….1871….
Richard Firmin walked absent-mindedly along the empty aisles of the stalls with his hands held behind his back, clutching a trampled programme for Don Juan triumphant. Triumphant indeed! He thought with bitterness and a slight amusement. Trust OG to make such a disastrous spectacle, make fools of us all and escape without a trace and all before the first act was over! Firmin couldn't help but laughed at the lunacy of it all. No doubt the whole audience would demand refunds to boot!
His laughter resounded around the empty and darkened auditorium before he shook his head wearily. He was exhausted by the events of the last year rather than just the last few hours if truth be told. The stress of working under the watchful gaze of The Opera Ghost had taken its toll on Firmin. While he was not a young man, He had always taken care in his appearance and found pride in the fact he looked well for his age. But now his dark hair was more of a pebble grey colour than his natural ebony, his face was carved with bold deep wrinkles and his dark eyes were sunken and bruised with lack of rest. He felt like an old man indeed now; so tired and disheartened as he walked down the main aisle of the stalls towards the orchestra pit. The stools and music stands lay asunder and abandoned in the pit, while the musical score was scattered around the pit and auditorium, ripped and crumpled underfoot as the audience fled. Firmin felt almost a pang of pity seeing the score so mangled and stopped to scoop up that ruined pieces of paper. While he had no liking for the arts, and certainly hated the Ghost's drivel, he felt sorry to see The Phantom's work being desecrated. He had to admit he had now earned a begrudging respect for that clever ghost. He bent down slowly to pick up the paper when he heard the distant eerie jingle of the chandelier above him. Firmin, who had always been a sensible man, now found himself dropping the papers and recoiling to the safety of stalls under the dress circle. He listened, although it was hard to hear over his pounding heartbeat, for the familiar hearty cackle emitting from box five. But there was no laughter and the chandelier that hung like a malicious spider up in the darkness had stopped jingling. Was it a warning from the Opera Ghost? Firmin thought with utter dread. Whether he was there or not, Firmin feared that he would always be looking over his shoulder in fear of the ghost until the day he… Before he had a chance to ponder on it further, the doors of the auditorium swung open with a loud bang. Firmin nearly had a heart attack thinking that a gun had been shot; He gasped and had to lean against a chair to compose himself. Through the doorway André and two soldiers walked hurriedly into the auditorium and towards Firmin. André was two steps in front of the soldiers with his fast little canter of a walk, and initially didn't look at Firmin as he approached him. Instead, André looked towards the stage where the set and props of Don Juan triumphant still remained. He tutted irritably irked by their very presence.
'Have they found….' Firmin didn't know how to address the Phantom. Was he still a ghost? Was he really a man? Even with a face like that? Undecided, he changed approach '…Have they found Mademoiselle Daae?'
André was irritable and wound up like a spring but he relaxed a little at Firmin's question. André turned and smiled weakly at his old friend and business partner. 'Yes, they have found Mademoiselle Daae. She was unharmed but shaken, poor girl. The Vicomte wouldn't let us near her and quickly carried her off in his couch.' André said giving Firmin the "make of that what you will" look before sighing loudly. Firmin didn't know what to make of that news. He supposed it was good Christine Daae was alright but she wasn't very important right now.
'And what about….Him…?' Firmin said quietly as he looked up meekily towards the Chandelier, as though too frightened to even utter the words in His opera house. It almost felt as if he was partaking in an act of treason to even enquire such a thing. André shot him a grave look before looking towards the stage again. His expression was forlorn, which filled Firmin with a sudden unease. It was not the sort of reaction he had anticipated.
'Gone. He disappeared somehow!' André exclaimed before throwing his arms up in the air and laughing. It was a mad laughter, edged with the beginnings of hysteria. André's bitter laughter rang around the empty theatre, as he raised his hands to cover his face in despair. Firmin recoiled from André, frightened that the old boy had run mad with the strain of it all. He looked to the soldiers, uncertain what to do when André's laughter died down and he turned to face them. 'Well, that's the Opera Ghost for you!' He said bitterly; suddenly sober from his moment of hysteria. Firmin offered him a weak smile and patted him on the shoulder. They stood looking at each other, an unspoken understanding among them.
'Come on, old boy. There's not much point in lingering here. If the bastard is gone then we're just wasting our time poking around the sewers, Best to leave that to the police or anyone daft enough to go down there.' Firmin said longing for the warmth and comfort of his bed. Today had been long enough as it was, no point making any longer thought Firmin. André smiled in agreement and began to walk with Firmin out of the auditorium, only glancing back once at the stage. As of tomorrow, no one would ever see a staging of Don Juan triumphant ever again he thought with a mixture of triumph and regret. As two men walked out of the auditorium into the still brightly lit foyer, they felt a dawning sense of cautious optimism. Tomorrow would be the first day of freedom from The Opera Ghost's tyranny, and God knows what new surprises lay in store…..
'…But he was gone, mama! And all he left was his mask!' Meg said excitedly pushing the white mask into her mother's skeletal hands. Madame Giry looked down at the mask in horrified astonishment before throwing it to the floor of her office. Meg gasped and quickly scooped up the mask with infinite care, startled by her mother's disrespect.
'Meg, I told you never to go there! That…man has killed. Don't you understand? That was his domain filled with horrible things! It's not safe… I forbade you to go looking for the ghost. Time and time again I warned you of the ghost' Madame Giry said in her sternest voice but it cracked with emotion. She was furious but so relieved that her daughter was safe; all she wanted to do was to scope her child up and take her far away like she should have done in the first place. Madame Giry had always been terrified of The Opera Ghost, She knew about the horrible genius (or madman) that he was for she had seen him kill numerous times. His traps and lassos were all too eager to ensnare silly ballet girls and that included Meg. Madame Giry hugged her daughter tightly, shuddering at the thought. Meg smiled sadly and hugged into her mother, her green eyes started to fill with tears.
'I….couldn't find Christine….' Meg murmured gently trying to hold back her tears for she felt a deep guilt in not finding her friend. Madame Giry felt a pang of sadness that quickly subsided as she stroked her daughter's golden curls. She could only assume that with the Phantom and Christine missing, he had spirited her so that they'd never find her again. And while that was sad thought, Madame Giry felt indifferent towards the little Scandinavian girl and indifferent towards what happened to her. Life as a widowed mother and dancer had hardened her to the unpleasantness of life. With Christine gone and Carlotta in despair, there may be new found opportunities for Meg. Perhaps she could even be the opera's diva…Madame Giry frowned in disapproval. Her daughter was in tears while she thought of her own selfish gains. Madame Giry gently guided Meg towards the small iron day bed that sat in the corner of her poky little office while whispering reassurances that Christine would be found safe and sound. She moved the blanket back as Meg lay down in the little bed, her knees tucked up just so she could fit on it. Meg's tears had subsided into choked little sobs as she tried to calm herself down. Madame Giry smiled as she tucked Meg in before she saw that her daughter was still clutching the damned mask.
'Meg, my darling, give me the mask' Madame Giry said sweetly but firmly, trying not to look at the bloody thing. It was turned up and was as though the phantom was there staring at her making her shrink in revulsion. Meg frowned, unsure whether or not to trust her mother after her throwing it to the ground. But Meg was too exhausted, both emotionally and physically, to fight with her mother reluctantly gave her the mask. Madame Giry grimaced as she held the mask and quickly placed it, face down, on her desk. Face down it seemed less like a face and more of the inanimate object that it was, she reasoned. Madame Giry then went across the room to pick up a small jewellery box that Meg had loved as a child. The tattery old jewellery box had a small wind up ballerina and music box that playeda simple lullaby. There had been many nights when Meg had struggled to sleep after hearing ghost stories in the girl's dormitory and had fallen asleep to the music box. Tonight would be no exception, thought Madame Giry feeling a tad nostalgic. While Meg was calmed by the familiar melody, Madame Giry poured herself a brandy as she sunk into her chair with a groan. Her whole body ached after being so tense for so many hours, worrying about Meg and The Vicomte and even Him…. Madame looked over to Meg, making sure she was soundly asleep or close enough to it; Meg stirred slightly but her eyes were closed. Madame Giry looked away and began to sip her drink and contemplate the situation. Despite her fear of the Phantom, Madame Giry felt a growing sense of unease at the thought of his indefinite absence. For most of her adult life the Phantom had been rumoured lurk around the theatre, ever watchful and present. There to punish the foolish and reward the loyal like herself. He was a constant in the Opera and now he was gone. What would the Opera Populaire be like now without him? Would his absence make her position as ballet mistress precarious? Without him she felt as though she had lost a great and terrible protector and that thought unnerved her. She could say she almost missed him, frightened of him as she was. She began to think of him and sitting here now in her little cramped office she felt as though god and the devil had both departed and left her in an awful limbo. For the first time in decades, Madame Katriane Giry decided to drink her unease away until she passed out at her desk and knocking the Phantom's mask to the floor. It tumbled down and hit the floor with a snap, cracking the fine porcelain just beneath the eye just as the music box came to a stop
AN: I know chapter one is really short but I just wanted to set up the story. The phantom will be returning in the next chapter or so, so keep reading! R&R