The torches ignited one by one as she began to descend the stairs, each flaring up as she approached and extinguishing itself as she passed. She felt their warmth against her face and felt the cold stone through her slippers. Her steps did not echo down the narrow passageway, the only sound a cool draft whistling up from the darkness. She stretched her hands out so that they lightly brushed the walls on either side to steady herself until she could calm her rapid pulse. The airy fabric of her white robe and nightgown trailed gracefully behind her, but she didn't feel graceful. Her heart pounded in her chest and behind her eyes as she strained to see farther down the spiraling stairs. But the darkness revealed only the turn immediately ahead, and the shadows danced around her like silent taunts, beckoning her on.
And then she heard it again, still faint but distinct:
Christine, Christine.
Someone was calling her.
A moment earlier she had doubted the voice that had awakened her, but now she did not doubt; she feared, but she did not doubt. Who was drawing her down these stairs? What would she find when she reached the bottom? It was a only a whisper, the slightest breath, but she did not feel safe. Yet she could not turn back; the voice, the shadows, the flames were compelling her forward, propelling her steps without any will of her own. Her awareness of everything around her was heightened. She could hear her breath, see the outline of stone on stone as the darkness gathered around her, taste the dry cold air rush through her full, parted lips, feel the pounding of her heart at her breast, and curiously, smell a scent of rain and smoke. An odd sensation: her senses were thick, but she was no more than a passenger inside her own body.
The cold wind increased as she advanced; its whistle growing harsher. With one hand still brushing limp fingertips along the stone wall, she pulled her thin robe closed, trying to conserve the warmth on her shivering skin. Her breath was shallow and quick, an intoxicating mixture of panic and excitement welling up inside her.
Christine.
She began to move faster, suppressing her fear, which was now indistinguishable from her desire to find the voice that was calling her so she could know how to answer. The torches kept pace as she raced along the winding passage, heat now rising from her flushed, pale skin and dissipating in the darkness behind her. She didn't know how far she had come, but she did not seem to be getting anywhere; despite the swift flight of stone beneath her feet, every turn looked and felt just like the next. She was gliding now, faster and faster, turning and spinning out of control, round and round, ever farther, always deeper down down down and then she was out, standing breathless on a landing overlooking a vast chamber.
Darkness and shadow dominated the scene before her as well, the flickering of open flames a fiery, seductive dance across the walls, the ceiling, and her hands clutched on the rail at the edge of the landing. As she paused to catch her breath, her long dark hair had fallen around her face, and she brushed the curls away so she could examine the mysterious surroundings. Her eyes were wide and round, peering into the vague shapes of empty space.
Below, she could see water, a small lake that covered the bottom of the chamber. To her right, another flight of steps, open this time, wound down the curved wall to a small dock and an empty boat, its oars crossed neatly over its bow. She was expected.
Her heartbeat had not slowed, and though her breath was calmer, she found herself still too frightened to move. What was she doing here? Why could she not shake the feeling of impending danger, or the excitement that risk engendered? She should go back, run as quickly as she could, escape before she was trapped, consumed. But she stayed where she was, holding the rail, listening, waiting. Her robe was open again and had slipped off one shoulder to expose the smooth skin beneath.
Christine.
She searched with darting eyes to find the person who spoke her name, the owner of the voice that had penetrated her mind and lured her down a spiral stair into this dungeon world. Out across the lake, she spotted a single lantern, its flame licking the glass and dimly illuminating the slight rise of ground out of water. Her eyes followed the steps carved into the hard earth and rock, moving up and away opposite where she stood. That's when she saw him.
A dark form, at first she thought only a shadow, hunched its back to her, draped in a black cloak that touched the ground, but she could see the broad outline of shoulders and the barest glint of a neck, a hint of flesh between cloak and hairline. Then, an ear came into view, and the side of a face, the outline of a male jaw. Christine saw that his lips were parted and that his breath was heavy; his shoulders heaved under the cloak. His motions were slow and deliberate, and he remained more or less exactly where she had first noticed him.
As he moved, Christine caught a glimpse of something else, another form, lighter in shade and in mass, mostly hidden by the man's cloak. A soft brown flashed into view, then back into darkness. Had she imagined it? She stared without moving, without breathing, hoping for another chance to discern what she had seen. A moment later, a larger swath appeared, glistening even in the shadows. Then it dawned on Christine. That was skin; smooth and not his. Christine watched as more skin was revealed, then withdrawn: A shoulder? A thigh? She couldn't tell, but when she spotted a breast, its brown nipple stiff in the cold, damp air, she knew it was a woman.
A hand wrapped itself around the back of the man's head, fingers threading hair, then trailed down his neck to his shoulder and lowered out of sight. Christine thought she could hear the faint echoes of soft moans across the water (or was it only the lapping of waves at the lake's edge?) and her hands loosened their grip on the rail. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, squeezing herself and feeling the loose nightgown against her body. She could tell now that the woman was lying down, and she could see the woman's head titled back, her neck stretched out, eyes closed, mouth open. Christine could see the curve of her shoulder as clearly as if she were right next to her, and the small indention at the base of her throat where the collarbone crosses the chest. Then the woman opened her eyes, and Christine could see her full face, could see that the woman knew she was watching. Without glancing in Christine's direction, the woman smiled, a quick, lascivious smile, deep lips, lingering just a moment before her mouth opened in a silent shudder of pleasure.
Without warning, the man twisted in Christine's direction, his eyes fixed on her. She saw the mask that covered half of his face and gasped.
-----
Emmy sat up with a start. She was in her own bed, alone, though the vividness of her dream hung in the air for a few seconds. Wow, some dream. Her heart still racing, she laughed at herself, inhaling deeply to calm down.
It had been months since the premier, more than a year since the end of production, but Emmy still had dreams about the Phantom. This one, however, was new. Usually, she dreamed of dancing or singing, a rare kiss, and it was never long before she realized she wasn't really Christine and that it must be a dream. But tonight had been so real, she could still feel the shivers of cold along her shoulders. And the Phantom hadn't been focused on her, as he invariably was in those dreams. She had not been the object of his desire, and Emmy didn't quite know what to make of this.
In the dark of her bedroom, she rubbed her eyes. The woman's smile was still crystal clear in Emmy's mind, but her face was a blur. Who was she? She had looked familiar, as if she were someone Emmy knew, but Emmy couldn't figure it out. The look she had seen, the lustful smile and the sharp shudder that followed, seemed to haunt Emmy. She wanted to feel that shudder, to know what thoughts swooned behind those eyes. Maybe there was still time, she could still find her way back down that passage to the landing overlooking the lake. She lay back down and closed her eyes. Maybe, if she hurried.
Soon, she was asleep again, but no more dreams reached her.
-----
The phone rang late the next morning as Emmy came in from her daily jog. Because she was tired and hot and anxious to change, she decided to let the answering machine pick up.
She peeled off her sweatshirt as she walked through the empty house and the phone rang a second time. She entered her bedroom and opened the curtains to let in the warmth of the sun, casting everything in clear, white light. Her skin shone with sweat. Sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching down to undo the laces of her shoes, she wondered who might be calling. If it was her agent, she would have to answer; might be important, as she had learned only the previous day that she had gotten a great role in a movie scheduled to begin production in two weeks. If it was her mom, well, she would have to leave a message. She called nearly every other day now, trivial things really,
just checking in, to see if you need anything, just to say hello, see how you're day is going.
Emmy was beginning to resent the calls. She was eighteen, had been living on her own for months now.
The phone rang a fourth time, interrupting her train of thought as the answering machine picked up. Emmy brushed her sweat-damp hair out of her face and sat still, listening. It was a moment before the voice on the other end began to speak, but right away, Emmy's pulse quickened. It was neither her agent nor her mother.
"Hi, Emmy, this is Jessica Alba. I just found out that they gave you the role of Carrie and that we'll be working together, and I wanted to call and congratulate you ..."
"Hi, Jessica?" Emmy had quickly grabbed the phone.
"Emmy? Hello!" Jessica sounded a little surprised, not realizing that anyone was at home.
"Yeah, sorry about that! I was just making sure it was someone I wanted to talk to." She didn't mention who she thought it might have been; she didn't want to seem too much like a child.
"No problem. I'm just glad I caught you. I wanted to invite you to lunch today. Or tomorrow, if that's better. Since we'll be working together, as best friends, soon ..." here, she laughed, an easy, playful laugh that made Emmy feel less nervous and made her laugh, too, "... I thought it would be good if we got to know each other a little better."
Emmy beamed so wide, she was sure her excitement was audible in her breathless voice. "That'd be great! I mean, we did meet once, a few months ago, I don't know if you remember ..."
"Of course I remember! At the Oscar after party. God, that was some party, but it was so loud and there were so many people, I couldn't really talk to you as much as I'd wanted. So this will give us a great chance to talk."
"I know, that sounds great!" Emmy didn't know what else to say, and her smile weakened a little as she began to feel like an idiot.
