Her Spirit

The girl switched off her CD player and sat there, staring at it. A new CD..."On Eagle's Wings." Softly she breathed the artist's name.

"Michael."

Two years ago, on a whim, she had rented the OCR of The Phantom of the Opera from the library. From the first whisper of "bravissimi" she had been captivated. This man's voice...it touched her deeper than anything she had ever heard before in her life. If only she had the chance to tell him so.

She had never been the sort of person to run after celebrities, bombarding them with mail, following them around the country, squealing for autographs. She thought it must be annoying, and she would never delibrately annoy anyone...much less HIM. Besides people like him probably didn't have time to read their mail. And yet...could she possibly hope that, with Michael Crawford, it would be different?

After a moment of deliberation, she took a pencil and paper and began to write.

"Dear Michael..."

Hundreds of miles away, he tossed his performance schedule down with a sigh. So much to do, so many places to go. Being an artsit on the top of the charts was hard work, but he would never tire of it...

There was a knock on the door of his hotel suite, and he looked up.

"Come in?"

A woman poked her head into the room, then entered. There was a sheet of paper in her hand, and an odd expression on her face.

"A letter for you, Mr. Crawford," she handed it to him. "I thought you should read this one, especially. It's...different."

He chuckled. "Another proposal?" Some of his female admirers were rather bold. The woman didn't laugh.

"See for yourself," she said, and turned to leave.

He took his glasses out of his breast pocket. "All right. Thank you, Robyn," he called after her. Then he unfolded the letter and began to read. "Dear Michael,

You probably get tons of letters a day, from people like me. I don't know if you ever reply to them personally, but I wanted to write you anyway, since I don't think I'll ever get a chance to tell you face-to-face.

I didn't want this to be one of those predictable letters that gush, 'Oh, I love your voice, I love your voice,' etc. etc. Though that is true for me, it is more than that. From the moment I first heard your voice, I understood clearly how Christine must have felt when she listened to the Phantom, because I have felt the same way. You are the Angel of Music for me. And you always will be.

At first, I only knew you as Erik the Phantom. Then I finally listened to On Eagle's Wings. Every single song on that CD touched a chord in me...especially 'Not Too Far From Here.' I don't know how many times in the past 2 months that I have been the one crying, and needing someone to wipe my tears. Typical 20 yr old, college depression, I suppose, but still, it means so very much to me.

Well I won't take up anymore of your time. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.

Thank you again for sharing your beautiful gift with me.

Love,

Angelina Viitala"

He sat back in his chair, a thoughtful look in his blue eyes. Robyn was right...that was different. Very different. Underlying the usual praise, he could hear....what? A touch of sadness? Not the regular tone one heard in a fan letter. This 'Angelina' sounded so...wistful, yet resigned. He sighed. Perhaps he was reading too much into it, and yet...

With a decisive nod, he picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Robyn? Do we have any of those 'reserved-seating' tickets for the Detroit concert left?"

"One, yeah. Why?"

His lips curled in a boyish grin. "Because there is someone in Michigan who would like them, very much. Could you mail them to...ahhh..." he glanced down at the name again. "Angelina Viitala? You have the address, I believe."

"Oh." He could hear the smile in his PA's voice. "Making another dream come true, Michael?" She laughed. "Of course I will. Should I include the usual letter?"

*I don't know if you ever reply...*

That note of pleading... "No," he said firmly. "No. I'll write this one myself."

The theater was packed that night. He stood in the wings during intermission and scanned the crowd like he usually did, picking out faces, gauging their reactions. From what he saw, this concert was going to be a tremendous success.

He had opened the program with his usual number, "Gethsemane." That, however, was the only thing that would be predictable about this whole night. He and the others had juggled the order a bit: with the premire of the new Phantom movie, it only seemed appropriate to do the medley last.

He took the glass of water someone offered him and let his eyes wander to Box 5. The occupant sat in the shadows, barely visible, but he knew she was there.

He had seen her clearly during "Not Too Far From Here." When the first chord had sounded, he had looked up to see the girl leaning forward in her seat, her folded hands pressed to her lips, eyes sparkling with tears. She hadn't moved for the entire song, just sat there, crying...

Suddenly he very much wanted to meet her...this girl in Box 5. He was so glad that seat had been free...

There was 10 more minutes left for intermission. Furtively looking about, he set his glass donw, still half full, and walked further backstage. If he was careful enough, he could avoid all the people in the lobby, visit for awhile, and be back before anyone noticed he was missing.

A few nerve-wrecking moments later, he stood in the darkened hallway outside of Box 5. Steathily he parted the red curtain and peeked inside. And he knew, in that instant, how very right it had been to bring her here...

Angelina sat frozen in her seat, her eyes glued to the empty stage. A dazed smile was on her face, clearing stating her feelings. She was in heaven.

Michael had to smile himself, at that expression. It reminded him of someone... He glanced down the hall again, assuring himself that it was, in fact, empty...then, very, very softly, he began to sing.

"Wandering child, so lost, so helpless...yearning for my guidance..."

She gasped, her eyes flew wide and began to shine. To his surprise, she replied, her voice equally soft.

"Angel...or father? Friend...or Phantom? Who is it there, staring?"

She turned around and saw him in the door...and her face lit up in the most beautific smile he had seen in a long time. "Michael!" She exclaimed.

He came forward and took her heand. "Miss Viitala. We meet at last." He laughed. "You obviously got my letter?"

"I did," she sounded breathless. "Oh, thank you, thank you for this! It's the best birthday present I've ever had!"

"Wait!" He sat down beside her. "This is your birthday?"

"Yes...I'm 21 this year."

"Well...happy birthday!" He squeezed her hand gently. There was a moment of silence as he tried to think of what to say next. "Ahhh...you...you certainly know the Phantom well, my dear. I didn't think that was the most popular line in the libretto."

"I almost know it all by heart," she said, blushing. "It's my favorite...of course!" Lowering her voice, she continued, "Angel...oh speak! what endless longing, echo in this whisper..." She laughed self-conciously. "I can't sing very well, but I like to try. If I could..."

"...you'd play Christine, in an instant," he finished for her. A wild idea was beginning to grow in his mind. "Angelina...may I call you Angelina? you said, in your letter, that you...you feel like Christine...sometimes. Did you mean that?"

"Of course. But you don't have it quite right, Michael," she shook her finger at him playfully. "I feel like Christine ALL the time...as long as you're singing."

"Christine's spirit," he murmured softly. She had it, all right...he could see it shining in her eyes. The idea became a decision. Suddenly he grabbed her hand and stood up. "Come with me."

"What?" She was surprised when he rushed her out of the box, down some dark stairs, and past the sound equipment, backstage. "Michael, where are we going?"

"Shh." He scanned the crowd of heads milling about, found who he was looking for, and waved to him. The man with the headsets on hurried over.

"Something wrong, Mr. Crawford?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just..want to suggest a few changes." He whipped out a program. "Music of the Night is next, see, and I'd like to do something different. I'd like to sing with a Christine."

An uproar broke loose, with everyone shouting at once. Thankfully the audience was being to noisy for the sounds to carry.

"But this is a concert, not the musical itself!"

"Mr. Crawford, this...this is highly irregular! What about lighting, and microphones, and..."

"You can't use just anyone...she wouldn't know how..."

Angelina hung onto Michael's hand, feeling very much like a little girl in a pack of wolves. What was going on here? Finally, Michael's voice cut through the tumult, soothing and quieting everyone.

"I'm not asking much...just this once please. She won't need a microphone; she's not singing. And an extra spotlight shouldn't be too hard to set up, should it?"

She was beginning to understand his 'suggestion'. The girl tugged on his hand, and finally he looked down at her. "I can't, Michael!" She whispered desperately. "They're right...I can't! I don't have any idea what to do, and I couldn't..."

He took both her hands and bent down to her. "You've always wanted to play Christine, haven't you? And you told me you felt like her I when I sing to you, didn't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, I'm giving you a chance to prove it." He smiled gently at the stark terror on her face. "Come with me, child. Be my Angel tonight."

A beautiful lady in a red dress came up beside them and touched her shoulder. "You can do it," she whispered, "I did...and I was just as frightened as you, at first. But if you have the spirit..."

"She does." He gave Angelina's hand to the woman. "Dale, would you get her ready, please? We only have 5 minutes left."

"Of course." Dale took the girl by the shoulder and steered her off in the direction of the dressing rooms, talking all the while. "Now, you don't need to worry. The only hard part is the faint at the end, but believe me, after standing all the way through, you might feel like fainting...especially after listening to HIM..."

He could see the fear on Angelina's face fade into an expression of wonder. This would be a night to remember.

And it was. Angelina would remember every crystalline detail. From the moment the curtain rose, it was like she had ceased to exist as herself...she was Christine. Floating, falling with the music, she had let her spirit soar, following when he led her, listening to his voice with every atom of her being. She didn't have to pretend to be entranced...she was. When he had held her, sang to her, and she had closed her eyes and reached up to his face, like she had done in her dreams a million times...

All to soon, it had been over, and he had sung the last notes to her as she lay limp in his arms. The audience had erupted into thunderous applause; she had bowed with him and gone back to her seat for the rest of the concert.

He had kissed her cheek before she left the stage. Just the barest touch, but he had whispered, "bravissimi!" in her ear. In her Erik's voice.

Angelina sighed, put "On Eagle's Wings" into her CD player again, and punched 'play'. He had given her a very precious gift tonight...the chance to live a dream. And it had been sweet, very sweet. Michael Crawford was all she had hoped he would be, and more; an Angel...a Phantom...and now, a friend.

She would write again tomorrow.

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