to dream harder! I'll just be sure to keep you awake so that you can only think of me and not the boy! No more dreaming for you! I don't ever want to hear about it ever again! You will belong to me and only me in a number of days once you recover. So eat up! The quicker you recover, the sooner we can be wed, and the sooner our happiness can finally be reached. By that time you won't even be able to think of the boy again for you will be so happy with me, you won't even want to look back!"
He sounded insane! Insane! It was just like the book! I was Christine! My life was ending as he went on and on about how 'happy' we would be! What a madman! With the same bone-chilling laughter Christine spoke frequently of in the book, I heard him walk out the door. Mom, Mom how I need you! How I desperately need you!