The Swap

Chapter 16: In which I glance at the mirror.

Let me make this clear, your talent is from now on for my use alone. I could end your life, or turn it into a living hell whenever I please, or whenever I am tempted to make it so. You wouldn't wish for that, would you?

I was climbing something, but then felt something clench around my neck.

Are you with us, or against us?

These questions could mean the difference between life and death.

You truly complete my hell.

But he didn't mean that.

What are you hiding from me, Rosalie?

Why are you hiding from me, Monsieur?

I was both thrilled and disappointed when I woke up these days. Thrilled because I got to see the mystery man. Or rather, mystery monsieur, since he was French. I was disappointed because all he would ever be was the mystery monsieur. I had only seen his image at the masked ball, and that didn't give away anything. He had worn the plainest clothes and the plainest mask of all as he had danced with me. Yet for some reason, I had not been able to keep my eyes off of him.

He terrified me, however. He had this strange aura as he danced with me. As if he sucked me inside a strange dreamscape. All I had to do for it was look at him, and I would be a goner. How could a philosopher like me ever get stuck in a position like that? Not to mention the traumatic appearance on my balcony a few nights ago. I checked my window every night now, in fear and anticipation.

When I had told Cate about the apparition, she had been thrilled. That girl was terrifying.

"It MUST be the phantom. Who else could it be? And how did he even get here? That is the real question you should ask!"

She had eaten the apple pie –she had made it herself- in two minutes. I was still chewing on my first bite.

"I don't know, maybe some crazy person trying to break into my house?"

She sighed, and almost chocked on her food. She coughed for a minute before answering my question. The posters on the wall of her room unnerved me, for there was a good amount of Phantoms on them. Sitting on a pillow, coughing wildly, her dirty-blonde hair all messed up, she looked like a true crazy fangirl.

"Face it, Rosalie. This happened after you came back from the opera house. Not before."

I laughed at her reasoning, feeling like a logical philosopher once more.

"So? I don't think this scenario was very likely to happen to begin with."

"But he was wearing a cloak! Nobody wears a cloak in this day and age! AND he left a rose, with a ribbon. A ribbon Rosalie."

I laughed, and took another bite from my pie. In all her craziness, she was a terrific cook.

"Alright, a ribbon. But the ribbon was white, not black. Like in the movie. So can we be absolutely sure?"

Cate rolled her eyes.

"Shouldn't a philosopher agree with me?"

I smiled.

"Philosopher's never stop asking questions."

School performances were rehearsed. I had, on Cate's recommendation, watched The Phantom of the Opera. Every single adaptation of it. The horror version had a special place in my heart. As did the Tery Richardson version. But I liked the music by Andrew Lloyed Webber the most.

Had it brought back any memories, you ask? It had brought me none. I could not relate to the events happening in the movies at all. But I didn't know if it was because my mind was locked up, or because it all had happened very differently. I did recognize the events of the masquerade, but that was as far as it went.

Watching the Phantom a dozen times had not been in vain. At least I knew what song to play at the school performance. It was supposed to take place in a theater. It was a theatre slightly older than most buildings in my area. I think it was from the 1900's. I had been there a few times before to admire it, and to play.

I remembered all the past times I had performed as I walked into the building. The red seats were not filled yet, and it was still quite dark. So dark, in fact, that I thought I saw a figure move in the darkness. I freaked out a little at that point, but then blamed it on all the strange things that had happened. It wouldn't be that strange if I would start hallucinating at this point. Maybe a psychologist would do me some good, I thought. Soon after I was too occupied with getting my cello from one place to the other.

Bastian assisted me in the end, because I found my arms too weak at the moment.

It was a very boring day, until we were finally allowed on stage. The youngest people were permitted to go first, because often they were the most nervous. But finally, it was our turn. I saw Caitlin in the audience, waiting in anticipation, as Bastian, myself and another cellist took our seats.

The first notes of The Phantom of the Opera were executed by Bastian, as we had agreed upon. While the other cellist played the background notes, I got to play. The notes of the Phantom went through my soul as I streaked the chords of my cello. His words echoed through me.

Sing once again with me

Our strange duet

My power over you

Grows stronger yet

Had his power been over me as well? What had it cost me? What had it gained me?

A dark figure moved over the highest balcony of the theatre. My eyes gaze, silver and sharp as always, followed it. Was it him? Had he been an ally, or a murderer?

And in this labyrinth

Where night is blind

But I wasn't blind. The song ended, with Christine's high notes on my cello and the audience applauded. I heard neither of those things, for the higher parts of the old theatre called to me in a way that was almost deafening. It was a song in itself.

Before I knew it, I left the stage. I dropping the cello, ignoring Bastien's calls and Caitlin's curious looks. I was climbing, struggling and panting. But surely I had climbed something much more challenging than this before?

"Are you there?" I called.

I was met by a very cruel silence. I was panting and the silence only made it more evident. It wouldn't surprise me if the audience, which was dissolving into the outside, could still hear it.

"I don't know who you are, but I'm still looking for you!" I yelled desperately. I strutted around, unsure of what to do. I knew it was dangerous. This construction wasn't built for walking. Especially not in the darkness. My strutting became stumbling, and soon, crying.

Monsieur

When I got back downstairs, my tears had faded. I was just cold, and numb. Cate embraced me, as did my mother and my brother. They talked to me about eating Italian later, but I was more in the mood for French food. Like coq au vin. I had never eaten it before. Or so I thought. Bastian gave me a high-five.

"I really think we should play together more. It's like we finish each other's sentences, but with music!" I laughed, happy to be so wanted.

"Maybe we can practice tomorrow," I said happily.

I returned to the dressing room. It was part of why I liked to perform here. It made me feel like an actual star. I was carrying a bouquet of tulips that my mother had given me in my arms. She was so relieved I had finally returned home. Yet she hadn't asked me as much questions as she usually would have –my curiosity had evidently come from her. I think part of her somehow felt how extraordinary these circumstances were.

The dressing room had one of these boudoirs with lamps on the mirror. I put down my flowers on the dressing table, and yawned. These days had been busy, and the constant wondering about the Ghost hadn't helped. I looked for my large handbag, which contained a warm sweater. When I found it, I started undoing the zipper of my dress.

I stopped immediately. Not because I heard, or saw anything. I only had this feeling. I searched around the wooden walls and mirrors. No one was there, but something as off. I slowly zipped myself up. The dragging sound of it only added to my strange feeling.

I then scanned the room for something out of the ordinary. The vanity was unchanged. As was the larger mirror on the other side of the room. Everyone had already taken their things. Mine were left untouched. Maybe it was just my imagination, I thought. A sigh escaped my lips. The incident of the rose on the balcony had been more traumatic than I thought. I hummed The Phantom of the Opera, in an attempt to mock myself.

"As if an Opera Ghost is even that scary anyway," I mumbled.

I really shouldn't have said that. The larger hanging lamp was the first one that went off. The smaller lights of my vanity followed suit.

"Such insolence!" A voice said, echoing through the room. Or dare I say the whole building. My eyes were wide. My heart was beating rapidly. Visions appeared before my eyes. Visions of people in large dresses. I remembered their heavy layers of perfume, and their pretentious words.

"Wh-What insolence are you referring too?"

A cackle.

"Your questions, brave young cellist. How I have missed them."

I turned around frantically, to find the owner of the voice I heard. A powerful, all-consuming voice.

"Where are you? Who are you?" I cried. This was suddenly becoming a very familiar situation. I was painfully aware of the large mirror in the back of the room. It couldn't be.

"You know very well who I am, Rosalie."

He was speaking the truth.

A flame illuminated the room.

"Look at mirror, ma Cherie."

I turned around, ever so slowly.

And there he was, standing in the mirror of the modern dressing room. I had never truly forgotten all about him. All the memories regarding this man were just tucked away in a box. In a drawer too high for me to reach.

But that didn't mean that my body didn't remember. It started to shake violently.

"You called me a coward. Perhaps you were right."

He must have been a true phantom, the way he made his way out of the glass, without breaking it. As if it never had been there at all. I thought I would break with every step he took towards me. Another strange thought I had, was how much he did not look like Gerard Butler.

"You are shaking," his deep voice murmured, "what have they done to you?"

Golden eyes shone in the light of the flame of the candle he held. One side of this face was hidden behind a mask. He was wearing the costume of a 19th century gentleman, and a large black cloak.

"So it was you on the balcony," I whispered back. I should have already started running, but I didn't.

He smiled wickedly.

"Would anyone else do this for you? The insolent boy that played the cello with you, perhaps?" The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Are you jealous?"

I wanted to hit myself for asking this question to this total stranger. Who wasn't really a stranger.

"Insanely," he answered. Then, he put the candle on the table of my vanity. His arms couldn't be delayed anymore. They found my waist in an instant, and pulled me towards him.

A short breath escaped my lips before he kissed me, violently. I was paralyzed. But then I started struggling against it. Each kiss triggered something. His appalled expression when I had corrected him about the whole opera house being his domain. His protecting me from the officers Philippe and Raoul had sent for me. And then I struggled no more. I remembered him smiling as I sang as I had never sung before. He had shown the world my talent. Talent I hadn't even know I had.

"I loved your performance," he whispered between kisses, "but I did not like the boy."

Tears fell down my cheeks. He felt them too, for he held my face at a distance from his.

"What is wrong?"

His eyes searched my face for something.

"I remember now," I said, smiling through my tears.

"I didn't remember before, but now I do. Caitlin said it was because of what Philippe had done to me. It was traumatic." I touched the hidden part of his face, and felt him tense up.

"Traumatic," he growled. Without a doubt, he was preparing some fun things for my favorite count.

But I hushed him, when I knew Monsieur was about to say something threatening.

"I remember one moment, when you were sleeping. It was one of my first nights in your lair. Your mask had fallen off in your sleep."

He groaned, I felt his hands slip from my face. I just shook my head, I wouldn't try to stop his movements. I just continued talking.

"I have known what you look like without your mask all along. And I still fell in love with you, Monsieur."

To my astonishment, he laid his head on my shoulder. His body shook silently. A tear dropped on my cheek. I touched his hair, feeling whole. When he looked up, there was no menace in his eyes. He kissed me, slowly, gently.

When he stopped, he just took my hand, guiding me towards the mirror.

For once, I did not ask him how it was that the mirror revealed a dark hallway with statues holding torches. I just followed his now smiling, golden eyes. And I did not glance behind.

~The End~

Or perhaps not? I have been working on a small addition to this fic before I truly end it. I hope you all enjoyed it so far. I am very happy I got to finish this story, and it has been so much fun to write it these few years. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing it.