{In which Raoul goes insane}

Prologue

R

It had been years since I set foot in the opera house. It has stayed dilapidated for who knows how long now. As soon as I heard news of an auction set to take place there, I immediately requested to go. Probably out of pity, they let me go without a strait jacket. Everything was covered in cobwebs, including it seemed the old woman already waiting there. That must explain why it smelled like road kill and old lady. Ew . . . taxidermy.

Anyway, I just happened to walk in on lot six-six-six. I was let down when they revealed it to be that dumb chandelier from my glory days. (I was hoping for a poodle, of course.)

"Restored it, we did," the auctioneer said to his audience of exactly two bidders, "using the latest Jedi technology."

He must have known the aging lady and I weren't interested in his 'padawan mission', as he called it, so he pulled some fancy pyro on us. I went into a flashback.


R

Due to my complete lack of things to do, I have decided to donate money I have no other use for to the Opera Populaire. The new owners have promised me a rousing gala performance tonight of, what else, Hannibal. Now as much as I'd rather be at home reading Les Miserables again, tonight is not the night. Things like that don't find you a lover, do they? (Well, not in this century anyway.) Maybe people watching will be worth my time.

I walked through the back stage area the day of the gala towards the stage. On my way, I passed a man painting backdrops; he whispered, ". . . paint a happy little tree . . . and this will be a mighty mountain . . ." I gave him a quizzical look – he looks like a Bob, I think – and upon realizing I was gawking continued on.

I stood between the new owners of the opera, Andy and Farmer, I think, as they introduced me to the cast. Their lead was about as angry as a hippo in a tutu, so I made my haste in leaving.

Later that night, after finally reaching the barricade, I was forced to watch the stupid opera. Hugo haters. Hey, they replaced the hippo with a woman. Is that Christine I see? My mom? Or is it Bertha? Ah, why can't I forget that last one . . . it must be my little lotte. Mom isn't that pretty. And Bertha was blonde.

She didn't look at me, even when I tried to sing with her. I didn't appreciate it, but I planned to go see her afterwards.

C

"Meg GO AWAY I'm crying over my dead father!"

"Christine, he's been gone for a long time . . . and besides you'll see him again in the 25th Anniversary Concert."

"No I won't – Andrew replaced me AGAIN. With the little mermaid, AGAIN."

R

The owner dudes, Aldo and Farley, gave me looks that I also didn't appreciate.

"Buzz off, Dumbledore," I spat, and they went away as I entered the girl's room.

"Raoul! You're here? What happened to that institution they sent you to?"

I ignored her last comment, "Yeah, why not? You're beautiful . . ."

She sent a death glare worthy of a punk rocker on Halloween.

"Your singing's great too, of course."

She laughed, "I've had a very good tutor. Very strict."

"Wanna go party?"

"I can't – he'll be angry."

"Your tutor? I see him driving round town with the girl I love and I'm like FORGET HIM!"

Woo-hoo-hoo! This chick needs to get out more. "You know, I'm sorry I can't afford a Ferrari, but that don't mean I can't get you there!" I left to ready a carriage wondering once more what Ferraris and Atari had to do with heart break, but I digress. Those haven't even been invented yet!

Passing a person dressed as a cat in the hallway, I returned to Christine's door and found it locked. Then the organ music started.

G

"Now Raoul, why ever would a man in the hallway have been dressed as a cat?"

He fidgeted slightly as he attempted to form an answer. It was hard to see him so undone, but someone needed to be his psychiatrist.

"I'm not sure; perhaps it was Andrew."

C

"What are you wearing? Halloween is like six months away, dude. Get with the times."

The guy didn't look amused. In fact, he showed no expression at all. What an actor.

"I am your angel of music," he said gruffly.

"You really think I'm gonna fall for that? My father is the angel of music . . . and if he isn't, he would have picked someone way better than you."

"Come to your angel of music," he added again.

"Wait, I think I hear Raoul at the door," I said.

As I walked I heard shattering glass and turned around just as he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the tunnel.

"Raoul! It's locked! Get an axe and yell "Here's Johnny"!"

"What?" the muffled voice came back to her.

"Pull a Jack Nicholson!"

"I can't hear you Christine!"

"Try a hand grenade!"

"Okay! I'll go look for the key!"

The Phantom joined in with me as I sighed, "Idiot."

R

So I was looking for the key to Christine's heart . . . uh, I mean door. Yep DOOR. Definitely.

Anyway first I looked for the cat person, cause he might have seen it. Couldn't find him. Then I tried to find one of the Giry's – also not working. Finally I found the only other person apparently in the building, the painter, Bob.

"We don't make mistakes, just have happy accidents," he coolly told me as I approached him.

"Got any idea where a tiny key with a huge tassel might be?"

"Not a clue, neighbor."

"Who do you think you are, Mr. Rodgers?"

"I'm not Mr. Rodgers, I'm Bob Ro-"

"I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE I NEED THAT KEY!"

"Now, now, there's no need for an all caps rage . . . the guy with the weird mask and cape took it."

You have got to be kidding me.