Fallen Angels - Chapter Five

Madame Giry stood infront of her daughter's and Christine's door, not knowing just how she would confront her. It was late, and she knew that Meg would be resting soundly and Christine would be up thinking, it had become a habit for her. The woman had learned to deal with teenage problems, but never one that involved a parent's death. It was true that Meg's father had died, but she was too young to understand it.

Madame Giry didn't want to pressure Christine into telling her about the bruise, but she needed the truth at the same time, and she knew that if she wasted anymore time thinking about it, Christine would fall fast asleep and she would have lost her chance. She took a deep breath, feeling the pressure grow even more in her chest making a huge knot in her lungs. How did she expect to talk to Christine if she couldn't even breath properly.

Her train of thought was then interuppted by rustling sounds coming from the room. She slowly pressed her ear against the panel, and jerked back, waiting for the side of her face to adjust to the cold. She heard footsteps tapping across the wood floor, metal clanging against metal, and then a swish of a cloak going over someone's head. Madame Giry realized that Christine was planning on going somewhere. She quickly backed away a few steps, and looked around for a place to hide. Except for one candle that lit the hallway, everything else was in darkness. She knew that if she sat in one of the dark corners and kept quiet, she would not be noticed.

She quietly manuvered around to sit just beside the edge of the door so she could see which way Christine would go. She pressed her back against the wall, and slowly quieted her breathing. She suddenly became thankful that she had worn her practice skirt and slippers to the visit. Her gown had a long train, and if she had worn it, her movments would have been detected immediatly.

But even though Madame Giry was standing just three feet away from the entrance of the door, Christine did not sense her there as she entered the hallway. Christine looked around, making sure that no one had seen her exit. She knew where she had to go, she felt like she was having a secret meeting with an old friend, but what she was really doing was finding a new father. She turned back, satisfied that no one was there, reached into the pocket of her red velvet cloak, pulled out the skeleton key, and locked the door.

She picked up her candle that she had placed on the ground, walked towards the candle that lit the room, and ignited her's into flame as well. She walked to the edge of the room, and faced where the stairs that lead to the chapel, slowly went down. Feeling someone's eyes burning into her back, she quickly whipped around and moved her candle to light the dark corners.

Madame Giry pressed her back harder against the wall, she wanted to find out what Christine was doing and where she could possibly go so late at night. She sucked in her breath, and made a silent wish that Christine's light would pass over her.

Christine's flame went over the one corner that she needed to see. Feeling reassured, and a little parinoid, she faced the stairs again. She closed her eyes, and made a prayer that she wasn't being foolish and that there would really be an angel waiting. As she opened her eyes again, her free hand slowly moved down her neck to the locket that hung from a chain. Her index finger grazed over the ruby and she jerked her hand back as a slight burning sensation coursed through her finger.

She didn't know where the pain had come from, or why she had endured it, but felt a strange relief for her unaswered questions. She smiled to herself, picked up the end of her cloak, and made her way down to the chapel.

Madame Giry stood up, relieved that she had not been seen. She silently watched as Christine's candle light disapeered down the stairs leaving the hall almost curtained in darkness. At first she thought that she could let Christine go and mourn her father, but then remembered the bruise that came as a product of the last visit. She decided that she would go to the chapel and watch, and if things started to go wrong, she would be there to protect Christine this time.

Madame Giry took another breath, now more frustrated than ever. She knew that it was difficult to hide from Christine just then, but didn't know how she would hide where all those candles were burning. She shook her head of thoughts, and ran to the egde of the room and slowly began her way down the steps. She knew that with every thought she made, Christine was taking one step closer to the end of the stairs.

Her eyes blind to the darkness, all she could trust was the feeling underneath her feet. Being a ballerina instructer, she was sure-footed, and did not have a difficult time finding the edge of the steps in the darkness. Just a few feet ahead, she saw a light start to grow out of the gloom and knew that she was getting close. As she entered the edge of the light she heard incoherent words coming from Christine's petite form bowing down infront of the angel mural.

Slowly Christine rose up, her back bent, her legs folded beneath her, and her hands covering her face, concealing the emotional sobs. Madame Giry found the nearest corner and sat down, waiting for something to happen. She watched intently as Christine looked up at the ceiling, her eyes open, her face tear stained. Slowly her lips formed words, she said them as a plea for help, "MY ANGEL! Please, speak, I am here......" her body shivered, she bowed her head again and closed her eyes, as if waiting for a response.

Madame Giry shook her head, feeling pity for the poor girl. Slowly her stomach started to feel knots growing, and she raised her head up as she heard a reply.

"I AM YOUR ANGEL...." the voice sang. Moaning from all sides of the room.

Madame Giry's eyes widened, her heart dropped, and her thoughts froze. For the first time in a long time, she felt frightened. Sweat covered her hands as she started to shiver. Although she was stunned, Christine rose up from the floor, clasped her hands together infront of her, and took a few steps back.

Christine looked around the room, now realizing that she wasn't having just nightmares. The voice had come and gone so quickly that she was already missing its power. She begged for its return, her voice came out as a meer whisper, "Speak, speak again!"

"I AM YOUR ANGEL OF MUSIC..." the moan answered. Madame Giry, now more alert, felt a strange feeling in the back of her mind. She knew it was a man's voice, and it was very deep, but so beautiful at the same time. She looked at Christine's face and saw the longing slowly showing in her features. Madame Giry did not blame the child, she too felt overwhelmed by the voice's power, it consumed her into a world of darkness. It was no angel, and she was sure of that. She watched as a conversation began to form, the whole time amazed at the sound of Christine's angel.

Christine gazed at the mural, starting to speak to the angel, wanting to know more about it, and wanting it to answer back so that she could have it's sound echo through her mind once more. "Angel I hear you, speak I listen," she took a step forward pleading, "stay by my side, guide me."

She began to feel ashamed for ever doubting the voice's return and looked down at her hands, "Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me, " she then looked up, smiling, a tear gliding down her left cheek, "enter atlast, master....."

The voice moaned no more, it changed into the beautiful sound of a deep male voice, as it answered back, singing:

Christine closed her eyes and took a deep breathe. The sound jarred her senses, fighting its way into her mind, and soul. She shook slightly as the angel finished its song. She put a hand on her chest and a hand on her stomach trying to control her breathing, so that she could answer back.

Although the voice no longer moaned, it was so beautiful now, that she could name it a man. It gripped her heart more than it ever had before, and she needed to hear it again. Slowly becoming aware of what the angel was saying, she grew unsure.

"Angel but how? How can a creature like me, " she pressed her hands against her chest, "take such power and music from a voice like yours? How can I listen and learn, " she smiled to herself, shaking her head as if not believing it, "after hearing such a soul....." she then bowed her head again, frowning for herself, but then looked up, as the angel sang it's way into her mind:

Tears of joy slid down Christine's face as she took unsure steps forward. The sound of the angel's voice made her feverish, but so reassured at the same time. She then started to speak to herself, "This is all I ever dreamed of, " she frowned her happy thoughts turning to worry thinking, "but was it enough just to hope for it?" She looked around, now directing her questions to him, "Are you what I've been waiting for? Are you really even there?" Christine now thought that she was going crazy, she knew that there could not be an angel speaking to her, and there could not be a voice so perfect that it could have such an effect on her feelings. But there was, and it convinced this truth, by singing to her again:

Christine rolled her head back, her eyes closed, feeling the voice circle through her mind. As her body's breathing began to slow down, her eyes opened and she felt a sudden urge to sing with the angel. Never having sung before in her life, she was amazed at how beautiful it was, and Madame Giry was stunned too. Christine sang with an amazing soprano tone that engulfed the room in beauty. Her mouth began to open, and out from her chest she could feel her soul come through her voice:

Not caring for her own voice anymore, Christine closed her eyes, waiting and listening for his reply. Her heart beat against her chest, and her hands squeezed into fists as her patience grew short. But as his answer came back to her, tears came to her eyes, and her soul grew more vulnerable to his will:

Christine fell to her knees, hugged her shoulders, looked to the ceiling, and closed her eyes. She wanted his voice, and was making it show. Her body shook as she answered back:

Christine gasped and opened her eyes, she became weak as her arms fell to her sides. She felt that she had given herself away, and that she was no longer her own. But as she started to control her breathing, she realized that that was what she wanted. His voice now owned her, the angel now controlled her soul. She bowed her head and rose to her feet as the angel bid her goodnight:

Madame Giry, who's heart was now as unstable as Christine's, watched as the young girl got up, ran to the door, but quickly turned around to answer once again, no longer singing. "Goodnight my angel, give me the power to sleep, without your voice singing to me in the darkness!" Christine sighed, looked around once more, and quickly turned to run to her warm bed that awaited her. The voice slowly followed her, leaving also, but once again turning into a moan, "CHRISTINE....."

Madame Giry slowly stood clutching her chest, not believing what she had just seen or heard. That voice that called to Christine, it sounded like a man, but sang like an angel. She knew that it could not be both. She shook her head, trying to drive away the feeling that the angel left. She had to find out what was going on. She didn't think it was real, but didn't have any proof that it wasn't. She sighed, feeling unsure.

Gazing over the pictures of lost loved ones, she found her husband's. Memories started to flood back and she let a tear run down her face. Feeling strangely reassured, she knew she had to find out who was doing this to Christine. As she turned to exit the room, she felt a light wind brush against her back, and she quickly turned around to face the mural.

Slowly a white peice of parchment fell from the ceiling, and landed at her feet. Madame Giry felt someone watching her and looked up to where the letter had fallen from, but saw nothing but a black ceiling. Unsure of herself, she bent down to pick up the piece of paper, as she did so the candles that were lit flickered ever so slightly making her feel a presence. She started to think herself foolish, but no matter how many times she told herself that, she still felt scared.

She quickly grabbed the paper, and ran up the steps to the hallway, leaving the darkness of the chapel behind her. She waited until she was standing right beside the hallway candle, before she stopped for a breath. She put her hand to her chest, put her head back, and waited for her breathing to become normal. As it did, she quietly laughed at her own childness, and looked down at the paper she carried in her hand.

She frowned noticing something red sticking out from under her fingers. She brought the letter to her face and gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened, sealing the letter was a shape of a skull, pressed into red wax. She shook her head, feeling idiotic, and continued to open the parchment.

At the beginning of the letter she felt frightened for herself and Christine, as if seriously threatened, but as she read on, she grew to think more and more of it as a joke that some idiot was trying to pull on the ballerinas. The note read:

Madame Giry had no idea who could possibly be OG, but she knew who she could ask the next day. Now more angry than frightened, Madame Giry sharply turned, refolded the letter, placed it in her pocket, and made her way down the hall, stomping her feet all the way, not caring for people trying to rest.