Next Generation – A Mirror
"How bad?" Erik pushes through the door of the infirmary past Yasmine, holding a broom and dustpan filled with what appears to be a mixture of sand and small fragments of blood-stained glass. Taking in a path of the same detritus, the blood more evident, cuts across the linoleum inside the large waiting room, he says, "This is why I was summoned? Where is she?"
"Room one. Dr. Gangle, William and Gustave are with her," the young nurse responds. "I was just going in to help, but the floor and the hallway…and if any people needing care come in…"
"Leave it, you are more needed with Meg than Gustave, he can clean up out here. I have a feeling we will need as many skilled hands as possible to deal with this."
Opening the door to the examining room, he tears off his jacket, he rolls up his sleeves grimacing at the familiar scars crisscrossing his wrists and forearms. Calling out as he strides in, "Gustave…William, we need Yasmine to assist in here. Why on earth did you think you were more capable than she to address this?"
"We are only helping to move Meg from her chair to the examining table," Gustave says, stepping away so Erik can see Meg's body, loosely covered with a white sheet, lying on the table.
The now vacated wheelchair, holds a bloodstained blanket thrown over Meg, garbed only in a strapless brassiere and pantalets, for the trek through the alleyway from the theater to the infirmary. One might think a jar of glitter was scattered it haphazardly over her head and upper body. "We did our best to clear up much of the glass – she was covered in the stuff. Thankfully, most was on her dressing gown, but…as you can see…we did not want to disturb…" he continues in a rush. "I never imagined a broken mirror could create so many small pieces."
"Yes, a broken mirror can travel a long way to places one would never suspect, leaving tracks and hiding in places one would never imagine looking even years later."
Gustave gives him a quizzical look. "You make it sound like mirrors can think and reason."
"But they can, do they not, Gregory?" Erik says, washing his hands and putting on a pair of rubber gloves. "Mirror are magical."
"I suppose so," the doctor grunts. "One day we are ugly, the next attractive. Same person, but the reflection says not. I have been tempted to smash a few mirrors in my day. Your own arms are evidence of your attack against one. Never quite had the nerve, unlike you…and now my wife…to actually fight back." The doctor sighs as he turns away from Meg. "There is one quite long piece…in her neck…I am not sure I can do this."
"What happened?" Erik asks, walking to the gurney to take a closer look.
"When they got here, Adele appeared to be in a trance – staring, speaking in a monotone. Only said Meg had consumed at least one bottle of that cough medicine. Beyond that, I have no idea. I cannot imagine what happened – neither woman is talking."
"The syrup is likely why she is out. Probably for the best – keeps her from moving around – feeling any pain."
"Something I am certain she will appreciate once this is over – Meg not being particularly fond of any sort of pain or inconvenience to her being." His tone cold…vaguely sarcastic.
Erik raises an eyebrow.
"In any event," Gregory continues, "the medication will assuredly make our work easier."
"Gustave? William? You brought her here. What do you know?"
"The three of us were going over the schedule," Gustave says. "Meg was late. Adele said she would check on her thinking she might need help with her costume…"
"We heard Madame Giry call out…" William says. "When we got there, she just pointed. Did not say much after that – just watched us move her to the chair – did not even help with her dressing gown – and followed us here."
"Not like her at all – you know how she always takes charge," Gustave adds. "The whole scene was out of sorts."
"If you do not need me, I should be getting back to the theater," Williams says. "Thankfully not too many folks around to see this…most of the cast are not expected until later. Still, would need to calm any I see and keep the rumors at a minimum."
"By all means," Erik says. "I was not thinking. Gustave, perhaps you could manage the office for anyone needing help…or having questions."
"Of course," Gustave says. Looking back at Meg once more, he nods at his father and Gregory and leaves the room.
The first thought crossing her mind seeing Meg as she sat looking into a mirror no longer there, was some strange ice storm, fell from the heavens and settled around her daughter's body. Meg sat unmoving staring into a mirror no longer there, hypnotized by what? Her hands holding her face. Every inch of her pale white skin not shielded by the pink negligee was speckled with blood. Adele could only imagine what was under her hands. Perhaps Meg was wondering that as well.
"Meg?" Adele approached her slowly, the mirror seemed to have turned into a mixture of slivers and shards of glass and the ever-present sand from the beach, no amount of sweeping could completely remove from the premises.
The antique, shipped from France, was a gesture to welcome her daughter back to the theater. Over-sized, it filled twice the wall space of the usual dressing room vanities. Meg loved preening in front of the rectangle edged in gold filigree. How it managed to seemingly dissolve was hard to understand – only in the corners was there any remnant of a looking glass. Every bit of the reflective matter was scattered over Meg and around the room.
"Maman? I am afraid to move. I do not want to see what I have done."
The brown glass bottle lying unbroken in the center of the dressing table catches Adele's eye. The provocateur pointing directly at its victim. Well, at least now she knows how the destruction took place. "Stay still, I shall fetch William and Gustave."
"Oh, yes, rehearsal. I was getting ready. They must be very upset. I love my new song. I am looking forward to singing again – a star again. Best not to be late." Slipping a hand to her throat, she flinches and swallows hard. "There is something stuck." Tears filled her eyes. "Maman, I might not be able to sing."
"One thing at a time," Adele said, touching Meg gently on the shoulder, pushing the negligee aside, letting it fall to the floor."
"It hurts, Maman. I hurt all over."
One glaring daggerlike sliver caught the light blinding her for a moment when she moved Meg's hair to one side, to see better where the pain was coming from. Pulling her hand back, she swallowed hard, for the fraction of a moment her heart stopped beating, she forced herself breathe before exposing the wound again. The look of the thing seemed to mock her. Had she moved it? No marks on her fingers, but… Too deep already. No blood – was that good or bad? She hoped Meg did not make things worse. She hoped she did not make things worse. "Do not touch anything else. We must get you to the infirmary."
"I do not know – Gregory is very angry with me."
"He will not let you suffer from your injuries."
"You cannot be sure."
"I can be sure." Adele snapped. "It seems I know your husband better than you do. Now, just stay still."
"Maman?"
"What is going on? I went to the theater and one of the crew told me everyone was over here."
"Meg had an accident."
"What sort of accident?"
"Broken mirror. Adele found her."
"How did the mirror break? Did it fall? We told Adele it was too large for the vanity, but she insisted…"
"Meg broke it – at least that is what appeared to happen."
"Your father needs to know."
"He is already here, with Dr. Gangle and Yasmine."
Nodding at the broom, she says, "I suppose we could clean up the room."
"I can take care of it, maybe you could go see Aunt Adele."
"Adele? She was injured, too?"
Gustave shakes his head. "She found her. She seems undone, but not unwell. Not speaking. Uncle Nadir and Helen are with her, we telephoned Darius…for both of them, when Meg wakes up."
"Undone? Wakes up?" Christine frowns. "How badly is she hurt?"
Gustave shrugs. "We think she took a lot of the codeine syrup, so why she is not awake. There are a lot of cuts all over her face and body." Looking directly at her, he bites his lips before saying, "There is one long shard…in her neck."
"I see," Christine says, smoothing her hands on her skirt, looking around the room. Taking the broom from Gustave, she begins to sweep."
"Maman – I can do that. Go see Aunt Adele."
"No." Her words sharp. "No." Softly now, looking in his anxious hazel eyes – a combination of hers and Erik's. "I need to be busy. Cleaning. Not thinking."
"Do you want to talk?"
Touching him gently on the cheek, she shakes her head. "Let me do this…or we can work together. Hmmm?"
With a relieved smile, he says, "I shall get the mop and bucket."
"Yes. Do that. Get the mop and bucket."
What on earth did she do after I left? Could our conversation have pushed her to an attempt on her life? Shaking her head roughly. No. Do not even venture there Christine Daae Saint-Rien. Nothing has changed, whatever Meg did to herself, it was without any thought for anyone else. Why is her pain worse than someone else's? If she is badly injured, all the hard worn determination to help her grow up would be abandoned by all of them – things would go on as before. Likely whatever the damages are will be just enough for that but causing no permanent injury and the world will go on revolving around her former friend. Will this never end?
All this broken glass in this one space. How much must there be there – on her? Small pieces. Small streaks. A thousand cuts. And one long shard. Mirrors. Our lives are one tale about mirrors after another. Was it wrong to wish her to die?