![]() It’s up to you to protect him now.” He shakes his head again and I draw myself up to face him. “There’s nothing you can do for her.” The sirens grow louder. “You cannot be here.” I rise, looking past them down the dark pier to the lighted midway. “Go now!” He shakes his head, rising and tightening his arms around Gustave. It’s odd how even though every country’s police have different sirens, the sound is somehow always the same. ![]() We stay there frozen for a moment, then the piercing sound of a siren echoes through the darkness. I see the confusion, the pain and the joy on his face, and I find the only feeling I have left for the man is pity. I watch as my nemesis, the terrible Phantom of the Opera, raises trembling hands and slowly embraces the boy. Then Gustave steps forward and pulls his father into a tight hug He moves back as if afraid the boy will run from him again. I see the boy reach out to the man now kneeling at the end of the pier. I watch through tearing eyes as Gustave moves slowly toward the man who fathered him. I bend and kiss her softly, my heart breaking with loss. Giving his place to Gustave and to me so we can kneel beside her body. ![]() He stands with great dignity, turning slowly away. Our eyes meet and he pushes back, gently transferring Christine to me as I kneel at her side. I step back as if to go and he reaches out to me. I see his pain and, in that moment, I don’t see the monster any more. He reaches out, touching Gustave’s head as the boy sobs into his mother’s gown. Moonlight glints off the blood on her dress and off the tears running down his face. That monster, on his knees cradling Christine’s limp form against him. I gather Gustave against me and slowly move forward. My heart starts pounding and my blood chills. I’ve heard it before echoing from a candlelit cavern beneath the Paris Opera House. Then I hear it.Ī man’s scream splitting the night, echoing back down the pier. Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. “My God, what’s happened?” She looks at me, unable to speak. It’s Antoinette Giry, clutching her daughter Meg by the arms. “Christine!”Ī woman runs into me I pivot and grab her arm just in time to stop her fall. I grab his hand and start to run up the pier into the darkness. There was a noise and she…she fell, and, and there was blood, and….” “Gustave, where’s your mother?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer. “What’s going on? Why are you here alone?” The boy is panting and sobbing so hard he can barely speak. “Gustave.” I grab his thin shoulders giving him a shake. “Father! Mother! Mother, she, she, she….” “Father!” A thin voice carries to me from the darkness up the pier extending over the water. Sucking in a steadying breath, I turn to walk back to the carriage waiting patiently for me at the end of the walkway. Oh, I do hate him, with every fiber of my being. The very air was heavy, the weight, pressing down on me as if to bring me to my knees and make me admit I failed, lost yet another bet. I’m standing under a light on a wooden walkway stretching out over the bay where Meg Giry said she liked to swim. I was a fool! How could I imagine that maybe, just maybe she’d give me another chance?įumbling the carriage door open, I step out into the heat and humidity of the late summer night on Coney Island. I’m not thinking straight anymore I know that much. “Driver, stop!” I order, banging on the carriage roof with my walking stick. Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak
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